#the same way i have to know when a truck crashes into the 11 foot 8 bridge

[lazeecomet]

Hey! Tumblr! You know how we all joke about putting vanilla extract in things because we know how that cake turned out? Well, meet Ordinary Sausage. The man who's whole shtick is making the most fucked up sausages imaginable. Nothing ordinary about this sausage maker.

Well.....

He did the thing.

its terrible. watch him suffer the sweet vanilla death he cooked himself

[swiftiesimonriley]

hurts like heaven (divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader)

divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader, silver linings playbook! au

rating: teen (I guess), no explicit content except for drug use

warnings: depictions and descriptions of drug use (if this makes you uncomfortable you may want to skip this one), mentions of divorce and custody battles, mention of time spent in an inpatient behavioral health setting

word count: 3.9k (WHOOPS i got excited)

a/n: I am so excited for my first frankie oneshot!! thank you so much to @hailmary-yramliah​ for this request, I hope you like it!! here is my masterlist, and if you have any requests you can send me an ask! also credit to @hunterschafer​ for the beautiful frankie gif!!

"Mr. Morales, after a thorough review of the details of this case, including but not limited to testimonies of your close friends and NA sponsor, revision of your record, and speaking with the judge who oversaw the suspension of your pilot's license, I have come to the conclusion that you are currently unfit to have full custody of your daughter. I am hereby granting full custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales to her biological mother."

The minute Francisco Morales hears the words of the family court judge before him ruling in favor of his now ex-wife, he nearly passes out.

The former Delta Force soldier vaguely heard the protests of Pope, who is the only person sitting within the rows of seats on the side of the courtroom where he currently resides. He doesn't register his lawyer uttering a half-assed apology or even the cheers from his ex-wife and her family on the other side of the room.

All he hears is white noise as the judge bangs the gavel to settle the room, explaining that Ava now will have primary and sole custody and that Frankie will only be allowed supervised visits with a social worker, and that Ava can take her daughter home today.

Their daughter.

Frankie knows he isn't perfect - fuck, he is far from it but this just seems like a sick joke.

As soon as his license was officially stripped from him, he knew his marriage was over. The tension had started almost a year earlier when Ava suspected Frankie of using, to which he vehemently denied.

Of course, it was true, but how was he supposed to explain and admit to the love of his life that he needed the cocaine flowing through his body in order to feel anything anymore.

Things began to crumble soon after the initial suspicion by Ava. 

The best way Frankie thought to deal with this problem was to put some space between himself and his wife. He didn't want her to see him when he was strung out and begging for one last hit - God forbid his daughter see him like that.

In a way, Frankie was grateful that Ellie was still an infant, and that she would have no memory of the fights he had with her mother over his addiction.

He began staying out late at bars and other places downtown where he knew he could meet his dealer and get more of his fix, trying to keep it as far away from his home as possible. 

After a few drinks and a successful meeting with his dealer, he would make his way home where he eventually came down, the immediate rush of guilt and sorrow filling his heart as he would return home and see the bedroom door was locked, indicating he had to crash on the couch.

It was when he stepped through the threshold of his small cottage that he felt the shame bubble up from deep inside him, knowing that he couldn't just snuggle up next to his wife and pretend things were fine, or even cradle his daughter in his arms and rock her to sleep, as on these nights Ava made sure to keep Ellie in the bedroom with her. 

Those were the nights that haunted him the most.

Breaking Ava's heart was something long in the past - and he knew she wouldn't be able to just forgive him for what he put her through. She was always the one to give people the benefit of the doubt - something he used to tease her about but now feels scorned by. She was the one who stood by him when he admitted he had a problem - giving him support and resources for healing all while lending a helping hand. 

She knew he wouldn't try to harm their relationship on purpose.

But when his use began to impede more on their relationship, Ava put her foot down. She was getting tired of the cycle of hurt that came with each band of withdrawal and promises of this being the "last" time, only to see her husband relapse again and again. She tried her hardest to continue supporting him, her high school sweetheart, but she had reached her limit. She started spending more time with her parents, leaving Ellie in their care for most days so she didn't have to see her father stumble through the door after a night out. 

Two weeks later she served him with the divorce papers.

Frankie knows that he fucked up, be he never meant to harm Ava or Ellie along the way, especially his baby daughter, whose brown eyes were almost carbon copies of his own. He can't even stomach the idea of Eleanor growing up without her father in her life - she is his whole world, and since the day she was born he promised her that he would always be there for her.

But now, his heart aches knowing he is going home to a semi-furnished one-bedroom apartment, no wife or daughter waiting up for him like when he returned from missions or deployment.

Francisco Morales was not one to take the easy way out.

He clutches his patient belongings bag tighly in his right hand as he walks out of the lobby of the inpatient rehabilitation center, scanning the outside pickup area for a familiar truck. After looking around for a moment a truck horn beep startles him, turning to see a familiar mop of black hair peeking out of his truck.

Chuckling to himself, Frankie jogs over to the passenger side and hops in, feeling Pope immediately wrap him tightly in a hug. "I missed you Cat," he murmurs into the pilot's shoulder, giving him a comforting pat on the back before releasing the brown-haired man from his arms.

"I missed you too Santi," Frankie sighs, placing his bag down on the floor at his feet, "I don't know how much longer I could stay there without seeing a familiar face."

Santi lets out a low laugh as he starts up the truck and pulls out of the patient drop-off area before turning onto the main road. The two sit in silence for a few moments as Frankie stretches out his limbs, turning his head to look out the window as they drive down through the city.

The black haired man knows better than to pry and quiz the pilot about his 2 month stay at the local inpatient rehabilitation center. After the fallout of the trial, things got rough really fast. Santi knew deep down there was a chance of relapse, even with Frankie left the courtroom promising that this would never happen again - but it was all too much.

At 3:11 am Santi got a call from Frankie.

By 6:30 the pair were at the very same doors that Frankie had just emerged, with Santi comfortingly rubbing his hand up and down the brunette's back and they waited to check him in and head over to intake.

But Santi doesn't pry.

He just drums a tune on the steering wheel as he continues driving down the main stretch of road in the city. He watches out of the corner of his eye as they get to a red light as Frankie fixes his hair, running his fingers through the brown fringe across his forehead and he lets out a chuckle.

"What's so funny Pope? I don't wanna look like I'm fresh out of the hospital." He huffs, looking over his hair again before closing the mirror.

To say Frankie was nervous was an understatement. He had been out of the hospital for less than ten minutes and he was already on his way to meet a new lawyer. His new lawyer.

The previous week Frankie received a call from Santi during his afternoon rec time. At first he couldn't make out what the other man was saying, he remembers huffing out something the lines of "are you fucking drunk?" but made sure to keep quiet as he knew some people in the rec area didn't take too kindly to brash language.

He then remembers the hearty chuckle on the other end. "No I'm not fucking drunk 'fish, I'm excited! I just ran into one of my old college buddies-"

"Do you mean fuck buddies?" Frankie teases, letting out a quiet laugh as he hears a scoff on the other end of the line.

"No you idiot! I didn't sleep with every girl I knew back then, I know it's hard to believe," Frankie lets out a loud laugh, "I ran into an old friend of mine who went to law school, and let's just say she owes me a favor and she agreed to take on your case! Fish? Frankie?"

The pilot drops the phone as soon as the words are processed.

He has another chance. Another chance to see Ava and his baby girl. A chance to get them both back into his life for good this time, now that he has detoxed and spent his time working on his coping strategies.

They could be back in his arms once again.

"Mr. Morales? Mr. Garcia? She's ready for you."

"It's go time." Santi nods, standing up out of his seat and motioning for the pilot to follow him.

The pair make their way down the white and bright hallways of the law offices, walking past several cubicles full of lawyers and other workers chatting away before coming to an office with a glass door at the end of the hallway.

Frankie nervously plays with his fingers as Santi knocks on the door, hearing a soft "come in" from the otherside.

He follows the black haired man into the office and freezes in his tracks when he sees you get up from your desk and rush to pull Santi into a hug. He tries to keep his eyes from widening like a cartoon character but he can't help it - Santi didn't mention how gorgeous you are.

He listens to you both talk for a few moments before you reach your hand out and introduce yourself, a light smile playing at your lips. Frankie nods and takes your smaller hand in his before watching you go back to your desk. You open your laptop and pull out the file your assistant gathered on the details of the previous case.

"Mr. Mora-"

"You can call me Frankie," the pilot interjects, his cheeks turning red as you nod and take a mental note of that. "Frankie, do you want to start off at the start of your story for me? I always find it more beneficial to ask from the client's perspective about the details of the case, it makes a stronger case," you say, picking up a pen and looking at the brunette sitting across from you.

Frankie lets out a small cough and takes a soft breath in before laying his cards out on the table.

Santi stays quiet in the seat next to him, nodding along at the details of the story and offering a comforting hand on the back as one of his closest friends speaks about some of the darkest points in his life with you as if you have known him as long as you have known him.

It takes about 45 minutes of Frankie's explanations and your questioning to get all of the information you need for the initial meeting, making notes of the progress the pilot has made within the inpatient treatment center as well as Santi's testimony. You put your files away in the folder on your desk and stand up, making your way over to the two soldiers and giving them each a handshake, telling them both that you feel extremely confident in this case, and that you can't wait to help Frankie get his family back.

You can't miss the way he breaks out into a grin, probably one of the first genuine ones in a while, and you see Santi nod his head approvingly at you before giving you a quick "thanks" as the two begin to stand up and walk towards your door. 

Before they leave you quickly call out to Frankie, who turns around quickly and his chocolate brown eyes lock with yours.

"What's your daughter's name?" You ask softly, watching as his posture relaxes at the mention of his pride and joy. He reaches into one of his back pockets of his jeans and pulls out a small photo from his wallet and hands it to you.

You look over the tiny photo - it must have been from the day she was born. Her big brown eyes are the same as her father's, a small smile on her face.

"Her name is Eleanor, Eleanor Luciana," he smiles, a small tear welling up in the corner of his right eye.

A smile plays at your lips as you see the absolute adoration in his eyes as he talks about her.

You know you have to win this case.

You spend the next 3 months prepping for the case.

You know this process is not an easy one, especially for Frankie. At first, he came to your office twice a week in the afternoon right after his NA meetings, most times with Santi in tow. It was awkward at first for sure - I mean it isn't fun working with a lawyer about the bad choices he had made or the fact of the matter that he feels like a piece of him has died since he has been away from his family.

Santi helped ease the tension.

When it got hard for Frankie to talk about some of the details of his drug use, or the fights he had with Ava, Santi was there to help ease the conversation and help Frankie get through it. It helped that the two knew each other like the back of their hands, with Santi being able to crack a joke at a moment's notice and bring the pilot back down to the ground.

It was when Santi brought up old memories of your time back in college that you heard real laughter from the brunette.

They weren't your proudest memories, but the way that Frankie laughed at you and Santi's old college stories brought a smile to your face and gave you a feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you didn't want to go away. You knew deep down you shouldn't feel those butterflies, especially when dealing with a client, but something about the pilot made your heart flutter.

But the minute you would feel the butterflies, like after Frankie gave you a compliment about your outfit, you would feel the guilt wash over you in waves. Frankie was a father, a former husband who was working with you in order to win back his ex. How could you feel this way about a man who was fighting through hell to get his family back.

You were just his lawyer.

Seeing him open up each time he came into your office was something that struck you deep down, knowing that being this vulnerable is something that he doesn't take lightly. 

The two of you continue meeting twice a week after NA, with Frankie telling you about his feelings from his meeting and talking about his goals for this upcoming trial.

You continue preparing him with questions you know will be brought up by the family court judge, focusing on his plans for the future after his discharge from the inpatient center, focusing on the changes in behavior he has made of the past few months. His answers become more confident the harder you work, and you feel your heart start to swell as he talks about how excited he is to see his baby girl again.

But you also feel pain in your heart at the thought of the man before you leaving your life after this week.

It's the Friday night before the trial, a night you typically take off early on, but tonight is different.

Frankie was sitting here in your office earlier this week when he casually mentioned that he was getting his 6 month sober chip on Friday. Upon hearing this news you gasp and stand up from your desk, your feet carrying you over towards him before you could even register what you are doing - suddenly you realize that you have pulled him into your arms.

Frankie is shocked at first, a small "oof" escaping his lips as you held onto him, but he is grateful you cannot see the blush rising on his cheeks.

You quickly pull yourself back and subconsciously smoothing out your light green work pants before taking a step back. "I'm so proud of you 'Cat, that's so amazing!" You smile, brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear.

The pilot nods, a small smile playing at his lips.

"How about you come here on friday. You, me and Santi can have some pizza and a beer to celebrate," you suggest, watching as Frankie furrows his brow before letting out a chuckle.

"You don't ask all of your clients to have a pizza party in your office after hours do you?" He laughs, taking his hat off and fixing his brown locks before sliding it back on his head.

"I can't say that I do, but this is what Santi and I would do back in the day to celebrate, so why not celebrate this achievement before we get in the courtroom." 

You chuckle, remembering the days spent in the shitty apartment Santi had off campus. "Alright I'm in." Frankie smiles, "I'll bring the beers."

That night the three of you sit on the floor of your office like kids and chuckle at old stories, both from college and from the boy's times spent overseas. You watch as Frankie laughs at something Santi says and you feel the pain in your heart return, knowing that in a few short days your client would be back to his old life, and you would be stuck here back in the real world at your job. You know it's wrong, but these past months have been different than any other case you have taken on.

You know Frankie is going to be able to go back to his family after all of this - he is stronger than when this whole ordeal started and he has the support to prevent another relapse. 

Hell, you are proud of him outside of work, knowing this process wasn't easy - but the idea of this man walking out of your life brings you sadness. Knowing he won't be in your office twice a week for hours, cracking jokes and talking about nothing in particular towards the end. 

Sometimes you wonder what things would be like if you met under other circumstances. Maybe you two would have a shot - walking hand in hand at the local farmer's market, singing karaoke at the bar with Santi, Benny and Will, or even going on a flight with him.

You even opened up to him, telling him things even Santi doesn't know. But you need to remember why you are here - to win this for your client.

"Mr. Morales, after going over the details of this case, I see the dedication you have made towards your rehabilitation and future. I have talked with the treatment team at Maple Grove rehabilitation as well as your NA sponsor, and based on all of the information I have gathered is that you are fit to have custody of your daughter. You will now have shared custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales."

Before you can properly process the words of the judge, you feel two strong arms wrap around your torso and lift you in the air. You feel a blush come over your cheeks as you hear Frankie saying "thank you" over and over again as he sets you back down on the ground.

You both simultaneously pull back and hide your blushes as you thank the judge for his discretion and you faintly hear the bang of the gavel in the background as the court is dismissed.

You don't miss the way Ava storms out of the courtroom with her family and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Santi walks over to the two of you and pulls you both into a hug, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down your back and thanking you for everything you did.

You nod as Santi pulls back and turns to his brother in arms, chatting about something you can't quite hear as you begin to pack up your white briefcase, pausing when you see a photo of Ellie on the table.

Since the beginning of the trial Frankie felt the nerves wash over him as this suddenly felt so real. You had suggested that he bring in a picture of Eleanor to place on the table so that whenever he became nervous, he could look down and see who he was doing this all for. Seeing the photo now brings tears to the corners of your eyes and you close up your briefcase - turning around to see that Santi has left the courtroom, just leaving you and Frankie.

"I just wanted to say thank you, for everything," he says softly, nervously scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You nod curtly, trying to ignore the sore feeling in your throat - a telltale sign that you were about to cry.

Frankie tilts his head in confusion and walks closer, reaching out and grabbing your smaller hands in his. "I mean it - you have helped me through this whole process, and you are the reason I get to see Eleanor again, and for that I cannot thank you enough."

His words cut through you like knives - you knew this was coming. Your job is over, and it's time for him to move on.

"All in a day's work," you chuckle quietly, having to look down at your shoes to avoid letting the tears fall.

You suddenly feel softy fingers tilt your head up. Blinking through your lashes you see the pilot looking at you with only adoration in his eyes. You lock onto his chocolate orbs and nod slightly as he moves closer, softly crashing your lips against his.

You feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling him flush against his chest in a soft yet comforting way. You find yourself getting lost in the moment, one of your hands tangling in his hair as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

A moment later you both pull away, leaning your forehead against his as he lets out a small chuckle.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," he smiles, locking eyes with you once again, "I had to wait until I wasn't your client anymore, I didn't want to make it awkward or unethical."

You smile at his confession, brushing a piece of his brunette locks out of his eyes.

"Well now that you are no longer my client, would you like to go grab a beer?" You ask, looking at the way his eyes light up at your question.

"I would love that."

He watches as you grab your briefcase and wraps an arm around your waist as the two of you head for the courtroom doors.

He feels his heart swell in his chest knowing he not only has Eleanor back in his life, but now he has you too.

taglist: @hailmary-yramliah​ @babyprim​ @shadowolf993​ @jasterslegacy​ @collectorofexperiences​

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch 22)

Chapter 22

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​ @fallenstar-7​​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

Catalina figured she was in hell when the first thing she felt was fire. It was burning her from the inside out. It was a pain she had never felt before, completely blinding, completely debilitating. The only thought that consumed her was make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

The fire felt like it was licking at her veins for what felt like eternity. At some point, she became aware of her body, namely, her face, which began feeling as though it was being stretched to its limits. The only thing she could liken this pain to was how allergy season made her face feel in the mornings: swollen and full. It was a similar feeling, but a thousand-fold. It eventually moved to her jaw. She felt like her teeth would fall out if this continued. She felt as if her jaw would come unhinged if this didn’t stop. This pain overwhelmed the fire, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because the fire was sharp and all consuming, a curse because this pain was almost worse. A curse because Catalina was sure her face was being torn apart.

Every time she thought she couldn’t take any more, the fire or the pain in her face would persist, keeping her in an immovable state even longer. When would this end? Would it ever? She felt as though this kind of pain had been described to her before, but she couldn’t be sure. She had to be in hell. She died, right? She remembered dying. She must be in hell.

It felt like absolute eternity, but eventually, the pain began subsiding. Every time it would lessen slightly, she would thank whatever deity was doing this to her. The more it subsided, the more room for memory made its home in her mind. She died. Amanda slit her throat. Her friends. Jimin was beside her, a knife to his throat as well. Did they kill him too? She hoped not, but she figured it was likely. Hoseok wasn’t there. She hoped he was found, and that he was okay. The others as well. She hoped they were all okay.

Jungkook. He wouldn’t be okay. If Catalina was really dead, and Jungkook survived, he would be having a hard time right about now. And she really, really hoped he did survive. She wished she could have said goodbye to him, and given him one last kiss, told him she loved him one last time. But she didn’t, and she hoped he could get through this. She didn’t want that sweet, intelligent, beautiful boy to be ruined by this. She hoped he could keep living.

The pain continued to subside and consciousness came to her in small segments. This was when she realized that she wasn’t dead. Through the haze of pain, she managed to open her eyes. Everything was quite blurry, but she recognized the room she was in. The lighthouse painting gave it away.

Her bout of consciousness didn’t last long. She fell back into a daze, the pain coming in waves now.

The next time she opened her eyes, the room was bright. Too bright. It hurt her eyes. But she could turn her head to the side. Jimin was beside her. His eyes were closed and his body was twitching every now and then. There was an awful scar across his neck.

The third time she opened her eyes, the room was dark and there was a hand gripping her own. The pain was still there, but it was dull. There was a new feeling slowly clawing its way up her throat. Jimin was still lying beside her. They looked at each other. It was his hand that was in hers. His eyes looked scared; Catalina was sure she looked scared too. She was beginning to understand what was happening to her. And when she looked into Jimin’s eyes, her suspicions were confirmed. His eyes were bright red. Bloodshot and terrified, but his irises were red.

Voices were chattering over her, but they were faint and garbled, as if she were underwater. She wanted to say something to Jimin, but she still couldn’t move much. He looked like he wanted to speak too. She found that she could move her fingers, so she squeezed his hand, hoping it would provide some kind of comfort. He squeezed back. She felt a smile twitch at her lips before falling back into her sleep.

This sleep was painless, at least, as painless as it could get. There was a persistent soreness at the back of her throat, but otherwise, she was able to sleep peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Keep your feet planted and your knees bent,” Jungkook said. His hands were on her bare waist, his chest pressing up close to her to her back. She figured that wasn’t necessary, he didn’t do that to Hoseok, or Taehyung, but she certainly didn’t mind. Having him close meant she could hear his heart speed up. It meant she could smell the blood rushing to his face. It was cute. He was cute.

“When you’re on the water, and once you stand up and get your footing, just stay calm and let the wave move you,” he said. “It’s gonna feel like you’re falling at first, just keep your balance and carve your way down.”

“And if you fall off, it’s just the water,” said Jin, who was waxing his own board a few feet away. “No harm.”

“Right, no harm,” Jungkook said, his hand wandering to her butt.

She giggled and turned around to face him.

“Did Hoseok get this treatment when you taught him?” she asked with a wide smile on her face.

“Not that he would mind even a little bit,” said Jungkook. “But this is only reserved for my favorite students.”

“Ooh, so Jimin got this too,” Catalina said, winding her arms over his bare shoulders. He threw his head back and laughed. This was her favorite sound. The waves crashing along the beach, Jungkook’s laughter, his heart beating against hers. It was like her favorite song, a song she never wanted to end. 

Catalina leaned up to press her lips against his, the board wobbling in the sand beneath their feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pain in her throat was the thing to finally wake her up. She didn’t want to wake up, she was thoroughly enjoying her dream, but it was distracting. It was like waking up starving, but this hunger was all consuming. It was the only thing she could think about. She needed to take care of this first, before anything else.

When she opened her eyes, she was still in the same room. The lighthouse painting stared back at her, along with Taehyung’s other art. A charcoal sketch of Yoongi sprawled across a couch made her smile. She felt a body shift beside her. Jimin was still asleep, curled up to her side. Catalina pet his head, pushing his hair away from his face. His hair felt extra silky and his face was way prettier than she remembered. He had always been an attractive man, but he looked ethereal right now with his face relaxed and the morning sun illuminating his features.

Catalina sat up abruptly. She glanced at his neck. It was smooth and unblemished. No scar in sight. She felt her own neck. It felt smooth as well. She leapt off the bed and stumbled over to the vanity. Controlling her movements was difficult. There was a power behind every movement that she’s never felt before. It reminded her of playing a video game with the sensitivity on the controller turned all the way up.

She looked at herself in the mirror and let out a gasp. Her eyes were red, just like she suspected. Her skin was smoother than she’d ever seen it. Her hair was shiny and fuller than usual, laying just right over her shoulders and around her face. Radiant. She looked radiant. She wanted to keep looking at herself, but the craving she felt was getting distracting again. She needed to find something to satisfy it before she went insane.

That’s when she heard it. It was faint, very faint, but she was sure it was there. Downstairs. A heart was beating. A heart was pumping blood, which she could smell all the way from here. And it smelled divine. She needed, needed, to get a taste. She knew that if she could get a taste, the pain in the back of her throat would go away. The twisting in her stomach would subside.

She took one step toward the door before it swung open, revealing Taehyung.

“You’re awake,” he said with a smile.

“I need to go downstairs,” Catalina said.

Taehyung shook his head. “You shouldn’t. I’ll get you what you need up here.”

“I need to go down there,” she said again, moving toward the door. Taehyung closed it and put his back to it.

“No, you don’t,” he said, the smile falling from his face. “You don’t need to go down there. You will regret it if you go down there.”

Realization hit Catalina like a truck. That heartbeat belonged to someone. She didn’t want to hurt them, whoever it was. If she went down there, she most certainly wouldn’t be able to control herself.

“Who’s down there?” she asked. “I won’t go down there, I promise.”

Taehyung sighed and said, “It’s Jungkook. I told him it wasn’t a good idea to wait around here, but he insisted.”

Catalina felt her chest flutter. He was alive! He was here!

“Can I see him?” she asked. “I know I shouldn’t, but I promise I’ll control myself, you guys will be there…”

“That’s not a good idea right now,” said Taehyung. “Let me get you something to drink first, then we’ll talk. You look crazy right now.”

“No, I don’t!” she said, looking at herself in the mirror again. Her eyes were crazed, her pupils blown out bigger than the last time she saw herself in the mirror. Okay, maybe she did look crazy. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to see Jungkook just yet.

She turned back around, but Taehyung was gone. She went to the bed. Jimin was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t seem like he was in pain anymore. He looked peaceful, his little snores making Catalina’s nose scrunch in a smile.

Taehyung came back in with a full plastic grocery bag. He dumped it out onto the vanity and Catalina’s eyes widened. She lunged for one of the blood bags, not bothering with the valve on top. She bit right into it, her teeth piercing through without resistance. She gulped it down as fast as she could, squeezing every last drop from it. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Taehyung held the empty grocery bag out to her.

“In here please,” he said. “Don’t drip on my floor.”

Catalina threw her garbage into the bag and grabbed another one.

She sucked ten bags dry before finally feeling normal again.

Taehyung chuckled as he tied off the grocery bag and set it aside.

“You’re going to have to pee a million times later,” he said.

“Vampires pee?” she asked.

“I mean, yeah. Where do you think all that liquid goes?” he asked.

“I guess I never thought about that,” she said. “I’m starting to realize that vampirism isn’t as magical as I thought.”

“It’s really not,” said Taehyung. “Namjoon wrote some biology books on us. They’re in the library if you ever want to give them a read. I would highly suggest that.”

Catalina collapsed into the cushioned wicker chair in the corner. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Jimin. He ran a gentle hand through Jimin’s hair, tucking it away from his eyes and letting his thumb brush against his cheek. All of a sudden, Catalina felt like she was intruding.

Jimin stirred, mumbling something under his breath and rolling onto his back. Taehyung took his hand and stroked his knuckles, keeping his eyes on Jimin’s sleeping face.

“Did you turn him?” Catalina asked. Taehyung nodded.

“It was selfish of me,” he said. “I know he didn’t want this, and I did it anyway. But I couldn’t lose him. Not again.”

“Again?” Catalina asked.

“I think he’s Adrianna,” said Taehyung. Catalina’s jaw dropped. He glanced up and noticed her shock. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Catalina shrugged.

“I do,” said Taehyung. “I think he might be Adrianna. He reminded me of her from the moment I met him. And if he isn’t, then he’s my second soulmate. People can have multiple soulmates, did you know that?”

“I never really believed in soulmates,” said Catalina.

               “Well, I do,” said Taehyung. “So, whatever the case is, I couldn’t lose him. He’s too important.”

               “I understand,” said Catalina, thinking of Jungkook. She wanted to see him. But she was worried she wouldn’t be able to control herself. Her craving was no longer overwhelming, but she could still smell him, and he smelled incredible. She could still hear his heart beating.

               “Who turned me?” she asked.

               “Hoseok,” said Taehyung.

               “Is he okay? I never saw him again since the beginning of the raid,” said Catalina.

               “He is okay,” said Taehyung. “He was hurt really badly during the fight, but he healed up fast. He’s downstairs if you want to see him.”

               “I want to see Jungkook,” said Catalina.

               “You need a chaperone for that,” said Taehyung. Catalina wanted to argue, but she knew he was right.

               Just then, Jimin’s eyes fluttered open.

               “Taehyungie?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

               “I’m right here, Jiminie,” said Taehyung, smiling down at him.

               “I’ll go find Hoseok,” Catalina said, slipping out the door. Neither of them seemed to have heard her.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 11 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 10 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Months had passed since I was taken to the Police Station for questioning. Luckily, my life had been pretty uneventful and the days went by slowly. Juna and her baby were healthy, shoen by the boxes and pieces of baby furniture over every surface in the apartment. Apparently, she's an avid online shopper. And it was my job to clean up after her. At times, I forgot we were once separate entities, no connections and supposedly no knowledge on the other. Now I was practically waiting on her hand and foot.

Noburu and I had gotten... closer. Because I wasn’t in the committing stage of my life at that moment, we mainly just hung out at the bowling alley or had lunch together at fast food eateries and cafes during the day. He was free to date whoever he wanted, we weren’t even an official item, so I wasn’t going to hold him back because I knew I would never be able to give him what other, normal, girls could. I knew he would never know who I really was, and I was fine with that.

As I walked down the street, on the way to my night job, I gazed up at the sky. With all that time to myself during my commute from workplace to workplace, I had moments where I thought back on my past. At the moment, my mom was filtering through my thoughts. I wondered what my life would have been like if she had taken us with her. Or if she had stayed all together. I honestly didn't blame her for what she did, she found her chance and she took it, not knowing whether she'll live or not. ‘But, I can't say I could do the same…’

Sighing, I opened the door to the club, trying to get all memories of my past out of my head so I could greet Noburu cheerfully, like usual. 

Inside, however, I was affronted by a scene of destruction. Tables and chairs were overturned. The glasses that hung on the walls were smashed and the stench of alcohol was almost unbearable. My shoes almost stuck to the floor as I tiptoed through the shards of glass to inspect further, hoping the vandal wasn't still here. Just in case, though, I pulled the switchblade knife out of my bag that I held for instances like these that were likely the Hoshino mafia's doing.

Suddenly, I heard a crunch behind me and I tried to spin around to see if it was Noburu, who would often get to work before me. Before I could catch the gaze of that person, a gloved hand clamped hard on my mouth and an arm wrapped around my body. I jumped up and down, screaming, just to try and get out of the assailant's strong grasp by hitting the thick forearms with the bud of my palm. Without even a huff of effort, who I assumed to be a man, picked me up as I struggled for my life. It had to be one of my father's men, why else would someone kidnap me?

Despite all my struggling, and digging the blade as far into the man's arm as I could, I was thrown into the back of a van. Scrambling to my feet, my weapon still stuck in the assailant's body, I tried to jump through the open door, but my ankle was grabbed and pulled back in. In effect of my fall, I hit my head on something sticking out of the floor, knocking me right out.

~~~~~~

When I stirred again, my vision was blurry and my skull felt heavy. I tried to move my hands to rub my tired eyes, but I quickly discovered my wrists were bound to the arms of the chair I was sitting on, as well as my ankles to the legs. 

Adrenaline pumping through my system, my gaze darted around the dark room. There were no lights, it almost felt like I was still asleep, trapped in my own consciousness. Noticing a moving figure in the corner of the room, I squinted. What resulted in that was an evil chuckle.

"You're finally awake." The haunting voice of my father echoed through the room and my heart stopped. My ears rang, remembering the day I had almost killed him. How was he here? Kaga and I were barely able to make it out as unharmed as we were. I couldn’t really form words in that moment, I could hardly remember any of my teachings of the Japanese language, all I knew was pain and confusion.

Slowly, the dim lighting flickered on and I found myself in a concrete box. There was one door across from me. There were no windows. No vents. Just the electric lights hanging from the ceiling and the chair I was sitting on. Only now did I realise the deathly chill in the air, which likely meant we were underground. If we were outside, the concrete would heat up and turn that room into a pressure cooker.

"You're not going to greet your father? After all you've done!" My father had been making his way to my side as I inspected the room in a clearer light. Once he was close enough, he kicked the legs of my chair, forcing me to the ground with a loud crashing sound as metal met concrete. As I hadn't been expecting it, I hit my head and the pain was immeasurable. I whimpered, not wanting the man who raised me to hear the true extent of my pain.

"Don't worry, kitten. Soon you will learn. You will sing." Pulling on my hair to get me to look at him, my father spat in my face. There, I noticed the horrific scar across his face. I smirked, knowing that was my doing, and spat right back with the slime that coated my tongue from breathing through my mouth for so long. He dropped my head and this time I was able to save myself from the pain, although the effort I needed to hold my head up felt like I was lifting a semi-truck with my neck. My father then left, allowing another man in to put me upright.

~~~~~~

It felt like hours had passed as I sat alone in that lightless room. I was dehydrated and hungry and the pain in my head hadn't settled much. I was growing dizzy and tired, but I knew I had to stay awake if I wanted to live.

"Hungry, Miss Hoshino?" A man's calm voice made me look up from glaring at the floor, trying to concentrate on staying conscious. I watched him walk through a square of light with a tray of bread and water. The lights in the room flashed on and my eyes squinted at the glaring bulbs. I didn't recognise the man, but he didn't seem like the type to associate with my father. He was thin and not as tall as most men, from what I could see from my chair. His eyes were soft, but I knew not to trust that kind smile if he was allowed to wonder my father’s premises. Even to enter that vault-like room, which I had no knowledge of in my time there, he must have been a high-standing, well-trusted official in the gang. 

After him, followed someone with another chair, which the man sat in. He held a cup to my mouth, but I turned my head away from it. There was no way I would drink anything they offered me. Who knew what they put in it? Psychedelics or roofies. Anything to get my guard down.

"Do you want to live, Miss Hoshino?" The man's tone turned grave, but I didn't let his threat phase me. "If you want to live through this ordeal, you will drink and you will eat." He demanded, albeit with as soft a tone as any. 

‘Ordeal?’ My first semi-concious thought was a joking taunt at my own demise. I almost felt like laughing. If it wasn't for the pain thudding in my skull or the dire situation I was in, I might well have. This was far more than some ordeal. This was my nightmare, but also a frequent memory of my past. Maybe I didn't get locked in a room, trapped for hours on end, but I remembered the pain that didn't get treated for hours. I remembered the helplessness I felt, how pathetic I knew I was to just sit here and not being able to do anything to protect myself. I remembered counting the days between beatings and my father's rages, waiting for the next time I needed to lock away my tears so that he didn't get madder and hit me harder. 

However, I also knew he was telling the truth. I hadn't had much of a dinner because Juna was being picky and the meal she cooked took too long for me to eat with them. I had planned to eat something at the club, but that chance was far out the window. 

With the last of my determination used up, I turned back to him, not meeting his gaze. Softly, he held my chin as he tilted the cup towards my mouth. Then, silently, he fed me bits of bread- tasteless and stale. And when he was done, he was gone, the lights switching off again when the door closed, clunks of door bolts and key locks echoing from the other side as the only humane person I would ever see in that room left me to my punishment.

~~~~~~

A few more hours passed before that door opened again. This time, it was a large man with large muscles. He cracked his knuckles as he grinned at me. I knew what that stance meant, dread making me want to throw up the sustinance I had ingested some time before. I didn't know exactly how long I had been left in there alone, it was hard to keep track of time when your consciousness is wavering with every passing second, but I knew, or hoped, it had been a long time. Maybe Juna would notice I was missing. Maybe Noburu would call someone when he made it into work. What if he had walked in on the vandals first? What if he was bleeding out in the back room or the alleyway outside? What if he had called out to me for help and I didn't hear him? 

‘Let the hazing begin.’ I thought hopelessly, pushing the worries I knew I couldn't deal with right now to the side as he took each step towards me with growing intimidation.

~~~~~~

Hit after hit after hit, I continued to force my mouth shut. I couldn't let this man know I felt the pain he was pounding into me. I wouldn't let anymore have that satisfaction. I had been fading in and out of consciousness, but he always made sure I was awake enough to witness him torturing me. In some ways, that was the worst part.

"You'll bend to us soon." The man's deep voice announced in a slow drool as he pounded his fist into my stomach. If I had eaten anything more, I probably would have thrown up on him, but there was nothing in me to reject, save maybe my own blood that was surely trickling into my mouth, stomach, oesophagus and whatever other internal organ he had punctured.

Panting, the violence finally came to an end when the man noticed my consciousness fading for a final time. I could feel the bruises arising on my skin as my head hung low. Maybe I could feel blood pouring into places blood shouldn't be. I had no energy to watch him leave the room, lock the bolted door, and turn the lights off. With all my energy beaten out of me, I slipped into oblivion.

~~~~~~

A searing pain erupted from my leg and I was pulled out of the bottomless pit my mind had turned into. Caught off guard, I screamed out as my eyes flashed open. There, I found my father pushing his lit cigar into my bare thigh. I was still wearing the skimpy dress I was kidnapped in.

"This will teach you to intervene with daddy's work." Through gritted teeth, my father whispered over my cries.

"Stop! Please, stop!" I cried out, my voice hoarse and dry. But, despite my pleas, he just moved the cigar to a different spot on my leg, scorching my skin. If I could use any of my senses, I'm sure I would have smelt my flesh being cooked by the lit ash.

"Hurts, doesn't it? To feel and smell your skin cooking as you have no room for escape." When the cigar had burnt down to where he couldn't hold it anymore, he stepped back. That's when I noticed the medical trolley by the door. My vision was blurry from the tears that I shed and thehead injury I had sustained in my failed escape attempt, but I could make out there were a lot of sharp, shiny objects thrown carelessly onto it. 

"I warned you what would happen if you tried to leave, kitten. And I never go back on my promises." My father took a clean white rag from his suit pant pocket and wiped his hands clean of his sweat and the cigar ash as he took steps towards his torture equipment.

"Please... I haven't... done anything... to you." I took weak, long breaths as he sorted through the tools, trying to find the perfect one that suited his mood.

"You have done far more than nothing! My business is ruined! I have government men coming to my offices every day because of you. I can't even leave the house without being spotted." My father roared back, his face alive with sweat and rage. I jumped at memories of my past punishments as he picked up a pair of clamps. 

"You will learn to respect your father's work. And you will tell me where your mother is." As his steps echo closer, I felt my mind slipping again. My eyes clouded over as unbearable pain set my body on fire, but I still shivered in the icy, artificial air of the room.

~~~~~~

"Detective Kaga!" A woman came storming into our team room. My gaze shot up from the pictures in front of me and I glared, only to be shocked with what I saw. The same woman who I once taught at the academy, once presumed dead, stood there with a massive stomach. She was breathing heavily and her face was screwed up with worry. Behind her, I saw a man running in, asking her to calm down.

"Miss, if you could calm down-." Soma stood up to guide her away from me, but she only glared at him. I couldn’t tell if it was to ward him off or beg for his help.

"My sister's gone missing! Please, you have to help me find her!" She wailed as tears collected in her eyes. She was so distraught she hadn't even noticed the horrors that laid all over the office. Hundreds of pictures of crimes laid over the desks, but she wasn't phased. Then, I remembered the woman who screamed at me in the rock climbing centre.

"Miss, you need to go to reception." Ayumu tried to help Soma, but she pushed them out of her way.

"You are the only one that can help her. Please, she'll die if you don't find her!" Tears streamed down her face as she approached me. She bowed, despite the mass in her centre.

"Do you have to yell?" I grumbled and turned back to my work. For all I knew, this could be a pregnant woman's hormones making her worry too much.

Once I had spoken, her head shot up with a furious expression. "My sister is Atsuko Motomori. She saved your fucking life and this is how you repay her? By staring endlessly and pictures of murders and tortures?" She roared and I felt my body freeze up. 

For months, I had tried to forget about the girl who called herself my aide. I was furious that she had run into that hotel, only to die trying to do the right thing. I remembered seeing her in that hotel, smoke on the ceiling and her hateful voice shouting. I remembered being dragged down hallways as she begged me to stay awake. I remembered her deafeated laugh when she thought we were gone for good. 

Or at least I thought I did. Everyone had told me she never left that building. She was dead even though I remembered her kissing me and dragging me into that basement. It was so strange to see her face over and over again as I met the white-haired bouncer who interrupted our investigation months ago.

"Miss, please sit down." Ishigami entered the scene and wheeled a chair over to the woman.

"Not until you agree to find my sister." She glared at me and I sighed, nodding my head to the chair for her to sit down.

"Explain yourself." Ishigami sighed as the man who had entered with her held the woman's shoulder. He looked familiar, but I couldn't tell from where. I couldn't look at the woman as she slowly started to reveal her situation.

"My sister and I ran away from home. Our father is an evil man, I'm sure you know him. He's the one responsible for the bombing at that hotel..." I can feel her gaze bore into my back. "He's the head of the Hoshino mafia. When we escaped, Katsumi changed our names, our identities, even our pasts, and we split up. She said it would be more dangerous if we stayed together..." I could hear her tears escape her eyes as she made a strange squeaking sound. "But, I got kidnapped by my father. She saw me. Apparently you were on an investigation at the time..." She sighed and my eyes grew wide. ‘That woman with Takeda in the sweet shop was her?’

"We were able to meet at a cafe to discuss a plan to get me out. But my father had me followed and shot at us..." She bit her lip and the man held her hand. "She stayed behind to save those people. Then, when the hotel bombing happened, I waited for her at the back entrance like she said she would, but... She was late. She's never late. That's when I found you." The woman announced, I'm sure referring to me. "She wouldn't leave you in there. Even though you were too heavy to get out alone, she stuck by your side until I came along..."

"She changed her name again. Well, everyone thought she was dead, so she had to get her old passport... She delivered the evidence she collected when we lived with my father. Everything you have here is my sister's work. Even when my father would beat her, she never told him. Even when my mother went missing, she told me this was the only way to save us." She started to get emotional again and I picked up one of the pictures from my desk. The quality was poor, likely because it was old. I would have never thought a child could take these, though. I thought of my niece, a girl, young and annoying, being put through something this woman was suggesting Atsuko went through. My instincts roared with anger.

"Why do you think she's missing?" Ayumu interjected and I felt my heart stop. If she was involved with the gang we had been investigating, who knows what could have come of her.

"The club she works at was broken into. Her friend normally comes in first, but he said he was running late and had told Katsumi to set up without him. It has to be my father! There's no one else who would kidnap her in broad daylight!" I looked out at the sun setting on the horizon. Worry flooding my thoughts, wondering where she could be. 

Atsuko was alive.

~~~~~~

The cycle of punishment and feeding continued for the remainder of my time in that box. I lost all concept of time as the darkness appeared and disappeared as people came in and out. I would cry when I was alone and try my hardest not to when I wasn't. From what I could tell, my legs were black and blue with bruises and dirt and cigar ash.

Before the routine started, when I woke up for the first time, I felt liquid running down my forehead, but now all I felt was something dry on my skin. It was likely blood spilling from the head injury I endured when I tried to escape from that van. I had lost all hope. No one knew where I was. Juna wouldn't be dumb enough to call the police about my disappearance. Even if she was, there would be no way anyone could find me. Not in time, anyway. I knew I'd die in this room. Alone. Unidentified. And then thrown in the city river or buried in my father's yard, where he kept most of his victims. His trophies. To imagine the respect he would gain for killing his own daughter who had tried to rat him out...

Suddenly, the familiar clunk of the bolted door sounded and the door opened. The heavy footsteps of my father approached, but my head hung low. He grabbed the back of my hair and threw my head back.

"Have you given up yet, kitten? Will you tell me where your mother is?" My father smiled at my defeated body as I felt my heart race. My breathing quickened as I worried about what he was saying. Every time he came in here, he would ask me where my mother was. It confused me. I wondered if this was some sort of tactic to break me. To push me into reality.

"She's dead. You killed her." I gritted my teeth and he growled, throwing my head forward into the bucket of water he had brought in. I choked and spluttered, trying to blow the water out of my mouth. But, I was so caught off guard by the attack I breathed some in.

"Enough games, Katsumi! I know she got in contact with you. She wouldn't leave without giving you the chance." Pulling my head back up, I panted and coughed as he started to pace to room, airing out his anger. My mind started racing, water running down my face and eyes fluttering to stop the stinging. Did he actually not know where she was? Had he never found her?

"Boss!" A man came running through the door and I was intrigued, but I had no strength in my neck to lift my head and see his expression. 

I could tell he was panicked by the tone in his voice. My father grew angier, shouting about how “no one could enter this room without permission”. The two held a conversation and although I was within hearing range, my vision grew dizzy and water plugged my ears. I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying, but I could feel the liquid trickling down my forehead again.

~~~~~~

It took days to try and find evidence of where Atsuko was. There were security cameras outside the club she worked at, but the van she was pushed into was unmarked. Not to mention how popular the make was. We couldn't track it to an owner. That lead was dead the moment we watched the tapes. 

I went to every office building and house tied to the Hoshino mafia, but all I found was drugs and illegal money printing. Finally, Ishigami signed off on us storming the house Juna, Atsuko's sister, had told us they grew up in. It was a traditional Japanese style house, but Juna said there was a basement. They made their own electricity and didn't use the city's plumbing. They were completely off the grid.

Down a street that led off of the house surrounded by fields, we set up a base of operations for the raid. 

"We can't know what kind of equipment or security they have, so we need to be discreet." My team and Ishigami's team surrouned a table as we went over our plan.

"I’ll lead and find the moron. I know where she is." I announced and everyone looked at me with varying degrees of confusion. I couldn't say her name aloud, I wouldn't, not in this situation. I couldn't believe, didn't want to believe, that it was her trapped in that house. I wanted to think of her as the dumb rookie that died in that hotel, at least then her suffering would be over by now. But, for now, she would just be known as the moron.

"How could you possibly know that?" Ishigami complained with an annoyed look on his face. "-You know what, I don't want to know." He continued with a sigh before I could explain and I smirked. 

Soon enough, we were infiltrating the base.

~~~~~~

Once I had found my way through the house, the rest of our teams clearing the rest of the building, I discovered the entrance to their basement in a building in the rear of their land. It was an elevator, almost like something from an old mineshaft.

"Hyogo!" Ayumu called over, running across the lawn. I turned to him after I called the elevator up. If it was already at the bottom, someone had to be down there, so I kept an eye out for when it opened. 

"What if she's dead? From what her sister said-." Ayumu's expression didn't seem worried about the girl that had saved my life months before. Although, he was cut off by the severe look in my face. As we stared at each other, the elevator arrived.

Before I could react, Ayumu shot into it. I turned and saw an old man that I recognised, fall to the floor.

"That's Hoshino," Ayumu announced as we both let the man cry out in pain, blood spilling out around him. I looked back at him, wondering what he was going to do. We both knew what this man had done; to both his own family and strangers. We knew what he deserved. But, there was a voice in the back of my head that forced me to show him mercy.

"Get him medical assistance. He'll pay for his crimes in jail." I sighed, directing two detectives from our unit to carry the man out. Ayumu stared at me with a confused expression as I got into the elevator. Then, he smirked, like he knew something I didn’t, as the doors closed. All I could do was scowl.

~~~~~~

The doors opened once again in a long hallway. The walls were concrete and the lights were dim. There were five windowless, metal doors, the one at the end of the hall open a crack. I inched towards it, keeping an eye out for anyone planning to attack me. Soon, I reached the door and pushed it open with my foot, pointing my gun and flashlight ahead of me.

There, in the middle of the room, was a woman in a short dress. Her head was hung low, hair so wet it dripped into the bucket in front of her. However, I could see a dark red liquid leaking out of the crown of her head, turning the water red. Her legs were wounded with bruises and burn marks, as well as her arms and chest. I ran to her, kneeling down to hold her head up asI dropped my flashlight and gun to my sides. The only light I had to see her with was the flickering lights from the hallway.

It was Atsuko, or should I say, Katsumi Hoshino. She had a black eye and blood dripped down her pale face as I cupped her cheeks. Her lips were chapped and flaky, only making it harder for the little cuts to heal. I gulped as I felt her shallow breath on my face.

"Please... St... Stop." Her voice was frail and faint. Her mouth barely moved, making me question if she spoke at all.

Looking around, I saw her arms were bound to the arms of the metal chair and her ankles were tied to the legs of it. I untied her as quickly as I could and her body fell limply into mine.

"You moron." I sighed as my heart panged with guilt and... fear? I was afraid to lose her again. The happy go lucky imbecile who used to follow me around asking questions. I was afraid to let someone less die like this. Alone and cold.

Hooking my arms under her back and knees, I picked her up and ran back to the elevator. On the surface, Ayumu was waiting for me. He turned and was in shock of who I held.

"Is she dead?" He managed to say. 

Without a word, I ran towards the front of the house, hoping to get the ambulance in time to prove him wrong.

~~~~~~

At the hospital, I jumped off the ambulance as Katsumi was wheeled into the ER. The blood that was seeping out of her head was covering my shirt as I watched the doctors surround her. They pushed the defibrillator into her already fried skin. Her body jumped, but they had to go again.

"Detective Kaga!" I heard Katsumi's sister call out to me. Turning, I saw her running out of a car that had followed us from the scene. She insisted on coming with us, even in her state, which meant Soma had to look after her. 

"Did you find her?" She pleaded as she grabbed my shirt, noticing the blood staining it. Her eyes filled with tears as I looked back to where the pregnant woman's sister had been, but I noticed them wheeling her away.

~~~~~~

Days passed since I heard about any change in Katsumi's condition. She survived the surgery for her internal bleeding and cracked ribs. She received treatment for her concussion. But she still hadn't woken up.

"Her brain is protecting itself. She endured days of torture and pain. It will take time for her to wake up again." The surgeon reported to Juna. I had come with Naruko, Katsumi's old friend, to visit and overheard their conversation before we could make ourselves known. Naruko had become my new aide since the incident, but she wasn't nearly as good as Atsuko was. She was always getting distracted and tired from the long days. But, Ishigami told me to bear with her because she had lost her friend.

"What will happen when she does wake up?" Juna asked, her voice frail. The surgeon hesitated before answering. 

"...Will she wake up?" Juna asked again when the man didn't answer her question.

"I'm sorry. But with the trauma her body went through, it's unlikely." The doctor sighed and the woman fell to her knees. Her boyfriend ran to her side and the doctor excused himself.

"Detective, I don't think now is a good time." The man in charge of Atsuko's care explained to me with a stern expression. I felt Naruko tearing up beside me. I nodded, turning to my new servant. 

"Are you going to interrupt them?" I asked her but she just shook her head, knowing it would be rude and incredibly inappropriate. We turned to leave as we listened to the sister's wailings echo down the hallway.

[elizabethemerald]

Dreams of Drowning: Chap 11

Bular has come at last to end the Lakes. With Toby by his side, his magic now awakened, plus most of the rest of his family, Jim is ready to face him. But he needs to hurry. Claire's time is running out.

AO3

Jim raised his shield just in time to stop Bular’s charge. He was sure he would have been sent soaring again, however his legs felt like they were glued to the ground. A quick glance downward showed orange flames licking at his ankles, holding him in place. 

He blocked another swing from one of Bular’s blades then connected his mind to Toby’s in an instant. Toby released Jim’s foot allowing him to step forward, driving Bular back. Barbara joined the connection a second later, a navy blast of light from her disrupted Bular’s next swing. 

Jim watched as his mom’s magic cut across the blackened, coal like skin. Her magic looked like it was causing the skin to unstitch itself, cuts opened in his skin, which would turn ashen and fall away with each wave of magic. 

Bular roared as the injuries spread across his skin. He pulled his arm back to swing but was unbalanced as one of his swords unexpectedly weighed almost nothing while the other crashed to the ground, each surrounded by orange flames. Jim used the distraction to dart forward and carve several deep slashes across the stone skin. 

Toby followed quickly after with several powerful blows from his hammer. Each one knocked the monster back a step. Meanwhile Barbara darted around his side and unleashed another powerful blast of her light. Zelda and Walter circled with her, each carefully aiming their shots for wounds she caused, where they seemed to have greater impact. Jim smiled grimly as his blue flames roared down his arms. He jumped inside Bular’s guard and knocked away one of his blades with a powerful cerulean blow. 

He only had a moment to celebrate before Bular grabbed him across the chest with his now free hand. He slammed Jim twice into the pavement, each impact earning an airless grunt of pain as the breath was forced from his lungs. 

Bular lifted Jim again to finish crushing him into the asphalt when Toby’s magic whirled around his massive forearm. He couldn’t bring that hand any closer to the ground. A wave of navy light washed over Jim and he felt air rush into his body again as his mother healed his injuries. 

Jim knew he only had a moment to act, but Bular still held him by the chestplate of his armor, one massive hand almost as large as Jim’s whole torso. He breathed, allowing his armor and weapons to dissipate and return to his amulet. 

He slipped out of Bular’s grasp, landing on his back. He caught his amulet and pressed it back to his chest as he rolled forward. The armor reformed around him, Daylight reappearing in his hand and Jim thrust the blade forward with every ounce of strength he had. 

With a deafening roar and a blinding flash Jim drove Daylight deep into Bular’s chest. The light burned through his body, falling in embers from the cracks and injuries and blazing out of his eyes and mouth. The roar of magic was almost drowned out by Bular’s scream of rage and pain as his body slowly petrified into stone. 

Jim tried to crawl out from under the falling statue but knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Just before he was crushed a blazing hammer briefly filled his vision as Toby smashed the statue away, scattering rubble that had once been a man down the street. 

“He’s gone.” Barbara said softly. She took a step towards Jim, but stumbled and would have fallen had Zelda not dove to her side to catch her. She helped her wife sit down as exhaustion suddenly made her limbs feel like lead. 

Toby plopped down next to Jim, his legs splayed out in front of him. He breathed out, allowing his cheeks to puff up as he did so. He slowly slouched back until he was laying flat on the ground, his chest heaving. 

Strickler was looking around at everyone and pulled out his phone. No doubt he was calling some of his less savoury contacts to help cover up the evidence of the battle that had just happened. 

Jim looked at the rest of his family then pulled himself shakily to his feet. Barbara made a concerned noise at him as she watched rise. If he felt this tired he couldn’t imagine how tired Toby and his mom were. He had his magic for weeks. Barbara was barely sitting at one week, and Toby less than 30 minutes. 

“Young Atlas what are you doing?” Strickler put his hand over the mouth piece to address Jim as he continued to drag himself over to his car. 

Jim ignored him in favour of stepping into his car and trying to start the engine. 

“Little Gynt, this is no time for rash decisions! We need time to rest and recover!” Zelda said from where she was trying to help Barbara stand. Jim glanced over to her and was shocked, but also less so, to see her eyes were glowing green. It wouldn’t be long till her magic was awakened to, some tired part of his brain thought. 

“I have to go. They’re hurting her again. I can’t just let it happen, I have to go.” Desperation tinged his voice as he turned the key again and again. The car refused to start, the engine just whining to itself each time he tried. “God damn it car!”

He smacked his hand against the dash and in a flash of blue fire the car started, roaring to life. He leaned out his window as he pulled out of his driveway, carefully avoiding Toby’s overturned truck. 

“You all need to rest, I’ll be ok. I’m just going to go and stop them hurting Claire and then we can get back on schedule to break her out. I… I can’t…”

“We understand Jimbo.” Toby waved from the ground. “Go do your hero thing. We’ll back you up if you need it. As soon as the world comes back into focus.”

Jim shook his head, a small smile on his face at his friend’s antics, before it slipped away. He could well remember how terrified Claire had felt in that last vision. And now he couldn’t sense her at all. He needed to get to 49B, and find some way to stop Le Fay from hurting her. 

It felt like no time at all before he was pulling into the parking lot where he worked. He sat for just a moment trying to sense Claire, but she wasn’t responding to his thoughts. Corrupted Heartstone. They were going to kill her with the cursed stone if he didn’t stop them. 

He left his car and hurried to one of the side entrances, this entrance was on the opposite side of the facility as the kitchen, so hopefully no one would notice him coming in. With a breath his armor fully covered him, including his head and face. Gunmar and Le Fay didn’t need to know who was breaking in just yet. 

Jim drew Daylight and was considering how best to wedge it into the door to get in when a cough behind him made him whirl around. He raised his sword ready to have his second fight of the day, but behind him stood the old man who had changed his amulet. 

“That might be a little suspicious.” He said in his same gravely tone. “Allow me.”

He stepped forward and Jim stepped back. The man put his hand close to the card reader where staff swiped in and a small green spark jumped from his hand to the reader and Jim could hear the door unlock. He grabbed the door and pulled it open. 

Jim stepped inside and jogged down the hall towards the elevator. The older man followed at a more leisurely pace. Jim noticed he wasn’t trying to cover his face at all. 

“Aren’t you worried about the cameras?”

The man shook his head, then held up a hand with his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart. A green spark jumped in between the two digits for a second before disappearing. 

“Handy.” Jim said softly. “Why are you helping me?”

They had reached the elevator. Jim pressed the call button then pressed himself against the wall. The man seemed to think for a minute, then as the elevator opened with a ding he spoke. 

“Consider me an interested party.” He said. 

Jim nodded and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the bottom floor. His only thoughts now were on how terrified Claire had been in his vision. She had been trying to scream even though she was under water. The chains on her arms had been so tight he could still feel the memory of her arms straining in their sockets. If this stranger could help get to her and save her this pain, then Jim didn’t care about anything else. 

When the door opened on the research level, Jim stepped out Daylight in his hands. He had been expecting guards or researchers like he had seen when he had delivered food. But there were none. He stayed in his fighting stance while he slowly crept down the hall. From his and Toby’s observations they knew that there were researchers here at almost all hours of the day. And the guards had a set rotation that never left the facility unprotected. Yet there was no one here. 

All of Jim’s senses told him this was wrong that there should be someone. He crept forward while the stranger walked calmly behind him. He was almost to the door where he had sensed Claire from before when another cough sounded from behind him. He turned cautiously and his mysterious helper gestured toward another door, not the one Claire was behind, or the room where he had danced just the other day. 

“I believe that you might find the easiest way to help her in here.” Without waiting for a response he opened the door and stepped inside. Jim hurried in after him. 

“Why? What’s in here-” 

The words stopped in Jim’s throat. Before him stood an open pool of some strange liquid. It was electric green and the surface seemed to spark and fizzle. 

“What-?”

Again the words wouldn’t come. Before his eyes the green liquid began to change. It became dark, like someone was pouring ink into the pool. It was soon black as pitch, black as-

“Corrupted Heartstone!”

Then the door slammed shut behind him. 

Jim spun on his heel bringing Daylight up but it was knocked out of his hand by a powerful backhand from Gunmar. Jim took a step backwards as he saw the massive man, who had been hidden behind the door. On the other side stood Dr. Le Fay, with a smug grin on her face. He turned away from them to the stranger in green. 

“You did this?”

“Yes.”

The man stepped up to him, his hand flying to Jim’s amulet. With a tug the amulet came away, bringing his armor with it. Jim fell to his knees as all of the pain and exhaustion of the day suddenly piled on top of him. His vision failed and everything went black for just a moment. 

Just as his vision was clearing, but before he could rise chains snaked out of the open pool, each lit a golden light. Jim tried to fight them off, to wrestle himself free, but slowly, surely, they bound him hand and foot. He growled and squirmed, desperately trying to get away from them. Dr. Le Fay’s golden boot entered his field of vision as she stepped up to him. 

“So you are the one entity bonded to. I thought as much James.” 

Jim bared his teeth. 

“Entity? You mean Claire? The woman I love? The woman I will not rest until I free?” Jim snarled at her. “Why don’t you call her by her name? Her name is Claire! And I will free her from your control.”

“Free her? Oh no James. You are going to join her.”

Morgan Le Fay smiled at him as she gestured lazily with one hand. Jim felt the slack in the chains disappear. He turned as best as he could, away from Le Fay, away from Gunmar, away from the stranger who tricked him into coming here. The black pool filled his vision and fear filled his mind. 

Jim reached out with his mind, a wordless, terror filled cry as he was dragged forward. Dragged closer and closer to the inky darkness. He tried to brace himself on the edge of the pool, fighting with everything he had to stay on land. And then he felt a foot on his back. He glanced backwards to see Gunmar’s cruel smile. 

“Worm.” The man sneered and pushed Jim over the edge. 

A single last scream echoed in his mind before the blackness swallowed him and consciousness was stolen from him.

[sighingstarbeam]

Spies and Gods Chapter 12

Summary: Reader holds up her end of the deal with Loki. The only question is will either of them survive?

Word Count: 3,721

A/N: Here's my final chapter that I cranked out before going back to school a few days from now. Not sure how busy I'll be due to everything going on in the world right now, but I can assure you guys that I don't intentionally plan on abandoning this project. With that being said, depending on how much free time I have I'll either take a short hiatus or write bit by bit. Stay safe and healthy everyone.

Chapter 11 | Chapter 13

You woke up to the cool touch of leather. Everything was quiet and still, yet your head was pounding and your stomach was doing flips. Getting your sight oriented, you realized you were in the driver’s seat of the car you took, still parked in the same spot from before. You rubbed your eyes, wincing from a pain from your wrists. They were bruised in the shape of fingers. Those definitely weren’t there before. 

To your right you saw a figure, elbow resting on the edge of the window, hand supporting his head as his eyes were closed. The figure seemed peaceful, vulnerable. Your eyes adjusted to see that the figure was Loki. His tie was loosened while the first two buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing his bare chest slightly. It was weird seeing him so calm. You almost didn’t want to disturb him, but you were beyond confused.

“Loki?” You nudged his arm, his eyes fluttering open. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, his posture straightening.

“I feel like shit, but I’m okay.” You rubbed your temples in an attempt to sooth the pulsing, “What happened? How did we get here?”

Loki adjusted his position to face you, “What was the last thing you remember?”

You took a moment to retrace your memory, “I remember we were with my friends, and I got mad at you for something and went to the bar. There was this guy…” You tensed when you began to remember, “He said his name was Nate- no, Nick. It was Nick. We talked and went to go dance… and that’s it.” You buried your face in your palms, your nails digging into your skin. “I’m such an idiot! I let my guard down for one second and this happens…” You quickly looked down at yourself to find that your clothes were still intact. No rips or tears, or even any signs of it being removed. “Oh God, please tell me he didn’t-”

“He didn’t have a chance to do anything.” Loki interrupted your thought, “He is far from here, and if he ever shows his face here he wouldn’t even have a chance to breathe for mercy.”

Loki sneered his last words. You couldn’t think of anything to say or do but to just sit there, absorbing what happened. You finally broke the silence, “Did you carry me all the way up here?” 

“What?”

“We’re on the third floor and the elevator is busted. Unless you can fly, you must’ve carried me.”

Loki chuckled, “We should be returning soon if we don’t wish to get caught.”

Your eyes widen, “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” You looked at your phone to see it was past two in the morning.

“Dammit, why didn’t you drive us?”

Loki shrugged, “I haven’t a clue how to get back, let alone know the address to enter for directions.”

You combed your fingers through your hair, “Okay, this is fine. Hopefully everybody’s sleeping when we get back.” You started the car and left the parking garage. The next few minutes you wanted to ask Loki so many questions about what happened, but you were thankful that you were out of it and going home. “Loki?” 

He turned his gaze from the window to you, “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

You saw him smile weakly before returning to the window. “You’re welcome.”

---

You have been talking to the strange man for over ten minutes. You promised (more so threatened) Loki that after one drink you would be returning back to headquarters. As much as he loved swooning the group of ladies off of their feet, Loki began growing weary of the night, patiently waiting for you to be done with your drink and done with this depraved looking individual. 

Looking back, Loki  surprised himself by genuinely enjoying his time out up until your argument, which to him was a minor complication, but nonetheless everything else went well. As much as he was restless to get away from the Avengers and his brother, Loki still had to weigh his options when the opportunity to spend the night out presented itself, even if it was with the daughter of Tony Stark and her Midgardian friends. Upon first arriving at the club he thought he would have the same feelings for humans as he did years ago; disgusting, weak, lesser than him, mere animals compared to his intellect. Instead he didn’t find them as disgusting.

Until Loki saw the man lead you to the dance floor. 

All right, no big deal. Loki figured it would just be another ten minutes or so. He tried to ignore you, yet he still couldn’t help to take a glimpse in your direction. When his eyes met yours, he quickly averted them and focused back to the girls. Maya and Lilly returned from the restrooms, more drinks in hand.

“Where’d Y/N go?” asked Lilly, scooching herself  back into the booth.

“Out there with some boor.” Loki guided towards the wave of people dancing.

Maya squinted at the crowd trying to spot you, “I don’t see her.”

Without hesitation Loki shot up. Standing he scanned the dancers, not seeing you or the man among them. Something was definitely wrong. Loki couldn’t shake the feeling that you were in danger. Face revealing a hint of distress, Loki took long strides out of his seat towards where he last saw you. Clusters of people continuously blocked his path, his heart began to pound faster than usual with each one he bumped into.

Once he made it where you were, Loki was met with Lilly and Maya trailing not too far behind. “What’s going on?” Lilly asked in concern. 

Barely looking at the girls as his only interest was finding you, Loki replied, “I’m afraid Y/N was taken. We need to find her immediately.” 

Maya grabbed Loki’s shoulder, pointing to a backdoor, “There! I just saw her go through that door.”

Loki, Lilly, and Maya rushed through the mob as quickly as they could. Through pushes, elbowing, and shoving, they finally managed to get to the backdoor. 

On the other side you were being escorted to a black truck with four doors and tinted windows. Nick opened the door behind the driver’s side, carefully guiding you in. You tried to hit him before passing out with the exception of mumbled words leaving your lips. With the little strength you had you managed to scratch his face, leaving a cut that wasn’t deep enough to bleed but at least left some pain. 

Nick winced from your attack, “You bitch! Hold still and this’ll be easier.” He gripped your wrists as tight as he could, forcing you all the way over the seats. Now you were completely unconscious, motionless, helpless. As he released your wrists, Nick’s hand slid up your leg, reaching your thigh, “That’s better. If you would’ve shut your pretty little mouth sooner I would-”

Nick was too preoccupied to hear the backdoor open. He was forcefully interrupted when his head was bashed into the side of the car, followed by a body shoving him into the brick wall of the club behind them. Nick was met with the end of a sharp dagger held by Loki, his free arm pinned Nick to make sure he had no chance to escape.

“Do you really think an imbecile like you could kidnap a woman without anybody noticing?” Loki hissed, fury radiating in his eyes.

“I- Uh-” Nick stammered, sweat beading down his face, “I was taking her to the hospital. She fainted and I thought she needed help.”

“Really?” Loki shoved the dagger closer to Nick’s neck, nearly drawing blood. “And you wouldn’t think to look for the people she came with to aid her?” 

“L-Look man, I didn’t know. She told me she came alone.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll have you know I’m particularly skilled in the art of lies.”

While Loki interrogated Nick, Maya and Lilly came crashing through the door. They were alarmed when they saw Loki’s knife to Nick’s throat, but horrified when they saw you unconscious in the backseat of Nick’s truck. 

“Holy shit, Y/N!” Maya ran to you, carefully sitting your body up. “Hey, Y/N can you hear me? Come on you gotta wake up.” She was stroking your face in a soothing manner, hoping you would wake up. 

Lilly stepped next to Loki glaring at Nick, “Who the hell is this pervert?”

“That is an excellent question.” A thought settled in Loki’s mind. Was this man with Hydra? Could he be trying to kidnap you for them? “Who do you work for?” He demanded.

“I’m not telling you.” Nick sneered, somehow still feeling cocky.

Loki gave Nick a sadistic smile, “Let’s try that again.” Without warning Loki punched Nick in the stomach causing him to keel over onto his knees. Loki grabbed a handful of Nick’s hair on the back of his scalp and with a swift motion jerked his head to meet Loki’s eyes before punching him on the jaw. Nick collapsed from the blow, blood pooling from his nose and mouth. “One. Last. Time.” Loki dug his heel in Nick’s shoulder, pinning him where he was sprawled out on the ground, “Who do you work for? Is it with Hydra?”

Nick spit a mouthful of blood on the ground, “With who? No dude! I work for a firm a few blocks away.”

Loki scowled, knowing that he wasn’t telling the truth. “May I remind you that while I have my foot in a particularly breakable area that I am the god of lies.” He let gravity bring his weight down onto Nick.  “Out of everybody inside you chose Y/N specifically. Why?”

Nick let out a harsh grunt, “I can’t say! If I do they’ll kill me.”

“If you don’t tell, I’ll make sure of it personally that you’ll experience things far worse than death.” Loki dug further, an audible crack could be heard from Nick’s shoulder.

“F-Fine! I’ll tell, I’ll tell!” Loki released some of his weight but didn’t allow Nick complete freedom, “We worked together years ago, back in the children’s facility. I mean, not directly together, but the same division. I saw her in the tabloids the other day when she was with Tony Stark in Greenwich.” Maya and Lilly gave him strange looks, “Okay yeah I read tabloids. When I saw her picture I tracked her down.”

“What were you planning to do exactly?” Loki sneered.

“I-I figured I would take her to the higher ups as a surprise gift, get a promotion and a raise maybe?” Nick started to sweat from everybody’s eyes throwing daggers, “Bringing back one of the most notorious agents that’s been presumed dead would definitely give me points! I mean, killing a couple of tots is one thing but her? It was practically an extermination.”

The fire in Loki’s eyes fumed at Nick’s words. He dug his heel further into Nick’s shoulder causing him to release an audible and painful groan. Loki leaned down to Nick’s ear  and with a hushed tone said, “If it were up to me, I would skin you alive and leave you to the rats. Not before I rip you limb from limb with my bare hands.”

Nick was visibly trembling, “P-Please let me go! I swear I won’t tell anybody! Hydra doesn’t even know I’m here, if they did I’d be dead by now!”

Loki gave him a callous smile, “Oh don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you are well protected when I bring you with us where you’ll be happy to answer any and all questions we may have.” With one final swift kick to Nick sternum, Loki took a few steps away to admire his bloody work until he noticed you being supported by Maya. He rushed to her side to take you in his arms. You were like a rag doll having no control over your limbs. Your head constantly lolled back before Loki decided to carry you bridal style.

“It’s against my creed to cause harm to others,” Lilly strode to Nick who was trying to stand up, “but since you tried to kidnap my friend I can make the exception.” With that she kicked Nick as hard as she could in the ribs making him fall back on the ground.

“Yeah, you piece of shit!” Maya stood by Lilly and gave Nick a similar blow but to his side, causing him to cough and gasp for air. 

The girls turned to you in Loki’s arms almost lifeless. “We need to take her to the hospital.” Lilly said, taking her phone out to call an ambulance.

“No,” said Loki, looking down to your expressionless face, “I am responsible for Y/N. Let me take care of her, we have all the medical supplies she needs at the headquarters.”

At first Maya was doubtful of his decision, but reluctantly agreed while she took out a pen and paper from her purse, “Here’s our numbers,” she said, “if Y/N gets worse call us.” 

“Please do.” Lilly said, “I feel sick to my stomach about what happened.”

Loki nodded, taking the paper, “She’s very fortunate to have you as friends. You both seem to care about her very much.” Loki said, looking at your unresponsive face. You seemed peaceful, vulnerable. Loki couldn’t place it, but for some reason at this very moment he felt more protective of you. Or perhaps it was the adrenaline rush he experienced making him think this way. 

“Uh, guys? Where did he go?” Lilly pointed to where Nick’s broken body was. 

Maya ran to the end of the alley towards the street, throwing her arms in an exasperated shrug. “He’s gone. Sonofabitch booked it.”

“You don’t think he’ll come back, do you?” Lilly asked Loki, still carrying you in his arms.

Loki shook his head, “No, I believe he was telling the truth that they will kill him for failing an unauthorized mission. If he has the brain capacity he won’t tell his superiors of this night, neither shall we. If I may make a request, let’s not discuss this night with anyone, especially with our colleagues.” 

“We won’t.”

“What happened tonight stays out here,” Maya began, “but we’re still here for Y/N no matter what. But what’s Hydra?”

“Yeah,” said Lilly, “he mentioned that they worked together, but Y/N never liked to talk about her past.”

Loki hesitated, “I believe that is a question that she needs to answer for you another time. It’s rather… complicated, to say the least.”

Maya and Lilly nodded, “We understand,” said Maya, “I think we all have shit in our past we want to forget.”

Loki sighed, “I know that all too well. I must be going now. I will contact you when she wakes up.” Loki bid Maya and Lilly farewell, then promptly left the alley with you in his arms. 

---Summary: You're getting really tired of Loki's ego and arrogance.Word Count: 3,144A/N: WARNING: This chapter will depict sensitive subjects towards the end. Read at your own risk.Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

The drive back was quiet. It wasn’t an awkward sort of quiet, more so the type that you both needed after everything that happened. If you were a normal person you would linger on the memories of what led to your potential kidnapping. From when you met Nick, not paying attention to your drink for a split second, passing out, you would want to call the police and talk about your trauma with somebody, anybody. Yet you were far from being a normal person. Another one of your training lessons was to move on from any traumas you’ve experienced. You weren’t allowed to hold on. 

“Loki?” He tilted his head to you, “You don’t think Nick was a Hydra agent, do you?”

Loki clenched his jaw, luckily you were focused too much on the road that you didn’t notice, “No. I assure you I interrogated him and from what he could blubber he was just another lowlife mortal waiting for prey.”

“Oh.” You sighed in relief. You were already worried about getting back without being seen, having a Hydra spy on your as surely wouldn’t have helped. 

Thankfully when you returned to the headquarters there was nobody around when you parked the car back in the garage. It was after three in the morning, so you assumed there wasn’t anyone still working, yet you still wanted to take precaution. Upon leaving the garage, you took your heels off to make less noise. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, until with no forewarning Loki grabbed your shoulders to pin you to the nearest wall.

“Ugh!” You grunted, you saw him put his finger to his lips. Peeking around there were two lab assistants walking down the hallway in your direction. Body still and breath hitched, you waited for them to leave before speaking, “Could you be a little more gentle? I’m still kind of queasy.”

“Only if you ask politely.” He countered with a playful smirk. 

You rolled your eyes, then you moved him aside to get to the elevators. Once the two of you were in you pressed the button to your floor. There wasn’t much else to look at, so out of the corner of your eye you observed the enigma of the demigod standing right there. You had no idea what to make of Loki. The first day you met you wanted to figure him out like a human puzzle. Loki’s eyes spoke so much yet the way he presents himself left you utterly clueless. One moment you were absolutely nothing to him, then he hated your guts, then he saves your life. Surely he only saved you because he needed to get back as much as you did, given you were his ride home. However, he was so gentle and sincere to you when you were in the car after everything happened. Was this all an elaborate game he concocted just to mess with you? What made you so special that Loki decided you were his perfect target? 

The elevator’s ding woke you from your thoughts. You peered through the doors into the halls to find nobody there. It was home bound for both of you until your stomach dropped with sudden realization. The security cameras. 

“Shit. Shit shit shit!” You whispered.

“What?” Loki queried. 

“The cameras. I completely forgot about the cameras.”

Loki smiled in his mischievous manner, “Fortunately for us, I planned ahead.” As if on cue down the hall your bedroom door opened with… you coming out? You were in your pajamas, mug in hand walking to the water cooler next to the elevators. Seeing not-you was the weirdest thing you have ever witnessed. Loki’s illusion of you was almost to a T from the way you walked to the specific freckles you had on your body. Loki stepped out of the elevator next to your doppelganger filling your mug. “What do you think?”

You stepped out as well, observing yourself closer, “So the cameras can’t see us right now?”

“Only my illusion.” He said as you went back to your room.

“I hate to admit it, but that’s kind of cool and really handy.”

You both made your way to your respected rooms. Your feet were sore, your head was throbbing, and overall you were a mess. The only thing you wanted to do was sleep and sleep and sleep. Although you wish you could do more of that if it wasn’t for your deal with Loki.

“I guess I’ll see you first thing with a to-do list.” You said to Loki before entering your room. 

Loki looked at you puzzled, “I’m sorry?”

“Our deal. I have to be your personal assistant for two weeks, remember?”

Loki didn’t say anything, instead he thought for a moment. “Forget about the agreement.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “Huh?”

“After everything, I thought about our bargain and I’m changing it.”

“To what?”

“Instead of you following my orders, I would like to train you to fight.”

Train you to fight? Was he being serious? There was no way he was serious. However, with his fixed expression he was definitely being serious. “I don’t need you to train me. I spent my whole life fighting in dozens of different styles and forms. Hell, I even beat the freakin’ Winter Soldier.”

“Beating one man doesn't mean you can take on the world.” Loki turned his gaze to the ground, then back to you, “You were defenseless, helpless against that neanderthal. If I wasn’t there he would have had his way with you.”

You were getting annoyed by Loki’s sudden tone, “Oh please, I could’ve taken him when I came to.”

“What if you didn’t?!” Loki raised his voice in frustration while he took a step towards you. Your breath hitched with his sudden proximity. His stature was tall and brooding, but as before his eyes told a different story as they were filled with concern and grief. 

You nodded your head ever so slightly. “Okay.” You whispered, “We can change the deal.”

Loki relaxed his shoulders, taking a step back towards his room. “Good. First thing in the morning we’ll meet in the sparring pit.” 

Nodding, you opened your door to the familiar surroundings of your room. You were nearly all the way in when you stopped yourself, “Loki?” You called him before his door was shut. He quickly threw the door back open to see you, “I… Uh, I’ll see you in the morning.” Was all you could say.

Loki paused, as if he was waiting for you to say something different, “Goodnight, Y/N.” The way he said your name made something inside of you flutter. The feeling was gone when the two of you closed your doors. 

You stripped down your dress and fancy underwear and into a pair of pajama pants and t-shirt that was probably a few days old. You didn’t care about the light smell, all you wanted was blissful unconsciousness. You grabbed a makeup wipe and rubbed the gunk off of your face to the best of your ability. Next was the jewelry that you haphazardly tossed on your nightstand along with your purse and phone before throwing yourself onto your bed. You awaited for sleep but every few minutes a certain god of mischief invaded your mind, his voice whispering only your name. The next few weeks of training were going to drag on.

[amarantine-amirite]

Floor 8

I don't believe in superstitions about the 13th floor. I don't believe in superstitions from Asia about the 4th floor either, for the exact same reason. Both superstitions are crap. In my experience; however, the floor you really need to watch out for is the 8th floor.

Most people would read this and think that I was just being weird. I got that. Here, 8 is just a number. And in Asia, 8 is a lucky number.

But, in my experience, bad stuff always seems to happen on the 8th floor. I don't know why, it just does.

Don't believe me? Here's what I'm talking about:

The first time it happened was when I was 11 years old, and I had to issue an apology  to one of my mother's friends. I literally remember everything that happened. I remember my mom's swearing because we were stuck in traffic due to a yogurt truck flipping over. "Nuala, what made you think that was an appropriate thing to say to Darlene?"

I sat there blinking. "I didn't know that she'd get so upset."

Mom sighed and angrily slammed her hands on the steering wheel. "Nuala, you don't know, and you can't know, which is why if it doesn't sound like something you should say, then don't say it! It's not that hard!"

It's not like I made a joke about Darlene's weight or anything. I just said that her bottle of breath spray kind of looked like a tiny vial of blood. "Your comment about her breath spray really brought up bad memories for her! Think about that before you ever mouth off again!"

It took us three and a half hours to get to the office building where Darlene worked. “Hello” my mother greeted the secretary, “we’re here to see Darlene Tunney”

“Ah, yes,” the secretary replied, “her office is on the 10th floor.” She opened the drawer in her desk and looked at it. “Unfortunately, we’re out of guest passes, so I’ll take you up in the elevator myself.”

Mom glared at me the entire elevator ride. And it was all for nothing, too. We never even made it to the tenth floor. Once the elevator got to 8, it dropped three whole floors.

Mom gasped. The secretary peed herself. I laughed.

I had no idea that that incident will be comparatively tame compared to the next encounter I had with the eighth floor. My second encounter happened when I was 14 years old. Back then, I had a friend named Lydia. Lydia would always drag me into these political conversations whether I wanted to talk or not. It always ended the same way. I would say the wrong thing, and she yell at me for being "a bad person".

This encounter with the eighth floor started very simply: Lydia tried to drag me into this conversation about abortion.

The conversation came about as follows: Amy told us that her boyfriend prom-posed to her with a wheel of laughing cow cheese that had "will you be my prom date or is this too cheesy?" written on it. Everybody else in the room squealed. Everybody, that is, except Lydia. Instead, Lydia rolled her eyes and sneered derisively. “Yeah, that’s hilarious,” she said sarcastically, “I bet that cow wasn't laughing when you killed it to make the cheese.”

Nobody dignified that with a response. In fact, everyone just sat there and blinked.I distinctly heard somebody else say, “Lydia, you don't kill a cow to make cheese.”

Lydia kept right on going. “Yeah, but to get the cows to make milk, they force the mother couch to get abortions. Us feminists fought tooth and nail for the right for women to have an abortion, don’t support people who are going to make us regret it.”

Yikes, I thought, she’s gone off again. I just hope she doesn’t drag me into this, because I don’t want her screaming at me. Just when I thought Lydia was going to drag somebody else into this, she turned over and looked at me. Uh-oh.

“Nuala,” she asked me, “what do you think about this?”

I have no idea where the conversation was headed. “The dairy industry?”

Lydia side and smacked my forehead. “No!” she barked, “Abortion, stupid.” Oh, balls, I see where this is going.

I knew it. I knew it was a trap. I knew Lydia was going to wind me up until I said the wrong thing. I ultimately decided that I wouldn’t say anything at all. Instead, I ran away.

That wasn’t enough to stop her. When I started running, she started chasing me. “Nuala, don’t you dare walk out on me,” Lydia barked as she picked up her pace.

I didn’t stop. I walked out the room and down the hall, and Lydia followed. I went up the stairs, and I could still hear Lydia following me. “This isn’t a joke!”

“No“ I said, “this is a trap.”

I ran and ran. Lydia chased and chased. Right up until we got up to the 8th floor.

The eighth floor started with just a simple doorway, but it led to a maze of halls. One hallway just led to another long hallway. It felt like if you turned the corner, you would just keep going. I didn’t even know where Lydia was anymore. All I knew was that I found myself going around in a red brick wall, Memphis pattern carpeted floor circle. The whole experience felt like the nearest you could get to being stuck in an infinite loop. The many exits heralded by the light up exit signs probably lead to nowhere; or if not nowhere, somewhere worse. In fact, as I ran, I found myself half expecting something on the wall or something that said “don’t follow the signs”.

Over the course of passing in between stripes of shadow and light through abandoned office floors, I lost track of Lydia. I couldn’t hear footsteps, I don’t even think she still followed me at this point.

Two minutes later, I bolted past one last glowing exit sign before I entered the void of darkness. Three minutes later, I fell through a hole in the floor, landing right in the middle of a wedding. I guess you could say that was also the time that I crashed my first wedding.

I didn’t think I’d have another encounter with an eight floor after that. My prom after-party proved me wrong.

Our prom after party wasn’t sponsored by the school, so that meant we had our prom after-party at a veritable castle of vice. The less we say about the debauchery, the better. I couldn't take anymore of the insanity, so I left.

I spent my prom after party walking up the stairs of the building And walking around on all the floors. Most of the floors consisted of the usual crap: hallways, offices, desks, a few pieces of abstract art; nothing all that spectacular. But that all changed when I got to the eighth floor

The 8th floor didn’t have rooms. It didn’t even have hallways. The eighth floor only consisted of one, really big room; roughly 20 feet deep and 80 feet wide, with a little red door at the end. I couldn’t help but notice all the garbage on the floor; from broken glass to bent scrap metal. I walked in a little further, trying not to step on anything. I got about halfway in when I noticed a skeleton of a cow by the eastern wall.

I very quickly noped out of there. In fact, I don’t even think I continued exploring the rest of the building. And it wasn’t because the eighth floor was dirty. No,I saw something move that made me suspect that the floor was haunted. Couldn’t make it out at first. I suspected that whatever moved wasn’t actually real, and just an illusion. Then I saw it move again. This wasn’t an illusion; this thing was real.

I saw the source of the movement when I looked over my back shoulder: a five-foot-tall shrimp-like creature that crawled out of the little red door at the end of the room and headed straight towards me. I bolted.

And it’s not just me, either. I know a lot of my friends are the same thing about the eighth floor. I guess that really means the eighth floor is bad news.

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature: Language, violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12] | [13] | [14] | [15] | [16]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: A Melody of Chaos.

It went almost exactly as I’d predicted.

Ruled by anger and not much else, the Governor thought little of his plan. He barrelled in through the front gate, the truck with the mounted machine gun at the head. The spikes in the yard got the tires almost immediately, sending the truck careening off the dirt path and onto the grass, where it would remain. I heard the grenade launcher go off a handful of times as they took out the watch towers. Daryl flinched with each explosion, the grip on his rifle tightening with each passing moment the M2 Browning fired upon the wooden pallets pushed up against the overpass fence.

I kept control of my breathing, gripping one of the smoke grenades in each hand.

The gate was next. I heard them crashing through it, their trucks coming to a stop in the courtyard before one of them was used to pull the door to the fenced in walkway to the cellblock’s entrance from its hinges.

Footsteps upon concrete echoed down the hallway. I straightened my back.

They made their way through the cellblock to the door down the corridor from where we stood.

Daryl and I shared a look. I gave him a confident nod.

The door was pulled open. Footsteps made their way down the hall.

With one more deep, calming breath, I pulled the safety cap from the smoke grenades and tossed them around the corner. Exclamations of surprise were drowned out by gunfire as they opened fire on the empty hallway, decorating the wall across from Daryl and I with bullet holes.

Daryl pulled the alarm whilst I waited a second longer for the smoke to fully envelop the corridor, drawing my knives and dashing around the corner.

Keeping low, I pivoted from side to side until I was close enough to make my first strike, driving one of my knives upwards into the jaw of the closest man. Beside him, someone made a sound of surprise that I silenced with one quick slash across the throat, using the momentum of that blow to pull the other knife free and spin to face my next victim. The barrel of a gun was pointed in my direction, but they were too close. I smacked it away with my forearm, easily stepping into their guard and driving my blade into their chest whilst kicking out to the side, catching another beneath the chin with my foot and sending them careening into the wall of the corridor.

A handful of them began to turn and run, trying to escape through the door they had entered through. Those that were too slow met my knife.

Daryl didn’t even fire a shot.

When the retreating group re-entered the cellblock, Carol and Rick both opened fire on them from the doorway to the side corridor.

The gunfire continued outside as Glenn and Maggie did the same, laying fire upon those left in the open. Whoever wasn’t hit by a bullet continued their retreat and I heard the trucks starting along with the Governor’s angered cries.

I made my way out of the cellblock, knowing full well I was likely covered in the blood of those I had once called friends, to find Rick and Carol descending the metal staircase in the centre.

The sounds of gunfire subsided surprisingly quick as we all ran through the front door and into the courtyard, watching as they drove off down the dirt road beyond the gate.

Maggie let out a yell of excitement, as did Glenn. Michonne met us by the gate, sword drawn but bare of blood.

“We did it!” Maggie yelled again, her voice disappearing inside.

“We should go after them,” Michonne suggested, looking to Rick.

I glanced at both of them over my shoulder, not missing their looks of mild surprise at the blood splattered across my skin. “If we don’t, he’ll just come back. Again and again.”

Carol nodded her agreement. “She’s right. He won’t stop.”

“Not ‘till we’re all dead,” Daryl put in.

Rick relented and began to turn back toward the cellblock. “Alright. Get back inside. We regroup first. Jacques, give us a rundown.”

I blinked at him. “A rundown of what? The last Star Wars movie? The Silmarillion? I mean, I can do both, but a little more specification would be nice.”

Rick slowly turned back to me with a blank look. “Woodbury.”

“Rick, I need you to articulate here.”

“Blue-prints. Loose panels. Blind spots,” Rick listed with a huff.

“Okay.” I let out a breath and began to follow him inside. “Don’t know about the blue-prints and Martinez knows which panels are loose, same as me, so they’re out. As for blind spots… There are windows to the right of the gate, but they’re boarded. It’s an easy fix, but not exactly a stealthy point of entry. If someone very gentlemanly –” I bat my eyelids at Rick with a grin “– would, perhaps, draw fire to the left, I could get in through the window and take out the guards. Then we could just walk in the front door.”

Rick’s lips twitched ever-so-slightly up at the corners, but he quickly pursed them before nodding.

We spent the next few minutes informing everyone of our plans before gearing up and heading out.

The car was tensely silent as we drove. Rick stared pensively out the front window, his grip on the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He and his son had been talking before we’d left and, though I hadn’t heard the entirety of the conversation, I’d known it had been nothing good. It had set the sheriff even further on edge than he’d already been.

Behind me, in the back on the passenger’s side, Michonne sat near ramrod straight, her sword lying across her lap, two rifles sitting upright in the seat beside her.

I had my arm partially hanging out the window, leaning against the sill on my forearm as I stared out in front of us at Daryl’s back. He rode barely a car-length ahead of us, the wind ripping at his leather vest.

We had left almost half an hour after the Governor and his soldiers had peeled out of the prison gate and already the sun was beginning to set along the edge of the horizon. Beneath the scent of exhaust from Daryl’s bike, I could smell the diesel from the trucks mixed with the distinct odour of gunpowder. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. The M2 Browning used an obscene amount of gunpowder, therefore the fact I could still smell it lingering wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. What made me second guess the scent was the fact that, instead of dissipating or remaining constant as we followed their trail back to Woodbury… it was getting stronger.

When we crested the hill, I suddenly understood why.

Down the road a-ways, amongst a group of mingling biters, were the Governor’s trucks. They sat abandoned by the roadside, marred by bullet holes, some of them still running.

Daryl slowed, coming to a stop behind one of the trucks and indicating with his hand for us to do the same.

In a confused daze, I pushed open the passenger side door and climbed out of the car. The smell was almost overwhelming now. A mixture of gunpowder, gasoline, and blood. With a kind of trepidation I hadn’t felt in a long while, I cautiously walked forwards. I forced myself to thoroughly inspect each biter, every body scattered upon the road. None of the undead creatures brought about a sense of recognition. The bodies they were feasting upon did.

Daryl walked in front of me, crossbow raised as he surveyed the area with narrowed, suspicious eyes.  I kept pace behind him. He, Michonne, and Rick kept the biters from me, for which I was thankful, as I walked between the abandoned vehicles with a rapidly growing sense of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

One of the trucks were missing. The Governor’s one, his favourite.

Something sharp stuck in my throat as I took it all in. The few scattered bodies upon the road belonged to people I knew. They had been torn apart by biters.

Had a horde moved through here and caught them off guard? Is that why they had been forced to leave the trucks? Did that explain the bullet holes puncturing the bodies of the cars on either side?

Daryl’s sudden intake of breath made me jump. The way he turned, immediately looking to me, reaching out with one of his hands as if he were about to stop me from stepping forwards, made something cold settle at the base of my stomach.

He met my gaze, shoulders tense as he shook his head at my look of questioning confusion.

“What?”

“Just stay there,” he said, gaze sliding over to Rick as he jerked his head toward the roadside. The view of whatever he was gesturing to was blocked from me by one of the abandoned cars and Daryl himself.

Rick, reaching out to touch my shoulder gently as he passed, met Daryl by the front of the abandoned vehicle beside me. He, too, seemed to take in a sharp breath at the sight of whatever lay beyond.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” I hissed, making a move to step past the both of them.

Daryl closed the distance between us before I could, grabbing my shoulder with his free hand and pushing me back. “Don’t,” he advised, putting his crossbow on the ground in order to better subdue my attempts to push past him.

We wrestled like that for a brief moment until I snapped a harsh, “Just let me fucking see.”

Daryl’s brows furrowed in a deep frown as he removed his hands from my shoulders and stepped slightly back, allowing me to pass.

The three of them watched me as I stepped around the bonnet of the car, looking out into the field that lay beyond the road. At first, I didn’t even register what I was seeing. The grass was long, partially obscuring my view, but I could see the vibrant red that stood out in stark contrast against the dusty brown of the dry foliage.

Bodies. A dozen or so, scattered across the field, lying face-down as if they had been retreating from something. I didn’t need to see their faces to know who they were.

My breath left me in a pained exhale, so violently it was if someone had struck me in the gut. I suddenly felt light-headed, stumbling back a step before regaining my balance. Still, I was forced to rest my hands against my thighs, barely able to support my own weight, as I looked out over the bodies of those I had once called friends.

The smell of gunfire and blood. It made sense now.

“What the fuck?” I asked, breathless, not really directing the question at anyone in particular.

My chest felt as if I’d just taken a direct hit from a wrecking ball. I knew these people. I cared about these people. It had been my job to protect them. I’d let them all down. I’d left them with that man. Why had I left Woodbury? I should have stayed. Fought Phil from the inside instead of fighting against him, and the people he had manipulated into fighting his battles for him. I was a fucking failure.

From behind me, Daryl’s presence was a warm comfort as he reached out to gently place a hand on my shoulder. He stepped up so he was standing beside me, leaning partially to the side in order catch my gaze.

I couldn’t take my eyes from the bodies. From the blood splattered across the grass and the holes in the backs of each of their heads.

Was this a fucking execution site?

“Jacques?” Daryl asked softly.

I barely heard his voice. Every sound that reached me seemed to come through some kind of tunnel.

That was likely why I hadn’t heard her.

Rick had, though. I barely even registered his call for our attention. Likely would have missed it entirely if Daryl hadn’t suddenly disappeared from my side, prompting me to turn around and follow him with my gaze.

Rick was standing beside one of the trucks, his revolver drawn and pointed at the passenger’s side window.

When I saw her face, I legitimately almost burst into tears. Somehow, I managed to swallow them back, pushing that along with the near crippling sense of guilt and sorrow down as I ran forwards.

I shoved Rick’s gun away, pushing in front of him and pulling the door of the truck open without any concern whatsoever.

Karen, bloodied and shaking, almost knocked us both over with the way she flew out of the seat and into my arms. We shared a tight, shaken embrace for a brief moment before I pulled away, looking at her scared face with wide eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” I asked, keeping my hands tightly gripped upon her upper arms.

She held my own, too, as she shook her head and swallowed back tears. “He gunned them down. All of them.”

I felt something cold clutch my heart, followed quite suddenly by a burning sensation in my veins. Unable to fully contemplate my own sorrow, I did what I usually did and allowed the emotion to fester and distort into anger. Pulling away from Karen, I allowed my hands to clench into fists with enough force that my nails drew blood from my palms.

“I’ll kill him,” I growled, lip curling up over my teeth in a snarl.

Karen, still shaken, reached out to grab my shoulder once again but I pulled away, knowing the force of my anger had likely heated my skin to the point of burning. Magic was like that, sometimes. Spurred by uncontrollable emotion.

Without turning to look at any of them, I began to walk down the road toward Woodbury. Each step was purposeful, composed. My assassin mask had well and truly snapped into place. All I could see was blood, an image of Philip lying dead by my feet. The fantasy overtook my mind, pushing everything else away until the world before me was little more than background noise.

I’d made it a decent distance before Rick caught up with me. His breath was coming out in heavy pants, as if he’d had to run in order to reach me. From behind us, I could hear the sound of Daryl’s bike starting, along with the low rumble of the car.

“Jacques!” Rick yelled. “Jacques, stop!”

I didn’t listen. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to keep moving, to follow the road, to allow nothing to get in my way.

“Synnove!”

The sound of my first name broke through the barrier encasing my mind and I stuttered slightly in my step, partially turning my head to glance at Rick over my shoulder. If he noticed the coldness of my gaze, he didn’t let on, jogging a few steps further in order to reach out and grab my arm.

He pulled me to a stop. I, against my every urge, let him.

“Syn, we do this together,” Rick stated clearly. His expression was hard, his jaw set tightly in anger, but I could see the empathy in his gaze as he looked down at me.

I looked up at him, feeling myself crumbling as the primal need for revenge warred with my emotions. The sorrow, the guilt, the grief, the anger. They all fought one another inside me, contorting my expression into a mix of indecision and pain. My body shook with the force of it all, jaw clenching and unclenching as I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, to think rationally over all the noise within.

Rick stood patiently beside me, his hand still holding a firm grip on my arm. The presence of his touch soothed me somewhat, but it wasn’t until Daryl pulled up beside me on his bike that I truly broke free of the cold-hearted assassin vying to take hold of me.

Michonne rolled to a stop beside him, looking down at me from the driver’s side window with a sad frown. In the seat behind her sat Karen, her blood-spattered face peering through the glass, eyes wet with tears.

“Together?” I echoed, partially in question, partially in disbelief.

Could I truly hold on to the hope that these people would stand beside me, fight beside me, after everything I’d done? Those people lying in the field had relied on me. How could Rick or Daryl or Michonne think that I was anything other than a failure? A killer and a failure?

Rick reached out with his other hand, holding both of my arms and lifting them to his chest. “Together,” he promised with a nod.

I realised in that moment how tense my body had been. Slowly, almost muscle-by-muscle, I felt myself loosening. When my gaze slid across to Daryl, who gave me a sad smile and a nod once our gazes met, my entire body relaxed.

“Alright,” I whispered. “Okay. But no one else gets hurt. Just him.”

Rick nodded. “No one else.”

[chocosweetbun]

ASOUE FIC 2.5K Words, Kitlafey

(I don’t write often, especially not fluff, so please forgive me =v=. Happy Valentine’s Day!!)

@huffleporg @madlovve and anyone else who enjoys this OT3!

(childhood friends/neighbors, there’s not enough au’s in this fandom that don’t follow canon, SLOW BURN god so slow- Theyre just friends for the first 2k words im so sorry)

Behind the school yard, a ways into the evergreen woods that stretch off into places no student ever dared to go, sits a strange sight. A patch a trees with branches low enough for the smallest of kids to climb, a clearing of light that cuts though tall soft grass and weeds, and a group of rocks that formed a throne fit for a forest king. No one ever saw it, no one ever went. It was the perfect spot for exactly 3 old friends to visit after years of absence, and yet they never did- at least, no one knew they did.

Kit Snicket was an adventurer. She fought off monsters under her bed, under her school desk, under- and over- teachers and other kids. You would think being 4’3 at age 10 would be a hindrance, but to her, and her wild red-brown hair that seemed to shift to blond in the sunlight, it was an advantage. She was popular to pick for every PE class, every recess, and every time someone needed defending on the playground. But that was only her at half power, for when she was with her two best friends, she was unstoppable. A wild-child in every sense of the word. Dewey Denouement didn’t exist. His brothers overshadowed him despite not meaning too and often the 11 year old was left in the back of the class to read whatever book he fancied that day. He wasn’t shy, but he had this quiet-politeness about him that made people think he faked his responses and conversations. Almost as though he just recited what he read somewhere. He just didn’t talk like a kid his age would, and it threw the others off. However, when he was with his two best friends his dazzling smile was present on his face no matter what. A calm boy who found where he belonged. Olaf (he dared tell no one his last name) was the kid everyone avoided. Due to unfortunate events and an odd placing birthday he was the oldest in his class at 13. Being 13 he had hit his “I hate everyone and everything” phase that all young teens go though, which meant he would often upset his younger classmates with harsh words and unpleasant actions passed off as pranks. His thin red-orange hair never seemed to be quite clean, his clothes were obviously expensive but never tidy, his fingers covered in small burns which he never would explain. The two classmates that would interact with him were the only reason he didn’t go insane being surrounded by people who refused to look his way. A strange teen who needed to let off smoke. Behind the school yard, a ways into the evergreen woods that stretched off into places no student ever dared to go, sat a strange sight. A patch a trees with branches low enough for the smallest of kids to climb, a clearing of light that cut though tall soft grass and weeds, and a group of rocks that formed a throne fit for a forest king. The group of friends found this when the schoolhouse’s kitchen caught fire and their class had to stand outside for the fire department to arrive. Olaf had snuck off, Kit behind him, and, when noticing his friends disappear into the trees, Dewey cocked a smile at the idea of a mini adventure and ran off to join them. “Holy shit- that’s a big snake-“ The eldest said, reaching out as though he was about to grab it. “What are you DOING?!” Kit pulled Olaf back with a surprising amount of strength. “It could kill you!” “Oh no it wouldn’t, I would kill it first before it even had the chance!” “Yeah right! Tell ‘em he would D I E Dewey!” “Ah-“ the middle child said, stuffing his book that he brought out to read in his backpack as the group walked further into the woods. ”That snake isn’t venomous so- He would probably be okay if it bit him-” “Dewey that didn’t help!” “Hey kit-kat mind letting go of me?” With that, Kit huffed as she pushed Olaf forward. “Fine but don’t go grabbing anything that Dewey doesn’t know the name of!” The child took hold of Dewey’s hand as she spoke- the innocent gesture was returned. “Fine fine- I won’t do anything pretty boy wouldn’t do.” And he continued the walk ahead. It wasn’t long before they found those trees, that clearing, and those rocks. They spent some time there playing- the faint sirens of firetrucks blaring in the distance telling them they were not missed- and as I’m sure you could imagine the three each found the best spot to be. Kit climbing the trees, Dewey lying in the grass, and Olaf perched on the rocks. They laughed, talked, threw leaves and grass, picked flowers (Dewey and Kit did- Olaf just watched) and overall had a good 30 minutes of time together before they heard the large red trucks drive away. “We should go back.” Dewey said. “Yeah, you’re right.” Kit replied, hopping down from a branch. Olaf came down from his throne and stood over the two, his face showing that he was deep in thought. “Are you guys doing anything after school tomorrow?” He said. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ The next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, the group kept visiting the hidden place in the trees. August turned to September, then October, then November. When it got too cold to go walking the trio would visit Olaf’s empty house and attempt to build forts and bake holiday cookies. But on New Year’s Eve the three agreed to hop out of their bedroom windows, run though the snow with flashlights in their small hands, and meet in the forest where they would all climb up the biggest tree and watch the fireworks from the very top. They neglected to think about the ice on the branches, and after the 5th time Kit slipped and fell- they gave up. “I’m telling you I CAN DO IT-“ Kit struggled in the grasp of Olaf’s arms, who was desperately trying to keep her from breaking her own neck. “You’ll break your neck!” Dewey said, standing in front of the tree with his arms spread- as if that would block the young girl from wanting to climb. “When has Dew ever been wrong, huh? Gah- stop it!” “AHH-!” Kit shouted as Olaf tackled her to the ground. You may be thinking ‘That boy is double her size! Surely he hurt her-‘ and you would be completely wrong. Olaf was a thin, weak child, and Kit was more durable then one might think. He pinned her down in the snow, sitting with his legs across her stomach, as though she were a pillow under his knees. “Get off of me! Uuuugh!!!” And with that last sigh, she was defeated. Olaf then plopped back, legs still over Kit, to lie in the cold snow. Dewey soon joined them, using Olaf’s stomach as a headrest. As the sound of fireworks began on the horizon, the three were all thinking the very same thing. “I really could have got up that tree-“ “We can die if we stay in the snow-” “I’m happy you guys are here with me-“ Well, not exactly the same thing. “I’m happy too! I really love you guys!” Kit said, using her arms to make a torso-only snow angel. The snow was not nearly deep enough though, so her jacket got stained with mud. “I love you both too!” Dewey said, using a foot to kick around some dead twigs in the ground. “Like a couple of kids like you could know what love is.” Olaf scoffed, his teen drama act rearing its head. “I’m hardly a kid anymore! I’m 11 now!” “No, Kit, you’re still a kid.” “Well Dewey is almost 13 like you!” When the sound of the fireworks ended, the three prepared to part ways. Dewey brushed off the mud on Kit’s coat with his gloves and did his best to fix her hair while she bickered more with Olaf on how old someone must be to not be a ‘kid’ anymore. Kit says 11, Olaf says 13, and Dewey thinks to himself that whenever that age may be, they all would remain childish like this forever. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ February 14th rushed though fast, and after school the three once again met up behind the schoolyard. Dewey brought handwritten letters detailing how important the other two were to him, Kit gave them handmade pottery that she had made in art class, and Olaf said “Happy Valentine’s Day” while giving them necklaces crudely made, the pendants being a small crow feather on each. He also wore one and said he had just happened to make extras. This evening was not spent separate, instead all three of them sat in the thawing grass, side by side by side. They were just finishing up a conversation on the best kind of chocolate when Dewey (who has been silently listening) asked a question. “What is it like to have a crush on someone?” “It means you want to get married, right?” Kit said, her childish innocence causing Olaf to snicker. “Nah, It means you want to make out with them.” Olaf leaned back on his hands, obviously trying to appear cool. “Ew-“ Kit scrunched up her nose “That’s gross, don’t people only do that on T.V.?” “No I don’t think so.” Dewey pulled his knees to his chest. “That’s just like…kissing and stuff- right?” “Yeah sure, basically.” “Have- you kissed anyone before Olaf?” Dewey asked with his usual soft tone, but a bit of nervousness peaked though his posture. On the other side of the taller boy, Kit’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Oh he probably has! Right? Was it gross?” Kit leaned in close to Olaf, pushing said boy closer to Dewey. The eldest stayed silent, opting to ignore his friend’s questions by standing straight up, causing Kit to crash into Dewey’s legs. “wal ha wahs meen” Which roughly translates too “Well that was mean” when said by a girl who is face first in a pair of knees. Olaf walked away as the other two were left sitting. “Was I too blunt…?” Dewey helped Kit lean back off his legs. “I think he’s just in one of his moods.” Rubbing her nose, she stood, reaching her hand out to help Dewey stand. He took hold without a second thought, and soon the both of them were caught up with Olaf. The three of them went back to talking as though nothing had ever even happened. The next day, in class, Olaf pulled Dewey aside. “Is it Kit?” The teen said. “Maybe, I’m not sure.” The short boy paused and tried for a moment to read Olaf’s expression. “Would you be upset if it was?” “Yes.” ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________

When Dewey turned 13, Olaf 14, they shared a moment behind one of the rocks during a game of ‘Hide from Kit so she doesn’t make you stick fight with her’. “Why did you-“ “Because I wanted too.” In the moment neither was really sure who said what, or who kissed who. Kit found them, and all three were forced to avoid getting beat with a stick-sword for nearly an hour. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ When Kit turned 12 she told Olaf that she was in love with him. He asked her why she thought so when she was obviously closer to Dewey. She couldn’t answer- and argued that she was equally close with them both. “So why DO you think you love me and not him then?” He had asked. She begun to cry in frustration and left with a “Whatever- Forget it. I guess I don’t know my own feelings.” Olaf thought to himself that she was beginning her ‘I hate everyone and everything’ phase a little sooner than he expected. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ The kids were growing up, Dewey thought to himself, and he saw it in the way Kit hugged his arm whenever she was avoiding whatever harsh words Olaf said. He also saw it in how Olaf refused to let Dewey lean against him anymore. But as the three of them quietly walked to their normal place- he realized that they weren’t growing UP, but APART. The thought made him want to cry. That day Olaf told them that his parent’s were sending him to a boarding school, and that he was leaving right away. Dewey started crying, realizing that there was no way to salvage the relationship that was breaking- He started crying more when Kit let go of his arm, marched over to Olaf, and hugged him for the first time in a month of silence, arms linked around his neck. Dewey watched as Olaf hugged her in return, the image of her small form surrounded by his tall lanky one was out of place in the summer sky. “You can’t go-“ Dewey heard Kit say as he slowly walked over to the pair. “I can’t stay, I’ve tried-“ Dewey reached the couple and hesitated for a moment- watching the two of them embrace in their last ever meeting. He felt like he was intruding- but his urge to say goodbye to Olaf and comfort Kit was too overwhelming. He was not alone in this, for Kit and Olaf both pulled him into their hug before he had a chance to try and worm his way in himself. “I- I really love you guys-“ Kit’s words were laced with sorrow and the sound of cicadas.

“I love you both two-“ Dewey replied, dropping his book to the hard ground as he buried his face into Olaf’s chest and Kit’s hair. “I- I’m going to miss you.” Olaf said to them both. Neither of them brought up how that was the first nice thing Olaf had ever said to either of them in the years of knowing each other, unless you count the hundreds of tears that puddled up on the ground.

________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ A decade later and some change later, a young woman with red-brown hair stepped into the sunny spot on the soft grass and weeds, the feather necklace being blown by the wind. A young man with a dazzling smile was holding her hand, adorned with a ring, and he, too, modeled a similar necklace. However it was tied around his wrist for he had grown out of it. They wave to a figure appearing from behind the too-small to climb trees, the feathered neck-piece lengthened to fit his adult form. No one ever saw them, no one ever will. It was the perfect spot for exactly 3 old friends to visit after years of absence and talk about never forgotten feelings, muddy coats, growing families, and how to spend the rest of Valentine’s day. They didn’t go though with their plans, and instead rested together in the thawing grass until dusk.

[laniakeabooks]

January Wrap Up

I read 11 books in January which is a personal record. I’ve included the synopsis pulled directly from Goodreads and my (short) thoughts on the book. If you’d like a longer review of any of the books I read this month, feel free to request it!

The Innocence Treatment by Ari Goelman - ⭐⭐⭐

Lauren has a disorder that makes her believe everything her friends tell her--and she believes everyone is her friend. Her innocence puts her at constant risk, so when she gets the opportunity to have an operation to correct her condition, she seizes it. But after the surgery, Lauren is changed. Is she a paranoid lunatic with violent tendencies? Or a clear-eyed observer of the world who does what needs to be done?

Told in journal entries and therapy session transcripts, The Innocence Treatment is a collection of Lauren's papers, annotated by her sister long after the events of the novel. A compelling YA debut thriller that is part speculative fiction and part shocking tell-all of genetic engineering and government secrets, Lauren's story is ultimately an electrifying, propulsive, and spine-tingling read.

 Nothing I found particularly impressive… it had potential but didn’t quite meet it.

 The Memory Book by Lara Avery - ⭐⭐⭐⭐

 Sammie was always a girl with a plan: graduate at the top of her class and get out of her small town as soon as humanly possible. Nothing will stand in her way--not even a rare genetic disorder the doctors say will slowly start to steal her memories and then her health. What she needs is a new plan.

So the Memory Book is born: Sammie's notes to her future self, a document of moments great and small. It's where she'll record every perfect detail of her first date with longtime crush, Stuart--a brilliant young writer who is home for the summer. And where she'll admit how much she's missed her childhood best friend, Cooper, and even take some of the blame for the fight that ended their friendship.

Through a mix of heartfelt journal entries, mementos, and guest posts from friends and family, readers will fall in love with Sammie, a brave and remarkable girl who learns to live and love life fully, even though it's not the life she planned.

 I am shocked. I never expected to like a contemporary this much... especially "sick-lit" or whatever people are calling it. Maybe it was because I found a lot of what Sammie said to be so relatable, or maybe because NPC is exactly the type of disease I'd like to research in my future. Maybe it's because one of my greatest fears is getting dementia and losing my memory.

Whatever it was, I hope I can find it again in another book.

 Vox by Christina Dalcher - ⭐⭐

 Set in an America where half the population has been silenced, VOX is the harrowing, unforgettable story of what one woman will do to protect herself and her daughter.

On the day the government decrees that women are no longer allowed more than 100 words daily, Dr. Jean McClellan is in denial—this can't happen here. Not in America. Not to her.

This is just the beginning.

Soon women can no longer hold jobs. Girls are no longer taught to read or write. Females no longer have a voice. Before, the average person spoke sixteen thousand words a day, but now women only have one hundred to make themselves heard.

But this is not the end.

For herself, her daughter, and every woman silenced, Jean will reclaim her voice

 Uh, yeah, not impressed. Disappointed. Annoyed. It felt like Dalcher was trying too hard and was clearly ridding on the coattails of The Handmaid’s Tale’s recent re-emergence.

Also, the narrator on the audiobook and pronounce Wernicke’s area which just grated on my nerves and honestly pissed me off.

 First We Were IV by Alexandra Sirowy - ⭐⭐⭐⭐

 It started for pranks, fun, and forever memories.

A secret society – for the four of us.

The rules: Never lie. Never tell. Love each other.

We made the pledge and danced under the blood moon on the meteorite in the orchard. In the spot we found the dead girl five years earlier. And discovered the ancient drawings way before that.

Nothing could break the four of us apart – I thought.

But then, others wanted in. Our seaside town had secrets. History.

We wanted revenge.

We broke the rules. We lied. We told. We loved each other too much, not enough, and in ways we weren’t supposed to.

Our invention ratcheted out of control.

What started as a secret society, ended as justice. Revenge. Death. Rebellion.

 Wooooowwwww... I am starting off this year with some pretty good reads. Granted, I read probably 3/4 of this one in emerge on my birthday after having twisted my knee skiing the day before...

This book didn't take the path I thought it would. It just felt like the climax and conclusion occurred in the same paragraph? I don't know maybe that's just me...

I'd love to see this as a TV show (maybe Netflix since they tend to do a rocking job).

 Day 21 by Cass Morgan - ⭐⭐⭐

 It's been 21 days since the hundred landed on Earth. They're the only humans to set foot on the planet in centuries...or so they thought. Facing an unknown enemy, Wells attempts to keep the group together. Clarke strikes out for Mount Weather, in search of other Colonists, while Bellamy is determined to rescue his sister, no matter the cost. And back on the ship, Glass faces an unthinkable choice between the love of her life and life itself.

In this pulse-pounding sequel to Kass Morgan's The 100, secrets are revealed, beliefs are challenged, and relationships are tested. And the hundred will struggle to survive the only way they can -- together.

 I still much prefer the Netflix adaptation. Although I enjoy this recovering from an apocalyptic event storyline the books take, I find that they lack the action that I love so much in the show… not to mention that my favourite characters don’t exist.

 52 Reasons to Hate My Father by Jessica Brody - ⭐⭐⭐⭐

 Lexington Larrabee has never to work a day in her life. After all, she’s the heiress to the multi-billion-dollar Larrabee Media empire. And heiresses are not supposed to work. But then again, they’re not supposed to crash brand new Mercedes convertibles into convenience stores on Sunset Blvd either.

Which is why, on Lexi’s eighteen birthday, her ever-absent, tycoon father decides to take a more proactive approach to her wayward life. Every week for the next year, she will have to take on a different low-wage job if she ever wants to receive her beloved trust fund. But if there’s anything worse than working as a maid, a dishwasher, and a fast-food restaurant employee, it’s dealing with Luke, the arrogant, albeit moderately attractive, college intern her father has assigned to keep tabs on her.

In a hilarious “comedy of heiress” about family, forgiveness, good intentions, and best of all, second chances, Lexi learns that love can be unconditional, money can be immaterial, and, regardless of age, everyone needs a little saving. And although she might have 52 reasons to hate her father, she only needs one reason to love him.

 Be prepared for a spoiled, bratty, unlikable main character. If you can’t stand characters like this, then I suggest avoiding this read, especially since we are trapped in her head (1st person narration) for the duration of the book. However, Lexi does have a great character arc, so if you are able to tolerate her for the first half of the book, you’ll actually start to like her.

Another contemporary I really enjoyed… not sure if this is because I’m not as picky when it comes to my favourite and least favourite genres anymore, but then again it my just be that I stumbled across two contemporaries that suited my fancy this month.

 The Loneliest Girl in the Universe by Lauren James - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

 Romy Silvers is the only surviving crew-member of a spaceship travelling to a new planet, on a mission to establish a second home for humanity amongst the stars. Alone in space, she is the loneliest girl in the universe until she hears about a new ship which has launched from Earth – with a single passenger on board. A boy called J.

Their only communication with each other is via email – and due to the distance between them, their messages take months to transmit across space. And yet Romy finds herself falling in love.

But what does Romy really know about J? And what do the mysterious messages which have started arriving from Earth really mean?

Sometimes, there’s something worse than being alone . . .

 Okay. First of all, the UK paperback cover is gorgeous. This would have one hundred percent been a cover buy if the synopsis hadn’t also intrigued me.

I went in thinking that it would be a space-based romance, but boy was I wrong. And good thing too. I’m not a huge fan of romance (more like I tolerate it for a good plot), and this book did not focus of the blooming romance as much as I thought it would.

Space, suspense, beautiful cover? Sign me up!

 Crash by Lisa McMann - ⭐⭐⭐

 Jules lives with her family above their restaurant, which means she smells like pizza most of the time and drives their double-meatball-shaped food truck to school. It’s not a recipe for popularity, but she can handle that.

What she can’t handle is the recurring vision that haunts her. Over and over, Jules sees a careening truck hit a building and explode...and nine body bags in the snow.

The vision is everywhere—on billboards, television screens, windows—and she’s the only one who sees it. And the more she sees it, the more she sees. The vision is giving her clues, and soon Jules knows what she has to do. Because now she can see the face in one of the body bags, and it’s someone she knows. Someone she has been in love with for as long as she can remember.

In this riveting start to a gripping trilogy from New York Times bestselling author Lisa McMann, Jules has to act—and act fast—to keep her vision from becoming reality.

 Not bad but not amazing either. It’s your typical psychic teen struggling with her newly found gifts and trying to prevent a tragedy. I’ll continue on with the trilogy since I have the bind up, they’re quick reads, and they’re a good distraction from my stressful studies… so basically just what I need.

 Bang by Lisa McMann - ⭐⭐⭐

 Jules should be happy. She saved a lot of people’s lives and she’s finally with Sawyer, pretty much the guy of her dreams. But the nightmare’s not over, because she somehow managed to pass the psycho vision stuff to Sawyer. Excellent.

Feeling responsible for what he’s going through and knowing that people’s lives are at stake, Jules is determined to help him figure it all out. But Sawyer’s vision is so awful he can barely describe it, much less make sense of it. All he can tell her is there’s a gun, and eleven ear-splitting shots. Bang.

Jules and Sawyer have to work out the details fast, because the visions are getting worse and that means only one thing: time is running out. But every clue they see takes them down the wrong path. If they can’t prevent the vision from happening, lives will be lost. And they may be among the casualties…

 This second book in the Visions series took an interesting turn on the whole psychic thing, but a lot of the book was spent going back and forth between “No I don’t want to do this” to “Yes I’m in” and “No I don’t want to help” to, again… “Yes I’m in” which was kind of a drag.

 Number of Pages Read: 3438

Average Rating: 3.5

Favourite Book of the Month: The Loneliest Girl in the Universe by Lauren James

The cover, the space adventure, the thriller-type aspect to the plot… everything I love all in one.

Least Favourite Book of the Month: Vox by Christina Dalcher

I was just… really disappointed.

  Keep up with me on Goodreads!  (https://www.goodreads.com/LaniakeaBooks)

[thesexymnm]

#2 - the mystery of forest lane

hey again! this is another writing piece i made earlier this year in may. i really like this because it’s different from the stuff i normally write. also this is quite long so get comfortable. i hope you like it, and as always im open to criticism. alright, enjoy The Mystery of Forest Lane.

“It happened on April 18th, driving home from work. It was dinner rush at the diner and Kathy Willoughby, the witch of West Park Diner, also known as my boss, cut my fifteen minute break so I could serve sodas and coffee.” I took a deep breath, shaking my head, my hands squeezing the bridge of my nose. Last time I checked, the head detective of the state of Maine isn’t supposed to listen to employee complaints, yet here I am doing just that. This interrogation had been drawn out long enough, we ask people to be as detailed as they remember, but she had gone a bit overboard, borderline ranting. Ms. Adrienne Miller was the woman I was talking to. Forty years old, has seventeen year old son, Sam, and she has been working as a waitress at the West Park Diner for five years. Before that, she was unemployed. She also got divorced six years ago from Sam’s father, Larry Wilson. Adrienne has multiple DUI’s on her record, they were all quite recent, starting back two years ago and the most recent one was four months ago. It is truly amazing what you can find on people when you have the access that I do. Although back when I was probably as young as her son, I just judged people on what I could see, what just their face and body language could reveal. I find myself going back to this tactic from time to time.

Using the skills I had taught myself as a young boy, I take a look at Adrienne in these moments, and just observe. Dark brown eyes, roughly the same color as her hair. Olive skin, beautifully fair, hairless and smooth. I drove my eyes along her forearm until I hit speed bump; a purple bruise crosses my vision. I cannot make out the full shape due to the injury being half covered by her sleeve, but I can tell it was not the cause of abuse. The spot on her arm is a common area to pose an injury on oneself. In fact, I had one in the same spot in the recent weeks before this interrogation. As I move my focus away from the bruise, I spy a few birthmarks and then my eyes divert to the tips of her fingers; nubs, nails bitten away almost down to her cuticles. This is something to note. Adrienne Miller is the type of woman to have long, extravagant red glossy nails that made an irritating clicking noise when tapped on a table. The fact that her nails are practically nonexistent tell me she has been through some stress, and recently. To add on top of that, her normal glam outfit that I have seen her strut countless times on the sidewalks of Van Buren has not shown to this interrogation. Neither is her long, flowing, straight hair. Rather, it is pulled back, loosely like she was in a hurry to get out, and the rest of her outfit would support that idea. It’s quite funny, how much you can tell from just looking at a person, all it is is just practice, years of it. Anyone can be a detective if they’ve got brains and 20/20 vision. Documents and reports are one way to do my job, but I could have never gotten where I am without my keen observation skills.

I’ve done these types of examines on other people as well, but when I look at them, they start to fidget, tapping on the table, foot bouncing like a bunny in spring, they have the darting eyes that scream, “I’m guilty! Please just take me away! Lock me up, please get these lies over with!” And they usually are guilty, but not Adrienne. She barely notices me observing her every inch, she keeps rambling on about her boss, Kathy Willoughby. I’ve had my fair share of conversations with the lady, and I can see where she is coming from, but for crying out loud, I’ve got work to do!   

I finally interrupted her, saying, “Ms. Miller, please only talk about details that are relevant to the case.” She nodded, carrying on with the story.

“As outraged as I was at Kathy, I was just happy to come home that night. It took a few minutes to start up my car but it wasn’t anything unusual. I was driving down Forest Lane, going south, when I hear noises above me.” I stopped her again, “Ms. Miller can you describe what the noise sounded like?”

“It sounded like a big helicopter,” she said. “I only remember that because it was drowning out my radio. It kept going, for a couple minutes, and I didn’t understand what was going on. By then, I was alone on the road. The last person I had talked to was Kathy, and there wasn’t a car to be seen. But then, there was this big flash of bright light. It stunned me so much that I stopped steering. The helicopter noises were getting louder every second, and that was all I could hear. I let go of the wheel to shield my eyes but seconds later my truck crashed into a tree. I felt fine, there was some glass in my arm and my leg was hurting, it was hard for me to breathe, I suppose I had the wind knocked out of me. I opened the door and fell out of my car. By this time the light was down to a dim shine coming from the woods. It had stopped completely twenty minutes before you guys found me.”

I tried to listen to her fairly, but like with many cases, I had my doubts. This woman is claiming she experienced something out of this world, like an alien encounter, and I didn’t believe her for a second. What I see in this case is just a desperate mother trying to cover up the fact she was driving while drunk.

“Ms. Miller, with all do respect, how am I supposed to believe you when on the night of April 18th, you were driving while intoxicated? How do I know that this story isn’t just a cover up to distract from the real facts in this case? It also does not help that you have four other DUI’s on your record, all of which you tried to get out of, and failed poorly. Ms. Miller, I along with the rest of the force here are extremely smart people, and you’ve already succumb to the more unfortunate side of law enforcement. Now, if I were you I would just confess, unless you really believe your own story. Which, I’m doubting. So, tell me, what really is the truth here, Adrienne?”

Many people have heard me interrogate people before, and when they see the video of me interrogating Adrienne Miller for the first time on this case, they ask me why I went so hard on her. I’ve interrogated people in so many different cases as head detective, everything from petty robbery to murderers. I earn the truth from these people. But there was something different about Adrienne. I could tell she wasn’t lying to me. I’ve been doing this job long enough to tell. But it couldn’t be true. How could it be? Despite what my own thoughts told me, I had to get the truth, I had to find it. Because in my mind, the story she was telling me certainly was not it.

Adrienne just looked at me. She stared for about a minute, until I tapped the table with my finger, letting my nail make a click noise that was loud enough to make her jump. She looked like she was sleeping with her eyes open, and my nail hitting the table was enough to make her jump awake. She collected herself and started again, but with a different, nastier tone. “Detective Sabrowski,” she paused, “Rick, I am telling the truth. You know I am.”

“Ms. Miller, I don’t know anything about it. That’s why I’m asking you, now please stop with these outrageous cover stories and let’s cut to the chase already.” Adrienne looked at me again, smugly. “Rick, I’ve told you my story. It’s true. Don’t make this interrogation into something personal now.” My eyebrows furrowed in disgust of her thinking I would ever do such a thing. “I’m not doing that! Now tell me what you are up to!” I was getting angry now, as with my last syllables of the command I had just ordered from her, my raging fist came crashing down onto the table, making my resting pen that was laying there jump wildly into the air, and crashing back down again. I could tell Adrienne was startled by my disposition. She gathered herself and her thoughts and said, “There is nothing left to discuss, can this be over with already?” I looked at the observation window, a one sided window with my close colleague and best friend, Don, on the other side. He’s my partner, and my best man. He buzzed through, saying, “Let’s wrap it up.” As soon as those words came through the speaker, Adrienne got up, and I opened the door to let her out. I watched as she strut down the hallway, and I felt a wave of entitlement radiate off her, even from down the long hall. I let out a deep sigh, I couldn’t help but feel I had let her go, that she was guilty and just playing with my mind. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time...

I sunk down in my office chair. I was swamped with open case files. My head was in my hands, I’m always working. My wife, Evelyn, hates it. I don’t know what to tell her, I don’t like how much I’m working either, but I can’t do anything about it. The department needs me, and they are dumping everything they’ve got on to me. I rub my eyes and check the clock.

“11:30”, Don walks in and says. “Really Rick? Go home.”

I sighed, I knew he had a point but I just couldn’t leave. “Come on, what about Evelyn?”

“I already called her an hour ago, she knows it’s gonna be a late night.” These crazy late work nights have been going on for months now. Ever since they fired the previous head detective, my old position has not yet been filled. I’m doing the job of two detectives. Don offered to help me out, but I couldn’t say yes. That would mean more hours for him, and he has a family, two adorable little girls. Evelyn and I don’t have any kids, and it’s times like these that I’m thankful we don’t. Life has been very hard on us lately. Her father just passed away a few months ago, and we had to put down our German Shepherd, Moose. He was twelve years old but still had the energy of a puppy. It was hard on us to let him go, but it was for his own good.

Don broke the silence I was filling with sad memories, saying “Sheriff Brown said it’s time to go home, you’ve worked twenty two hours this week and it’s only Tuesday. I’m saying, as a friend, go home to Evelyn. I know times have been hard lately and this isn’t doing it any good. Spend some time with her.” I stopped playing tough guy, and nodded, then began to pack up my things and head home. Had I really already worked that much? It felt like I had only been working for seconds, everything I do at work flies by. Don was still in the doorway as I was leaving my office. As I walked out, he patted my back, and then I went to my car.

I opened the door to the outside and a breeze of frigid air hit my face like a slap to the cheek. I walked to my car, and the sky was pitch black, no stars, but there usually weren’t any. Despite what lots of people may think about it, I like driving at night. There are less cars on the roads since everyone is at home, resting, chatting with family. I don’t stay at the station longer than I should because I want to get away from family, from Evelyn. That’s not the case whatsoever, I love my wife. But sometimes, my job feels like an escape from my problems. For a couple hours, I am fully invested into someone else’s problems. Being Maine’s very own Sherlock consumes every ounce of thinking power I have to offer. Piecing clues together like they do in the movies and television shows, that’s me, and I enjoy it. The joy you get from solving a case is exhilarating, nobody understands it, by I do. Doing this job gives me a kind of high nothing else could ever give me. I’m just addicted to my job.

Driving down the winding road of Forest Lane, the road where Ms. Adrienne Miller had crashed her car due to a unidentified object blocking her view. I thought of this that night driving back home, and I chuckled to myself. “As if!” I said with a smirk. I remember Don telling me which part of the road she had crashed on as I approached it myself. I saw the mauled tree that her Ford crashed into on that night. It was quite absurd, I thought to myself as I drove by the site. “And I don’t hear a thing,” I thought to myself, “she must’ve been lying to me, straight to my face. And after all we’ve been through together! I can’t believe she never tells me the truth, not even this once, when she will be liable for her words.” Just then I started to hear things. It sounded, like a helicopter. And then I saw a light, a big, bright shining light coming from the woods. Quick breaths began to escape my mouth, moving fast in and out of my body. My hands left the wheel to shield my eyes from the light. It’s true! It is all true! Adrienne was right all along, she was telling the truth! Over the noises I heard came a big crash, and the front of my car was smashed completely. And then I woke up.

I rub my eyes awake, and I feel weak. My skin looks a bit paler than I remember it being. Once I can see clear enough, I notice I’m in a hospital gown. Hospital gown? How did I get here? I was panicking, where was Evelyn? “Hello?” I shout into the room. My eyes dart from the curtain to my left to the medical supplies on my right, stored away in cabinets above and below a counter. I started to become extremely nervous. What had happened to me? The last thing I remembered was driving home on Forest Lane…

Adrienne! Adrienne was driving down Forest Lane when she saw the light shine from the woods and when she heard the helicopter like noise. Was it real? No, it couldn’t be. That’s impossible. I had probably just passed out on my desk again due to dehydration. It’s happened before. But I was driving home, was it a dream? Possibly, maybe I’m still in it. I look around, and I don’t see the door to leave the room. It must be on the other side of the curtain. No one has replied to my cries for help yet. “Hey! Anyone! What’s going on?” Still there is no reply and I’m worried sick. Where is Evelyn? Surely if this were real she would be waiting for me to wake up, at my bedside, and when she saw my eyes creak open she would say, “Oh Rick! Rick! I’m so glad you’re awake, I love you!” Yet, she is not here nor is any other living soul. This has to be a dream. I grab my right  arm, only then realizing I’m hooked to an I.V., and my forearm is wrapped in a big bandage, from elbow to wrist. I take my hand and pinch the skin hard, and shut my eyes tightly, and I concentrate on waking up so hard that I forget to breathe and after two minutes my eyes open like broken blinds and I gasp for the oxygen that smells like a pharmacy, granted this is a hospital and it would make sense. But if I can smell, and I’m not waking up, than this is real. But how? Why am I here? I need to speak to someone, and soon.

Just then, as if on cue, a woman steps into the room. She is clearly a nurse, wearing baby blue scrubs and disposable gloves that she immediately throws out when she walks into the room. She has long, strawberry blonde hair pulled back by a headband and pale, freckled skin. When she turns and faces me, it is clear now that she is pregnant. I must have been looking at her strange, startled by seeing my first human since I awoke. She looks at me with kind eyes and says, “Detective Sabrowski, you’ve gotten yourself into quite some trouble.” I must have looked at her with an even more confused look, so she elaborated. “You’ve been in a coma for two days, today is May 9th. My name is Bonnie Scottsdale. I’ve been taking care of you, now what is the last thing-”

“Where is my wife? Where is Evelyn?” The words busted out of my mouth, interrupting her. I wasn’t concerned about being polite, I just wanted to know how I got here and where my wife was.

“Detective Sabroski, Evelyn is out in the lobby. She was with you all night and just left about an hour ago to sign some forms.” I let out a sigh of relief, knowing she was safe. “Anyway, I’m sure you may have questions about what happened to you, why you are here. Can you tell me the last thing you can remember? We will start from there.”

I nodded in agreement with her. “I remember I left the station, per my partner Don Hanna’s request, I hopped in my car and started for home, until I got to Forest Lane. I started to hear these helicopter noises, they got louder and louder until it was drowning out my radio. There was a shining light coming from the woods, so bright I had to let go of the wheel to shield my eyes-”

And in the time it would take for someone to snap their fingers, or blink their eyes, I realized what I was describing to this woman. I was describing Adrienne Miller’s story. But surely I couldn’t be just reciting it from memory. All these things had actually happened to me too, but why?

[themirthfulroadrunners]

New Mexico Just off the Turquoise Trail

The first two days of this trip were troublesome, nearly problematic… sorta. We got an early (early!) start, leaving home at 4:45. Traffic wasn’t bad, not even the trucks. Of the 8 construction zones that Google maps identified, which turned into 11-12, none of them slowed us down much. No merging problems, and never below about 60mph. So we arrived at our reserved hotel at about lunch time – much earlier than we usually stop driving. (Exaggeration maybe, and gaining an hour at the New Mexico border did affect our timing. Plus, we had reserved a hotel, due to so many travelers escaping lockdown). But we used the free afternoon to drive a scenic road that was actually more cool than scenic with the find of some awesome old churches. And the location of where Coronado stopped over for 4 days to build a bridge across the Pecos River. We tried to find Pecos Bill. Maybe next time.

The troublesome, nearly problematic parts were in the area of our energy. After the activities of the 2nd day, we were toast. Debbie was so weary as to be sick from it. The hotel bed was heavenly, tho, so good rest was had.

 The morning drive out of our stop (Santa Rosa) was horrific with the truckers. The rudest in the world apparently drive I-40 going west from Santa Rosa and we interacted with many of them. Speaking of Santa Rosa, the California city that was burned up in 2020, is where Wayne moved from in 1979 to return to the land of ancestry (on his dad’s side), Arkansas. Working in the Post Office in Santa Rosa, CA, he saw a ton of misdirected letters that should have gone to New Mexico. Conversely, a lot of Santa Rosa, CA mail that was supposed to go to another address in Santa Rosa, CA, took a side trip to Santa Rosa, NM first.

 Our next hotel in Albuquerque, the city of Debbie’s birth (thanks to the United States Air Force) was touted as a ‘full-service’ facility, which means no free breakfast. Don’t know about you, but for 150 million bucks, we want free waffles! (and yogurt) And we ain’t payin’ no $25 for a hotel breakfast where you can’t even order what you want (free waffles!) Also, now, mind you that this is during the Covid19 Delta-variant-surging-wave, one of the two elevators in a 6-floor hotel is closed. Once while we were on the only operative one, descending from the 5th floor, it stopped at the 3rd where 2 employees and a customer charged in to join us. NO! We scored a strike bowling them down as we clamored over them to get out. WHAT’S A’MATTER WITH PEOPLE? (Besides bein’ knocked out.)

 We got to our house sit and guess what? The promised hot tub doesn’t work, the homeowner had compromised the wiring while tryin’ to electrificate a tree that grows through the deck. After immediately kicking their two dogs (NO, we didn’t), the homeowners pledged that the promised hot tub would be repaired before our house sit was to start. Afraid for their pets’ lives, they did, it was, and a hot tub at 7000’ is sublime. All is well in New Mexico. And even better yet, the owners invited us back before we even unpacked. Now we feel bad for our earlier disappointment.

 Speaking of hot tubs, this trip afforded us the best in terms of stars, satellites, and shooting (falling?) stars. They were awesome.

 New Mexico, which should change its name to Carson State, or Navajo State, seems to have a distinct lack of historic, or cultural, heroes. Coronado, the famed Spanish explorer abused the native Indians (Pueblo, Navajo, Zuni, Apache, Comanche, Ute, Kiowa), and probably more, to the degree that they revolted in 1680. There was blood, followed by bad blood. Coronado was solely interested in exploiting both the people, and their wealth, had he ever found the lost cities of gold. Coronado aside, there were famous trappers and hunters, but none who benefitted the development of the state, or any people groups within. Kit Carson seems to be the singular stand out as far as heroic figures go. (There may be a bunch of indigenous folks, or folks of Spanish ancestry worthy of the acclaim, I don’t know.) Starved for notoriety of some sort (even bad press is better than no press), modern New Mexicans (Carsonians) point to Billy the Kid – almost to the degree of the George Washington slept here hype. While eastern states laud actual heroes: Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, John Paul Jones, Paul Revere, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, General Anthony Wayne (hah!), Ashley McBride (ha-ha!), and the like, New Mexicans extol a murdering punk, a villain. Oh well, even bad publicity …

Despite the obvious lack of historical heroes, New Mexico does not lack for historical enchantment. The sights are spectacular, especially the mountains and even the smaller rock formations. The people are friendly (excepting the murderous Billy). The food is great. Wayne prefers the red chili peppers while Debbie, the green. Wayne likes to actually see the mold in his food.

After a short two-mile hike with a thousand-foot elevation gain, it was time for Sparkly, our glittery black Ford Edge, to finally get his way, a trip up a bona fide Jeep/ATV road/trail. It used to be a road. In fact, we drove it with ease two years ago. A local told us that the monsoons they’ve had washed it away. Sparkly wanted to go fast, so Wayne let him have his head, doubling the recommended 2mph. Sparkly was sometimes difficult to restrain.

 The adventure was worth it, offering a Stephen King Misery experience. A mountain lion crossed the ‘road’ just ahead of us. Wayne stopped and got out of the car to check out where it had headed. (maybe not the most clever of options) Low and behold, (BTW, we loathe and despise cliches, but sometimes it’s better than a sharp stick in the eye) A hundred or so feet down the nearly 90 degree drop-off was a vehicle smashed into a tree. Though there were no obvious signs of a recent departure from the ‘road’, it could have fairly flown over the nearby brush. Or it could have gone over when there was snow cover. Or … anyway, going down to check whether there was a corpse in the vehicle while theoretically possible, didn’t seem very well-advised considering that there might very well be a mountain lion finishing up what might be left and much preferring the live meat presenting himself on a veritable platter – Wayne.

Surprisingly, there was cell service in this remote mountainous area. From a Sandia Mountain trail map handout, we got through to someone who transferred the call to the proper authority. While they appreciated our call, they’d been aware of the vehicle and that it had been there for some time. But how weird, that the mountain lion crossed exactly where we could see the crashed vehicle. What if it wasn’t the same crash that the authority thought they knew about? What if the driver was just then coming to, only to see a mountain lion eating his face? (Limiting Wayne’s Stephen King intake.)

 Another mile down the ‘road’ we saw a mountain lion kitten, though it was barely a kitten, nearly as large as its mother, and almost devoid of kitten colorations and markings. We watched it in awe for some time before thinking to take a photo. You just have to believe us (or not) that the blond blur in the below picture is the kitten.

 Another quarter mile brought us to our promised hike, a trail to what was described as a Cave Man Cave. Unless we’d unknowingly driven across the Atlantic, it is doubtful that cave men had ever seen New Mexico, let alone inhabited this cave. More than likely the occupants, for which sufficient evidence supported the probability, were ancient indigenous people, no doubt using the cave to hide from mountain lions at night. The cave was cool, but there are better in Arkansas.

 A serendipitous hike in the Sandia Mountains showed us a plethora of wildflowers; most were varieties this Arkansas couple do not normally see. But the star of the show was a large mule deer buck who calmly sauntered in the trail behind us when we stopped for a rest (hiking at high altitude is hard, y’all!).

A retracing of a trip up the Turquoise Trail from 2 years ago put us re-hiking a trail in Cerrillos State Park, just south of Santa Fe. Several old mineral mines dot this trail and their history is revealed in very good signage. Passing through Madrid (unlike the one in Spain, this one is pronounced MAA’-drid), we were stopped for several minutes on Hwy 14 due to a ‘special event’ which we could not see. When allowed to pass through the artsy, cutesy town, we saw evidence of a movie being filmed. After exploring Cerrillos, we returned to Madrid for ice cream and got to watch some of the preparations for more filming. We did not get to see the part where the clipboard snaps and someone yells, “ACTION!” but it was enough. This same town was used for some of the scenes in the motorcycle film Wild Hogs and one building still boasts the ‘Diner’ sign that was added only for the film. Sign on the door says they do not serve food there. One can understand the confusion for tourists. We found out the movie being filmed during our trip is titled Robots and is a futuristic comedy starring Shailene Woodley and written by one of the writers on Borat. Cool beans. We ran into the film company yet again a day or two later, this time in a couple of sites in the Sandia Mountains. Whether the finished movie turns out to be good or meh, we’ll be watching it to catch glimpses of the gorgeous New Mexico countryside. New Mexico and Colorado have several movie ranches sprinkled in the very scenic areas.

 15 months, or so, ago we were house-sitting in Durango when paper Closed for Covid signs went up on doors in business-after-business. Here’s one for the whole town.

 While touristing Old Town Albuquerque we suddened upon a shop managed by a very personable guy who gave us a cup of Arabica/piñon coffee. When we house-sat in Sante Fe last year we talked to a State Park Ranger dude who told us all bout people picking piñon nuts. Having marvelously (Debbie word) passed the aroma tests, we bought a box of K-cups of this unique, pinon flavored brew. The personable guy turned out to be the artist, David Behrens (DavidBehrensGallery.com and Facebook.com/DavidBehrensGallery).

 This trip ranks among the best, or at the top of the list: obedient and FUN pets, very clean and comfortable home, fantastic hiking and scenery (despite the photo-compromising smoke), and very gracious hosts who offered us their entire refrigerator! Regarding the smoke, we shouldn’t be too self-centered considering it may be what’s left of someone’s home passing overhead.

Here are more pix from the trip. Enjoy!

[themutantunderground]

Omg a lot of those prompts could be for ThunderBlink! In canon or in one of the alternative realities!! :D Numbers 6 or 11 or 14 or 15 lol. I really love them all 🙈

6- “You have to go. You have to run, and you can’t lookback. Promise me.”

11- “It’sokay, you’re okay. Just stay with me.”

14- “Youcould’ve died! Do you realize that?”

Sorry this took FOREVER, I kept changing my mind about what to do and mentally re-writing it! Set in the Resistance AU. Clarice and John have beendating for a while, and it’s actually multi-chaptered! So, ahhhh, #11 and #14 arein another chapter. This is somewhat born from Marcos mentioning that John is “almost”bulletproof. I was trying to figure out how someone could be ALMOST bulletproof…

AO3

It was supposed to be a quick mission. Go to Louisiana,get the new truck that Lucas had promised them, drive back to HQ. Marcos andClarice had volunteered to go, and John had decided to go along with them sinceLucas could be, well, unpredictable. While he was one of the links in theirever-growing underground railroad, Lucas was the kind of guy that met you atthe door with a shotgun and had a shoot first, ask questions later policy.Being somewhat bulletproof helped with that sort of thing, though John wasn’tsure how well he would hold up against a point-blank shotgun wound to thechest. In any case, the drive there was supposed to be the easy part.

They hadn’t expected to run into a Sentinel Servicesroadblock and license check.

Not good. Three wanted mutants in one Jeep, and if theytried to back away now, Sentinel Services would be on them in a second. It wasbetter to try to talk their way through and pretend that nothing was out of theordinary rather than run away and draw attention to themselves.

Why hadn’t someone contacted them to tell them there wasa roadblock? Back at HQ, Harry and Elaine were monitoring radio chatter and therest of the surveillance equipment. Sentinel Services must have been using codeterms to keep it a secret so no one would avoid the road. Most likely they weresearching for fugitives and wouldn’t investigate them too closely. John glancedat the rearview mirror, meeting Clarice’s eyes.

“What, you’re not going to say act natural?” she said,forcing humor, “Or, I don’t know, let me do the talking?”

“Act natural,” Marcos said, “Happy?”

“Much better.” She put on her sunglasses and leanedagainst the far door, trying to be inconspicuous. She had temporary brown dyein her hair, and her hair was carefully arranged to hide her pointed ears. Noone would notice her. It was going to be fine.

They inched their way up to the roadblock, tensionmounting in the cab of their Jeep. “Look, if something goes wrong—” Johnstarted, but Marcos interrupted.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” he said, “It’s going to befine.”

“But if it isn’t, I want you two to run,” John said, “Gotit?”

“And what are you planning to do, stay behind and buy ussome time?” Clarice asked bitterly. Her hand came over the seat and rested onher shoulder, gentler than her tone. “We’re here as a team, so let’s act likeit.”

“There’re too many here,” John said, his eyes flicking tothe roadblock. “If we all fight them, we all go down. I can hold them off andthen meet up with you later.”

“Oh, now that sounds like a truly terrible plan,” Marcossaid, “We appreciate your noble sacrifice, we really do, but we’re all getting out of heretogether, John.”

“I’m with Marcos. We won’t leave you behind, so stop talking about it,”Clarice said, her green eyes angry as she glared at him in the rearview mirror.

John grumbled, dropping his weight against the door. “I’llbe fine.”

Clarice reached up and punched him in the shoulder. “Stop.I mean it.”

He held up his hand, indicating he was dropping thesubject. He let a breath escape through his clenched teeth as he tried to finda new way out of the situation. He should have heard the trucks and carslingering here, idle, but he hadn’t been focusing. Instead, he had been busydriving and arguing with Marcos about the radio station, which in hindsight waspretty damn juvenile. He ran a hand over his face, mad at himself. He could’veavoided this if he had been paying better attention, and now they were all indanger.

They pulled into the traffic stop, and John rolled down hiswindow as a Sentinel Services agent stepped forward. The woman glanced at allof them and then focused in on John. “License and registration.”

John grabbed his fake license from where he had it readyin the cup holder, and Marcos pulled the registration from the glove compartmentand handed it to John. He gave both to the agent and sat back in his seat,acting like he was bored instead of worried.

“Where are you all heading?” the agent asked, looking from John’s license to his face.

“Heading over to visit some friends in Fort Gaines,” Johnsaid, naming a town that was on the way.

“Mmm.” The agent nodded and then moved away from the Jeep.“I’ll be right back. Stay there.”

John’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel as shewalked back over to the Sentinel Services SUV. The steering wheel gaveunder his grip, small cracks appearing in the surface.

“John,” Clarice said softly, and he eased up, but hecouldn’t get rid of the feeling that this wasn’t going to go well.

“Don’t break the Jeep,” Marcos mumbled under his breath.

The agent came back, the same pinched and sharp look on herface. “Can you pull over to the side of the road, sir?” she asked, and the hairon the back of John’s neck stood up. Shit.

“Sure, but can I ask why?” he said, resting his hand onthe Jeep’s gearshift. He eyes flicked ahead, and he tried to judge thesituation. There wasn’t a spike strip over the road…they could make it. But theywouldn’t be able to go far, it was guaranteed that Sentinel Services would beon them immediately. Could they outrace the better, faster SUVs?

“It’s just a random plate check,” the woman said, “Wehave to do them every few cars or my boss gets upset. So…do you mind?”

John nodded to her, rolled the window up, and put the carin gear. If she was telling the truth, they could probably get through this. Ifit was a trap…

“I don’t like this,” Marcos said as John pulled the Jeepof the road, “She’s lying.”

“Possibly,” John said, tense. He threw the Jeep into parkand turned around to look at Clarice. “You okay?”

“Let me just repeat, we’re not leaving you.”

John frowned. “Clarice, did I even say anything aboutthat?” 

“You were thinking it.”

“You don’t know that.”

 “Oh, yes, I do because I know you, John Proudstar.”

“You were definitely thinking that,” Marcos said.

John caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and herealized that more Sentinel Services agents were mobilizing over where theagent had asked them to pull over in. They were wearing riot gear, and yeah, Johnwasn’t playing that game. “Everyone, hold on.”

He flung the Jeep into reverse and slammed his foot intothe gas pedal, sending it off peeling backward. This was the very thing he hadbeen yelling at James about last week, reckless driving, but right now he didn’thave a choice. He pushed through the gears and the Jeep flew forward, crashingthrough a barrier and going off road through a field.

Marcos braced himself on the dashboard as the Jeep hit abump and jumped into the air, dropping down roughly into the dirt. The tiresspun for a second before catching and sending them forward again.

“Oh, shit!” Clarice yelled, grabbing onto the back ofMarcos’ seat.

“I like this plan a little better,” Marcos said, “But we’restill being followed…”

“Right,” John said, “Remember that whole running idea? Ineed you to actually do that. You have to run, and you can’t look back. Promiseme.”

“We already said—”

“I know!” John snapped, raising his voice, “I know, butthe situation—”

“No,” Clarice said firmly, “We’re not—”

“Clarice, just—”

Marcos broke in. “You know what, I agree with Clarice—”

“See, Marcos is with me, and I don’t care—”

“All right!” John interrupted, the Jeep turning sharply tothe right and in the direction of the woods. Behind them, Sentinel ServicesSUVs were already cutting across the field, racing toward them. “Fine, we’llall go, okay? But you have to make a portal, Clarice.”

“Yes, no kidding,” she said, then leaned into the spacebetween his and Marcos’ seats, watching his face. “We’ll have to do a fewjumps.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, bracing as the Jeep hit anotherdip in the field. It rocked, and Clarice had to sit back. Maybe it would work,all three of them leaving through a portal. But the strain on Clarice…she wouldhave to make multiple portals, one after the other, to get them away quickly.

They reached the edge of the woods and John put the Jeepinto park, though he didn’t turn it off. They all jumped out of the truck, Johnnearly ripping the back door off of its hinges as he pulled it open for Clarice.In the distance, something boomed and a bullet bite into the back of the Jeep. Marcosand Clarice ducked while John stepped behind them, creating a barrier. He wasmostly bulletproof, after all, up to a certain range and caliber.

“Go, go!” he said, and they took off toward the woods, aportal already sparkling in Clarice’s hands. Another gunshot tore through theair, followed by a third, and this time, it felt like someone had driven a cinderblock into his back. John glowered but ignored it as they hurried through thetrees. Clarice skidded to a stop and then pulled the portal open wider,fighting against the universe to create an impossibility.

“C’mon, I can’t hold this forever,” she said, and Marcosdove through the portal.

More gunshots went off and a few peppered his arms andlegs as he continued to provide a shield for his friend. It was close enough forthe bullets to sting like hell and draw a little blood but not to burrow in. Hewas about to step through the portal when heat scorched his back and settinghis shirt on fire. Letting out a yell of pain, he pulled off the shirt andflung it to the ground. Another fireball struck him, creating a blossom ofburns on his arm and side. Sure, he was durable, but that didn’t mean he wasfireproof. Fire resistant, sure. That wound would be far worse on a regularperson but on him they were second degree burns.

There was a girl walking toward him, fire playing aroundher fingertips, amusement in her brown eyes. She was wearing a Sentinel Servicesuniform, but she was definitely a mutant and still a teenager. “You have theright to remain silent,” she said, raising her hand, flames flickering in herpalm. “Or I’ll turn you into a bonfire.” Behind her, older agents were closingin, guns pointed at John, and beyond them he could hear spider drones being released.

“Clarice, time to go,” John said, stepping toward theportal.

“You first,” Clarice said, “And hurry!”

Sunbeams with the intensity of lasers suddenly poured outof the portal, and Marcos stepped back through, glaring at the girl. “John!Come on!”

“Get the portal girl,” the mutant with fire powers said,raising her hands to catch Marcos’ beams. “I’ll take care of these two.”

John grabbed Marcos and lunged through the portal, shieldinghim as a new round of bullets came their way. This time, one of the bulletsmust have been from a high-power gun since it dug into his shoulder blade,burrowing into the muscle. It lodged itself there, unable to pass straight through.A second later, Clarice dropped in after them, stumbling onto the hill afootball field away from the agents.

John groaned and cursed, pain searing across his side as abreeze blew across his wounds. He wasn’t used to getting injured and he hadsort of forgotten how much it sucked.

“Oh my God, John,” Clarice said, her fingers hovering overthe burns on his side, her eyes wide. Marcos had a similar expression on hisface but John shook his head.

“Clarice, we have to go, we have to get farther away,” hesaid, “I’m sorry…”

“What’re you sorry about?” she said, grabbing at the airagain, “You self-sacrificing moron.”

Marcos took him by the arm and held tight even when Johntried to shrug him off. Far away, the Sentinel Services agents had figured out wherethey were and had already started moving toward their location. Clarice pulledopen another portal, and they hurried through, getting farther away. By the fourthportal, Clarice was exhausted, but they were far enough away from the SentinelServices that they could take a break.

“I’m calling HQ,” Marcos said, his brown eyes worried asClarice and John leaned against a tree, their fingers intertwined as both of themtried to catch their breath.

“Don’t tell James,” John said, “He’ll freak out.”

“He’s going to find out,” Clarice said. She looked uphim, frowning, and then she zeroed in on his shoulder. “John…John, you’re bleeding.”

His head dropped forward in an attempt at a nod. “Yeah.”

“Turn around,” she said, grabbing his arm and trying toturn him herself. He obliged, knowing she wouldn’t stop and leave it be. “Damn,is that a bullet wound? Did you get shot?! You didn’t say anything!”

“What?” Marcos said, pulling the phone away from his ear,“What are you talking about?”

“John got shot,” Clarice said, “Is it still in there?”

“Mhmm,” John grunted. “It’s fine. It’ll be okay.”

“Man, you have to tell us things like that!” Marcosscolded, shock on his face, “I thought you were bulletproof.”

“Mostly,” John said, leaning into Clarice’s touch as shereached up and brushed the hair out of his face, her other hand applying pressure to his slowlybleeding wound. “Mostly bulletproof.”

[stone-man-warrior]

December 8, 2020: 4:10 pm:

I survived the COVID Testing Center, the trip to the COVID Testing terror take-out, the stop at the Dairy Queen, and the ride home, but not without being shot at, at least once to my knowledge.

There was a lot to observe, and a much can be said, so, some highlights is what I have for now.

First thing is that email from Hollywood Vatican Choir HQ, Denmark Chapter.

https://www.carlmartin.com

The way the knobs are set on that PlexiRanger, is part of the Sturgeon hit orders from the Bergoglio Pope Francis.

The two on the top, are at 10 and 2. That’s me driving down the road.

The two oposing knobs on the bottom are Sandy Monroe, and a bearded assistant that was with her as I left. The knobs are minutes apart, not much time for them to do what they were supposed to do as I was leaving, and that is to make a phone call. Sandy got on a phone call as I was leaving, I could see her as I left in my car. She almost never is seen talking on a phone, so I could see that the inclusion of the bearded assistant and the phone call was some kind of bullshit I needed to know about.

The two center knobs on the Carl Martin Plexi Ranger from Denmark are associated to the phone call, to Rogue Regional Transport. You could say that the two center knobs are in disagreement, and are in a head-on, conflicting physical arrangement, one that included there are two sets of Flying V Knob Triangular shape of three knobs each, on a collision coarse.

And, that is what happened.

Rogue Regional Transportation, a big 20 foot box truck, one I don’t recall having seen before, came down Jackpine just as I began to leave my house at about 1:30 pm. There was a Head-On moment on Jackpine, I had to pull to the side to let the truck pass by on the narrow gravel road that Jackpine is. There I waited as the RRT truck approached. I rolled up my windows, and waited, then as the RRT truck was beside my car, they stopped. I rolled my window down and lit my lighter as the driver of the RRT truck was rolling their window down. It was tense for a moment, but I got on my way, without looking back to see what was going to happen next.

You may find that is far fetched, but this is not my first rodeo, and that truck was here to kill, and to cart away valuables from my home

===

On my way, there were a number of Gauntlet style obstacles to clear on the drive to Medford. Most notably was that I was escorted by a Pacific Power Truck most of the way, a white Dodge, flat bed, with approximately 36 inch tall wood gate sides and tail gate. A “Easter Basket Flat Bed” Pac-Pow truck.

The other notable obstacle was a big rig at the crest of the Medford Drop In where you come down the hill into Medford. The truck was a forty foot trailer hauling saw dust, another Basket Truck because of the screen-like container that the trailer is made of for hauling saw dust wood chips. That truck was going no more than 25 miles per hour on the freeway, with no caution lights blinking as traffic was moving at about 70 MPH around the saw dust Easter Basket. One car ahead of me avoided collision with the ass end of that saw dust rig by only a few inches as the car quickly and suddenly had to swerve after seeing the hazard it presented without caution lights moving so slowly.

Other hazards also.

There was a “Homeless Encampment” at the Crater Lake Blvd Medford exit south bound, and about 15 people hanging around at all of the corners there at and near that exit, all were people from the encampment. I could demonstrate how Boris Johnson called that to happen with photo Tweets he made recently and perhaps along with Trump saying that things are “tense” lately. also with use of Twitter. The Boris elements include some coded reference to “Bottom Dwellers”. With interview, I could elaborate.

I was able to anticipate almost exactly what the conditions were going to be at one particular corner at Biddle Road, as I called it like a little league umpire before it happened, as the terror soldier spies there began to enact their sequence of prearranged activity, having seen the exact same set of scenario rolled out there so many times in the past.

There is a man that rides a motorcycle along the route I take on Biddle. He wears a outfit that is an illusion, he looks as if he has a child passenger on the back of the motorcycle, but when you get closer, that illusion passenger appears to be a two dimensional, flat, person on the back of the motorcycle. You have to rub your eyes to see what the heck is going on with that. Then, look to the left, and in the lane is a flat cat in the road, squished flat as paper. That same man, same illusion, same flat cat, at the same intersection is present much of the times I go to Medford. They plan that I will see the flat passenger, and the flat cat in the road at the same place when I go to Medford. The whole fucking world knows that I will be going there, and they do whatever they can do to make me crash my car, with obstacles and illusion, pressure from Pac-Pow escort, and the same homeless camp that pops up on occasion there, with the same people riding the same bicycles in the same places and walking the same dog across the same street at the time I arrive at that corner, as happens the previous times I have gone to Medford.

It’s all very “Twilight Zone” weird freaky to see the same shit happen on a different day months apart with the same people all involved. Terror is a nine to five job on a stage in the world, wherever I go.

(more later, I need to stop for now.)

5:11 pm.

===

Ok, more: 5:27 pm:

Once to the Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon, I could see the familiar fat lady spy at the Bennet Arms Apartments as I approach the corner, she sits in a chair in the parking there, and is a scout for that part of the neighborhood. There is always a piece of discarded furniture right there on the curb that serves as communication about neighbor hood conditions there, usually is a discarded reclining chair, today was a discarded sofa-bed, broken, bent bed frame sticking out partially unfolded on the curbside. That lady has access to the blue-tooth transmitter in that is in my jaw, so, when I arrive there, I sort of talk to the spy lady, tell her that I know she is a terror spy, and that I know she can hear what I say, so, today’s response from the fat lady spy at Bennett Arms Apartments was that she pulled a black hoody completely over her head as I was saying that I know she is a spy, from in my car, whispering, about 300 feet away from where she is stationed on look-out duty there.

There were more cars at the Crater Lake Surgery Center than I have seen before. The place is usually empty of cars, only three maybe, but today the parking was full, maybe twenty cars there, it’s part of the Pain Center, is next door, is new this year, and is very small, maybe 3,000 square feet of small surgery center.

The Doctor appointment today was weird. I am not going there for a COVID test, it’s just a regular doctor appointment I need to do, at a fake doctor office, where I have killed most of the people who were there five years ago, in defense as they attack every time I go there. The Doctor I was scheduled to see has been dead for more than three months, but they are pretending he is alive and seeing patients. Today there was no Easy-Up canopy, so that was good. But there is a lot of special signage about the dangers of COVID, and some pointing out that the way the office is doing business with video and phone only appointments is all because of Kate Brown said so, with information on the door that points out Oregon government mandates and Kate Brown specifically.

Today, was telephone appointment, I don’t have the mandated Smart Phone that they demand I have, in order to have Video appointment. So, I check-in, use the hand sanitizer at the front door, see that I have to knock on the door as the sign says to do, then wait there. So I checked in that way. I was told the (dead) doctor would call my phone at the appointment time in a few minutes. So I waited around and explained a lot of terror communications that are going on visibly there to no one but me, wishing that the fat lady at the Bennett Arms Apartments was not the only person that can listen to that Blue-Tooth transmitter in my jaw.

The call from the fake doctor came to the phone. He asks how my pain level is, I tell him it hurts and what I do to make things feel a bit better.

He says: “You have arthritis” on the phone call appointment as I am wondering around in the parking lot. I have been going there for five years, and they still don‘t know that I have a spinal cord injury. When I was transferred there from Medford Medical Clinic, I insisted that a new MRI was done, and survived that at “Asante MRI & Front End Suspension & Steering” at the hospital. The doctor at the Pain Specialists, who ordered the MRI per my request five years ago, has still not looked at the MRI to see the spinal cord injury or the post surgical reasons for my needs to see a doctor, the reason I go there is to manage post surgical spinal injury.

He says I have arthritis on a phone call appointment as I stand in a parking lot at my doctor office.

So, that happened.

I was told only video appointments with Smart Phone are allowed, but since I don‘t have a smart phone, he called, as other people were going in, and coming out of the doctors office, where I was told that no one can go in there.

So that also happened. People going in and coming out, but I have to stay in the parking to wait for a phone call.

More later. I have to move around.

I’m a Wig-Wam.

I’m a Tee-Pee.

I’M TWO TENTS!

6:10 pm.

===

Ok, more: 6:26 pm:

While I was at the parking lot phone call doctor appointment with the dead doctor on the phone pretending to be Paul Leppert, I observed all of the standardized terror elements of a lot people in their cars all monitoring their Smart Phones for correct blue-tooth signal handshake information of all of the other people who come near within Blue-Tooth range, there are many of those kinds of terror scouts, hundreds of them on every city block, most are older women who do that work, to alert others when strangers come near who don‘t have the approved terror code presented in the Blue-Tooth handshake as they monitor and scout with Smart Phones.

So I left there alive, is more than I expected today. I even poured out the whole bag of cat food for my cats and left the toilet seat up for them when I left today, just in case I don‘t come home from the COVID Corona Slaughter.

I was hungry, decided to take some chances to get something to eat. The Mexican Restaurant I wanted to go to had a COVID Easy-Up Canopy out front, so I skipped that and went to Dairy Queen.

It’s been about four years since I was there last, so, I went there, on Biddel Road. There, was the same conditions as last times I have been to the DQ. A green Harley Davidson parked, a BMW that follows me in, the same Chevrolet Crew Cab with orange power cords rolled up and hanging from a rack who drives by after I park, takes a good look at me when I step out of the car, then he pulls over to the next parking aisle to stop and look some more, and check for proper Blue-Tooth settings that I don‘t have. Then, I go inside and see that the same man is still working behind the counter as last time, about 50 years old man, way over qualified for the DQ front counter, and wearing Carhardt carpenter pants while serving hamburgers there.

I ordered some food, he gave me a free soda, Enormous Jumbo Size. So I filled that cup he gave me at the fountain, that is when the fake doctor called me again, this time to set my next appointment time. I wrote down the time and day of the appointment for next time, it’s going to be with someone by the name of Denise, next month, who I am told, will be calling for another phone appointment with the fake doctors there at Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon.

Just as I was talking with the appointment schedualer while at the Dairy Queen, that is when a large size woman came into the DQ, stood right there, and took a shot at me with a .25 caliber gun. The bullet bounced off my coat, is the kind of custom .25 that has no barrel, uses the brass of the bullet as the barrel of the gun, so, they are not very powerful, only make a small wound that looks worse than it is... it bounced off my leather coat as I was talking to the appointment scheduler for Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon.

That lady turned around and left in a big hurry after taking the shot at me with the .25 custom made gun that has no barrel and uses bullet brass as the barrel.

Those guns are very small, about the size of a large car key, holds two bullets.

So, my food was ready, there was some commotion, I don‘t know exactly what, I just wanted to leave safely with something to eat, so that’s what happened.

On the way home, I was just glad to still be alive, and did not pay so much attention to more than I needed to. I did notice that a familiar group of pedestrians were walking on the shoulder of the northbound freeway, four people, with one baby stroller on the freeway walking, they show up there at the exit 55 sometimes when I drive by there.

That, and one Amazon Prime truck was with that Pac-Pow truck that was escorting me along the way. And, when I returned to Three Pines, there was a white pick-up at the 800 block waiting to do some kind of bullshit there, so, I shouted “You fucking pirates...leave me alone”... I could hear the sound of my own voice come from that truck as I passed by shouting, with just a short echo delay.

Stevie Bell’s truck came out of nowhere and was suddenly right on my bumper behind me as I approached Jackpine, so I pulled over, he went by, and I got behind him instead. There was a pedestrian female on Jackpine who waved to Stevie Bell as he passed by her, then she waved at me as I passed by her. It’s the woman I said looks like Hillary Clinton, is a Fran Taylor look-a-like also. That pedestrian woman is new, a replacement terror soldier at one of the addresses here on Jackpine, I don‘t know which one yet, I suspect she is trying to be Francis Taylor of 600 Jackpine but could be at Myers 560. Almost all of the residents have changed on Jackpine recently, but the cars and houses have not changed hands.

End COVID Terror Hit Survival Report.

Tomorrow, is another day... stay tuned, please send help.

7:18 pm.

---

7:25 additional, is worthy of mention that the fake doctor on the parking lot COVID Hit Phone appointment told me that the assassin that came into my house last night while I was in the shower and was hiding in the laundry room and hit me with a baseball bat, was Terry Sparacino, who apearantly was killed in the attack, acording to the fake doctor on COVID Parking Lot doctor appointment for post surgical spinal cord injury treatment.

======================

9:20 pm: I’ll wager dollars to doughnuts, that there were federal officers assigned to have a look around here, at my home, and around it today as I went to the fake terror doctor SAGClubMed terror cell today. I say, those guys were entertained somehow by Sandy Monroe, and her bearded new young friend over there. I say that the fools were fooled as per usual by local authorities, and whatever may have happened here on Jackpine as I was at the terror doctor, included that those fools witnessed that  terror doctor, standing in my front yard, as he was talking to me on the phone call, and I was at his terror doctor office, however, since that man was a fake, and was not Paul Leppart, he could have been anyone, anywhere, will convincing me that he was inside the doctor office, and, also convincing others that he was me, standing in front of my house, as fools observed, and listened with a Stingray, while the settings on the Stingray were reversed, to flip-flop the two phone numbers involved with the call, mine, and the Pain Specialists. I have seen the reversed calls happen time and time again with other kinds of calls, and when Richard Chartrand was still alive and active as a terror soldier, he was highly skilled at vocal deception, able to hold three conversations at once, in three languages, while one of the four people involved in the conversation is a mark, and the other two are terror assistance of Chartrand. He could work secretly with two other people, while having a face to face conversation with the mark, who thinks there is only Chartrand present. So, some federal officers are likely to have observed someone in my front yard today while talking on a cellular phone, as I was in Medford at the terror doctor, and the Stingray was not only reversed, but also duplicated at least one additional iteration of the same phone call, maybe more duplication done with external surplus Stingray devices, and/or KingFish hand held verity surveillance units. The federal agents don’t understand that there are hundreds of Stingray surveillance units in the hands of terror cells just in Josephine County. Many thousands of them throughout the state of Oregon, all used and operated by terror cells who work under protection of State Police. That, in addition to other, Huawei brand Hong Kong Stingray Knock-Off units that have far more functionality than the name brand Stingray does. The terror is British terror, the electronics that US consumers use, are made in Hong Kong, and Hong Kong has been ruled by Britain since the first Opium War, about 200 years ago. By the way, Britain brought the opium to Hong Kong, not the other way around. They brought it, enough to control all of the people there with it. That is the opium war, bring opium, control people. That’s it.

If you are federal officer assigned to Grants Pass, you are in great danger just by default of that circumstance. You are no longer going to be able to simply clock out at the end of the work day anymore, that is not available once you are here. Personal survival is going to be a 24 hour job, and national security is not going to be possible with a few agents, it’s not possible with all 4,000 field agents I am aware that work at FBI. Even if all 4000 FBI field agents came to Josephine county, they would be outnumbered by about 10:1 just in Josephine county. If you add protection of Jackson County, that increases of an additional triple of the amount to about 40:1.

Let’s see:

50,000 + 75,000 rough estimate of terror soldiers of the two counties all ready to kill, armed, well connected with lots of electronic gadgets, and are supported by the White House and Congress.

125,000 terror soldiers

4,000 FBI, lets make it five thousand for easy math

125:5

25:1 outnumbered if there are 5000 FBI.

That’s only two out of 36 counties.

50:1 Two stroke mix for a chain saw.

They have a lot of chainsaws per FBI Officer when you look at the bigger picture of the fractal terror zoom.

Go get US Military now.

What federal officers need to do, must do, is find a way, enough evidence, to show that the WH and Congress is already hijacked. Take that to some Generals of US Military, find some Admirals of US navy, make absolutely certain that those people are not SAG Actors playing army at the bases. Show that there is not much time, and your own estimates of how outnumbered you are, but don’t underestimate the number of hard core Christian Crusade warriors there are. That is how many terror soldiers there are. Many millions of them. Add SAG, and that is another million or so people who are traitors.

[thelastspeecher]

NaNoWriMo ‘17 Day 25 - Sibling’s Weekend

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08 Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16 Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24 Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

Summary: Fiddleford visits his younger sister at West Coast Tech, for the school’s “Sibling’s Weekend”.  It doesn’t end well.  [West Coast Outcasts AU] Word count: 1997

               Ford resolutely stared at his shoes as he walked back to his dorm, trying not to focus on the exam he had just taken.  

               I’m slipping.  I got a B on an assignment last week.  How did that happen?  He huffed.  Damn social sciences.  Who even cares about sociology?  I’m a physicist.  I sure as hell don’t.

               “Oh, howdy, Ford!” a voice chirped cheerfully.  Ford looked up.  

               “Angie.”

               “Got it in one,” Angie said with a wink.  She bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly.

               “You seem to be in a good mood,” Ford remarked, coming to a stop next to his friend.  Angie beamed at him.

               “Fidds is visitin’ fer Siblin’s Weekend!  So ‘re Lute and Harper, but Harper drops by all the time.”  Angie grinned sheepishly at Ford.  “Sorry again ‘bout how Harper read ya the riot act. He’s overprotective.  Most of my siblin’s are.”

               “Your older brothers are visiting?” Ford asked.  He set down his bag on the sidewalk.  Angie nudged it onto the well-trimmed lawn with her foot. Ford looked askance at her.

               “Sorry.  But lots of folks ‘round here don’t watch where they’re goin’.  Too busy stickin’ their noses in books.  Yer usually one of ‘em, you understand.”

               “I don’t want my bag to get stained,” Ford mumbled, picking his bag up again.  Angie rolled her eyes.

               “City slicker.”

               “Farm girl.”

               “Yup.  Anyways, yep, three of my older brothers are visitin’.  Not Basstian, though.  He’s always busy.”

               “Basstian is…” Ford started.

               “The only one what didn’t inherit Pa’s nose.  He’s a music teacher, and, apparently, very intimidatin’.” Angie shrugged.  “I don’t see it.”

               “He is your older brother.”

               “True enough,” Angie said with a nod.  She grabbed fistfuls of her skirt (She must not have had any labs today; she’s too klutzy to risk wearing anything nice during dissections.) eagerly.  “Ooh! That’s Fidds’ car, pullin’ into the lot right now!”  Ford looked over at the parking lot.  Fiddleford McGucket was getting out of a beat-up, rusted brown truck.  Ford’s heartrate picked up.

               Ah, yes.  My one friend’s attractive, intelligent older brother.  

               “So, um, last year, fer Siblin’s Weekend, yer twin brother visited,” Angie said, clearly feigning her casual tone.  “Is he goin’ to come again this year?”

               “Unless he got banned from flying or lost his plane ticket, yes, he should be here,” Ford said.  Angie grinned.

               “Good, good.”

               “Why are you excited about that?”                “Oh!  Uh, no reason,” Angie squeaked.  She ducked her head, but was too slow to hide the slight flush that was spreading across her cheeks.  Ford furrowed his brow.

               Odd…

               “I mean, ‘cept fer how, it’ll be good fer ya to socialize with someone who isn’t me,” Angie fumbled.  “Ya need to make some more friends.”

               “I’m fine with just the one,” Ford said with a shrug.

               “Aw.”

               “It’s how I’ve spent most of my life, after all.”

               “Way to go, ya turned that cute moment into a sad one,” Angie said, shaking her head at him.  She looked away from Ford to beam broadly at her approaching older brother.  “Fidds!”

               “Howdy there, lil Miss Banjey,” Fiddleford said, walking up to his younger sister and hugging her tightly.  

               “Fidds.”

               “Oh, right, yer Angie, not Banjey.”  Fiddleford looked at Ford.  “She thinks she’s too good fer the fam’ly names.”  Angie elbowed Fiddleford in the stomach.  “Oof!  Good to see you, too, sis.”  Fiddleford smiled politely at Ford.  “Good to see you, as well, of course.  Stanford, right?”

               “Yes.”

               “If I recall correctly, you have yourself a twin brother?”

               “Yes.”

               “That’s nice.  Like Angie. Is he goin’ to visit?”

               “Stan will be visiting, yes.  He should get here in a few hours.”  Fiddleford’s offhand remark clicked in Ford’s mind.  “Angie, did Fiddleford just say you have a twin brother?”

               “Hmm?  Oh, yeah, I do.  Lute. He’s visitin’.”

               “I thought he was your older brother.”

               “By three minutes,” Angie said.  She unzipped Fiddleford’s bag and began to rummage around in it.

               “You told me none of your siblings were multiple births!”

               “I didn’t want ya to feel less special, since I’m a twin, too,” Angie said cajolingly.  She took a hardcover book titled Hamboning and Computer Coding out of Fiddleford’s bag.  “Fidds, where did ya find this?”

               “The library.”

               “Angie, you-” Ford stammered.

               “And anyways, ya were ramblin’ ‘bout yer fam’ly fer the first time since I’d met ya, and I thought if I corrected ya, you’d clam up again,” Angie mumbled, flipping through Fiddleford’s book.

               “Angie!” Fiddleford scolded.  “Ya don’t lie to get folks to tell things ‘bout themselves.”

               “It was just a lil fib.”

               “But- but I’ve seen pictures of Lute.  He looks much older than you,” Ford said desperately.

               “It’s just ‘cause he’s taller,” Angie said with a shrug.  She took another book out of Fiddleford’s bag.  “Hey, this is the same textbook my Entomology class uses!”

               “I was lookin’ fer tips on handlin’ cockroaches,” Fiddleford said, snatching the book out of Angie’s hand.  “The dorm rooms at Backupsmore are even more infested than I thought they’d be.”

               “That’s unfortunate,” Ford said.  He shook his head.  “I can’t believe I’m only now finding out you have a twin brother.  How long have we known each other?”

               “Lil over a year,” Angie said.  She looked at Fiddleford.  “Fidds, do I see yer banjo in here?”

               “Yes, ya do.”

               “Why’d ya bring yer banjo?”

               “Why not?”

               “‘Cause ya like to play songs at night, and we’ve got quiet hours in the dorms here.”

               “I’ll play outside of the dorm.”

               “Lord, someone’s goin’ to think yer serenadin’ ‘em,” Angie mumbled, zipping Fiddleford’s bag up again.

               “The convention is to use a guitar,” Ford pointed out.

               “Ford, you’ve known me fer a year.  Does anything ‘bout me strike ya as ‘conventional’?” Angie asked.  Ford looked Angie up and down.  She raised an eyebrow.  “Ya have to get a good look at me to come up with an answer?”

               “It helps.  And, no, you are very unconventional.”

               “Exactly.  I get it from my folks.  So, of course my older brother wouldn’t serenade with a guitar.”

               “I’m not sure how I feel ‘bout this conversation,” Fiddleford remarked. Angie laughed.  “Mind escortin’ me upstairs, so’s I can drop off my stuff?”

               “You got it,” Angie said.  She waved at Ford as she walked away.  “See ya later, Stanford!”

----- 

               Ford was woken up by a loud crash.  

               “Whazzat?  Who’s there?” Stan slurred, falling off the other bed in Ford’s room.  Ford again thanked whatever omnipotent deity that controlled room assignments for his lack of a roommate.  “I’ll pay you back!”

               “Stanley, you’re still half-asleep,” Ford chided.  He turned on his bedside lamp.  Stan blinked in the light.

               “Ugh, not anymore.  Why is your lamp brighter than the sun?” Stan mumbled.  Ford didn’t respond.

               Crash!

               “What on Earth is going on?” Ford muttered, getting out of bed.  He pulled up the window blinds and gaped at what he saw on the dorm’s front lawn.  “Holy Moses!”

               “What is it?”  Stan joined Ford by the window.  “What the fuck?”  The twins watched silently as one of the three giant ants picked up a car in the parking lot and crushed it in its mandibles.  “Sixer, what the hell is with your school?”

               “I assure you, this is far outside the range of normal.  I’ve never seen a giant ant here before.”  Rapid footsteps ran down the hall, past Ford’s door.  

               “Son of a-” someone shouted.  

               “That sounded like Fiddlenerd,” Stan said.  

               “Fiddleford.  And yes, it did.”  Ford walked over to the door and opened it, sticking his head out curiously.  He was immediately greeted by the sight of other people on his floor doing the exact same thing.  Everyone except for Fiddleford and Angie, who were standing at the end of the hall, in front of the large window.  Fiddleford was covered head to toe by his pajamas, but Angie was wearing her usual nightly attire of a thin T-shirt and athletic shorts.  Ford could see her shivering.  He took a hesitant step into the hallway.  The building was wracked with a loud shudder, prompting everyone else on the floor to abruptly close their doors.  “Fiddleford?  Angie?” Ford said cautiously.  The McGucket siblings didn’t respond; they appeared to be in an intense conversation. Ford walked towards them.

               “How’d they get so big?” Fiddleford whispered.  Angie put her hands on her hips.  

               “Fiddleford!”

               “I swear, these buggers were not this big when I got here!”

               “How many times do I have to tell ya, don’t bring yer experimental machinery to my school!  West Coast Tech ain’t as used to disasters as Backupsmore.  We don’t have a protocol fer giant mechanical ants in the parkin’ lot!”

               “Neither does Backupsmore.”

               “Well, Backupsmore has one fer giant mechanical cockroaches in the parkin’ lot, and it’s basically the same thing.”

               “What’s going on?” Ford asked.  Angie and Fiddleford spun around.

               “Howdy, Ford,” Angie said weakly.  “Just, uh, checkin’ out these robots here.”

               “Fiddleford, did Angie say that these robots are yours?”

               “Yes, they are, but I promise, they were normal ant-sized.  I don’t know how they got so big!”

               “People develop all kinds of experimental work in their dorm rooms, despite the administration insisting they shouldn’t,” Ford said.  “Maybe a few of your regular-sized ants snuck out of your bag and into the path of an enlarging ray of sorts?”

               “Enlargin’ ray,” Angie mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Why do I feel like I live in a comic book?”

               “Hey, Ford, one of the ants just tore off the roof of a frat house!” Stan shouted, running over to Ford.  “The frat guys are still drunk, and they keep mooning the ant!  It’s amazing!”

               “Glad you’re enjoying wanton destruction,” Ford said idly.  

               “Duh.  Oh, hey Fiddlenerd.  Angie.”

               “Stan,” Fiddleford said with a polite nod.

               “Hello to you, too, Stanley,” Angie said, avoiding eye contact.  Stan frowned.

               “How’d you get on this floor?  I thought it was a guy floor.”

               “This dorm buildin’ is co-ed,” Angie answered.  She winced at a sickening crunch from outside.  “Lordy, Fiddleford, ya better have some sort of kill switch!”

               “Of course, of course.  It’s in yer room.”  Angie sighed and handed Fiddleford her room key.  “I’ll go shut ‘em off right now.”

               “Go!” Angie snapped.  She looked at Stan and Ford apologetically.  “Sorry.  He’s eccentric.”

               “He builds robots, huh?” Stan asked.  Ford noticed Stan’s eyes dipping south.  

               “Stanley!” Ford hissed, elbowing Stan.  Angie turned bright red and crossed her arms over her chest.

               “Rude!” she snarled.  

               “Can you blame me?” Stan asked, holding his hands up.

               “Yes!” Angie and Ford said together.

               “What’s more, her overprotective older brothers can blame you,” Ford said. Stan scratched the back of his head. “You should apologize.”

               “Sorry for checking you out,” Stan mumbled.  Angie flushed crimson again.

               “Well, it ain’t all right, but since ya apologized, I won’t tell Fidds ‘n Harper ‘n Lute.”  She cleared her throat.  “And yes, Fidds builds robots.”

               “Shit, no wonder you have a crush on him,” Stan said, punching Ford playfully.  “He’s nerdy, he builds killer robots, he serenades people with the banjo...he’s just your type!”

               “What makes you think I would enjoy a serenade with a banjo?” Ford asked.

               “‘Cause Fiddlenerd plays it.”

               “Ooh, Ford, you’ve got a crush on Fidds?” Angie whispered.  Ford looked away.  Angie cackled.  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

               “Thank you.”

               “No problem!  I understand the desire fer keepin’ crushes under wraps.”  Angie nudged Ford.  “‘Specially if yer crush is yer friend’s older brother.”  The crashes from outside suddenly stopped.  “Oh, thank the Lord, Fidds turned ‘em off.  Now I got to figure out what we’ll do with ‘em.  Have a good rest of the night, you two!”  She walked away.  

               “Damn, I’ve gotta get in a co-ed dorm,” Stan muttered.  

               “You’ll have to get into a college, first.”

               “I have my ways,” Stan said dismissively, setting off down the hallway. Ford followed him.

               “You are not staying with me year-round.”

               “That’s what you think.”

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

The Storage Locker (Post 89) 5-20-15

                        I popped the door open, looked at the inside space and my heart sank. The storage room looked way too small for the lion share of my earthly possessions and I really had no backup plan.  It was Sunday morning and the moving van was due to arrive in twenty minutes of so.  A serial procrastinator, I had waited until Saturday morning to finally procure a self-storage location for the shipment that Nick and Abby had served into my court from California on Monday and Tuesday.

The semi had crossed the continent at an inexorable pace throughout the week like the white blipping ball in a game of 70’s electronic pong.  I knew I would have to deal with the rolling truckload eventually but the sand in the hour-glass sifted slowly enough that I kidded myself that I had more time … until it nearly ran out.  During Thursday lunch I web searched for storage locations; most of them were clustered around Kent, Ohio for summer use by vacationing university students.  On Friday, finally, I called the first one on my list of four and hit pay dirt immediately.  

A helpful woman named Tina could rent me two large lockers that would give me extra space to organize and stage my stuff in the future when I finally go to move into the house that I have yet to identify, make an offer on, get under contract, etcetera. I arranged to meet Tina on Saturday morning still well ahead of the glacial progress of my household goods which might have then been crawling through Nebraska or Iowa.

Next day, I left the house bright and early on Saturday morning, well actually at least bright but more towards 11 AM as I am a late riser on the weekend.  In route I dropped Natalie off at a friend’s house to organize a lemonade stand project that they were completing as part of a school activity.  From there I proceeded down a state road and arrived at the locked door of the office of the aptly named Storage Company.  The locked door was unexpected so I broke into a cold sweat at this seeming roadblock to my first recent concrete participation in the family cross country migration from California back to the land of snowy slush, smoldering rivers, and appallingly bad professional football.

Luckily, Tina answered the door as the lock was an apparent security measure necessitated by some unsavory clientele called college students.  Her office reminded me of a pawn shop without merchandise or the television repair shop that my father used to patronize back in the days of cathode ray tubes.  The room was dressed with faux wood paneling, dingy vinyl floors and only lacked a Budweiser clock to complete the décor of a finished basement circa the dawn of the Age of Disco.  Maybe my marathon sessions of Zillow surfing is beginning to jade my latent real-estate sensibilities.

Anyway, Tina let me in and I began to process my paperwork. Things proceeded slowly as she was multi-tasking.  Tina was also helping a heavily accented young Asian coed from the university who had discovered that the small sized locker purveyed to her did not match the large load in the U-Haul van that she had also rented from the same location. I kibitzed with a representative from my insurance company while Tina strolled out to do a walk-thru of my prospective lockers and to try to engineer a resolution to the student’s problem.

That’s when the steady slope of my progress did a loop-d-loop. Tina returned to the office cave and announced that there was an issue: both of my units were flooded from some previously unidentified roof damage.  My lockers would not be my lockers as neither room could be repaired in the near term and my traveling effects did not consist of a load of swimming pool noodles and rubber inner tubes.  Other than those two lockers that had inadvertently been equipped with spa facilities, the site had no other units available that might suit my needs.  I have no idea how things turned out for the young lady and her predicament, but my haphazardly laid plans had definitely placed their foot squarely on a greasy black banana peel.

A resourceful customer service professional, Tina soon resolved my dilemma with a price match at a sister facility that was headquartered within a couple miles of where I had dropped off Natalie.  The single locker that I finally rented was in a third site located conveniently at the nexus of the three towns that I am targeting for my house search.  The only issue was that I would be renting a single unit unseen until the morning of the arrival of all my stuff.  The whole business seemed of an angelic Candid Camera prank staged in retribution for my agreeing to delivery on the morning of the Lord’s Day.  Obviously, Sunday AM delivery also meant that the rental office would be closed; there would be no safety net for the operation. Hauling an appliance that didn’t fit to my parent’s house with a Chevy Aveo is not a viable contingency plan.

So I was pretty apprehensive as I promenaded my Aveo on a 5MPH circuit through the facility ostensibly to make room for the moving van, but also surreptitiously casing the locked hasps of the other lockers in hopes of spying an unlocked unit where I could squirrel an odd dozen boxes for a couple of hours if the unload went badly.  Finally, I opened the roll-up door for a second time to unveil my quaint cubby to Matt, the polite semi-driver from Allied Van Lines.  My household goods needed to fit there, but I waited nervously hoping for a positive diagnosis from my friendly shipping professional.  Matt and his crew were surprisingly unastonished by the small size of my rental unit.  They said they could fit everything in with no problem.

The news was a great relief, but also simultaneously deflating.  The stress of being at the potential epicenter of a colossal screw-up was immediately calmed.  I’m sure my blood-pressure plummeted by ten psi quicker than a Patriot’s football, but I was also disheartened in a way that end result of my fifty-year secular endeavor in collecting cool stuff had reaped such a meager bounty.  After inspecting the minuscule sanctum that would house the remaining cache of a half-century of acquisitions, Matt and his crew were confident that my stuff would slide right inside.  In a way I felt like I had failed as an American male.

And I will say to my soul, "Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease, eat, drink and be merry."' "But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?' "So is the man who stores up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God." [Luke 12:18-20]

I understand that while men judge each other based on the amount and quality of acquisitions, in actuality, Jesus will critique my earthly sojourn based on my actions, inactions, thoughts and emotions, the evidence of my loving demonstration that I desire life with Him and am of His flock. My energy and concern ought to be towards the needs of my neighbor and not towards my toy box, which still holds an unfortunate spiritual power over me that webs my soul to the little-used air hockey table that Pam sold before we emigrated from Fort Wayne to California. I understand that Jesus is helping me be free from the material world in stages as each season change of life seems to begin with a garage sale or trip to the dump, but jettisoning junk does not come easy to me.

I don’t know whether my journey through this life will end in a car crash, as Natalie once dreamed.  If her nightmare proves prophetic, I will still probably be in possession of too many items of no import, but I am hopeful that their value to me will, in the future, be at a commensurate level to their eternal worth. God may, instead, choose to continue to empty my ditty bag of material possessions in stages as He has throughout the last decade – an air hockey table here, an extra well-used and dated couch there while my accommodations shrink from 3000 SQFT to 1500 on down to 1200 until I just possess a disposable toothbrush and the current hospital gown that I will own only until my next sponge bath and linen rotation. Whichever way I go, I understand that it will be to my benefit as part of my preparation for eternal life.

So I sit here writing in a my muggy Aveo, mercifully ignorant of whatever the vacuum noise is on the obscured business side of the moving truck where a crew of three wrestles my gear into a mini confined space – at least there is no sound of a buzz saw.  I am sure that there is steady progress being made on shoving the collections of my life into that small spider hole that Matt, the mover, approved. The weather is oscillating annoying as it does in Ohio between quick drizzle and sunshine with the result being that I have to keep adjusting my car windows.

Anyway, the only packed possessions I really care about that will be stored are pictures, letters, family videos and a wedding album that is mostly uploaded to Facebook already anyway.  My memories won’t need props once I get into the after-life, I’m sure. In the short term, if a Mid-Western tornado launches my rented portion of this facility and peppers Portage County with the contents my locker, there is nothing in there that I haven’t done without for two months already. The long-ago discarded, one-time cherished hockey game is adorning somebody else’s basement somewhere in Indiana.