#trying to force myself to work on these is like chewing through a live wire

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft (p.2)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Abuse, drunkenness, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead, decapitating a chicken, reader is kind of emotional in this chapter

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

Part 1 

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Work had passed fairly quickly as it always did when you had the opening shift. It sure sucked having to arrive at five o’clock in the morning but at least you got off earlier and you knew that that way you could grab groceries before your father got home and could yell at you about an empty kitchen again. By two o’clock in the afternoon, you were home again, hopping out of your truck and grabbing as many bags as you could in one go. 

The loud sound of metal slamming against metal shook you and you flinched, looking between your door and the frame to see Arvin walking out towards you. It hadn’t occurred to you that his car was even in your driveway. After so many years of having busted broken down old cars sitting there that your dad had been swearing he’d fix for almost ten years, cars in the driveway seemed normal. “Let me give you a hand,” he offered as he got closer, lifting the canvas bags from your hands before you could object. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you felt the weight suddenly taken off your own arms, “Thank you.” You dove back into the truck to grab the last two bags before slamming it shut with your hips. The two of you began your stroll towards the front door, the dirt driveway kicking up around your feet. “You’re back early.” You noted, looking over at Arvin. 

He shrugged, “Yeah, uh, Wallace had me on the early shift today.” 

You fumbled with the bags as you tried to unlock the door, kicking it open with your toes when it finally gave in. You walked into your home and Arvin followed, closing the door behind him. “Been here long? I didn’t see you in the driveway.” 

“Not too long. I just didn’t want to let myself into your home without nobody there.” Arvin set the bags on the counter next to where you set yours. 

You began to unpack the bags and put the groceries in the respective places. Arvin watched off to the side, unsure of how your kitchen was organized so he was worried he’d do more than good if he stepped in. “My daddy got the late shift?” 

Arvin shook his head, noticing that his beat up old hat was still on his head despite being indoors and took it off immediately, his tousled brown curls parting messily down the middle. “No, we went in at the same time. He ‘n some buddies said they was goin’ to some bar in town.” 

He watched your shoulders fall a little and you sighed, “Figures…. You didn’t go?” 

Again, Arvin shook his head, “No. No offense to your daddy but I don’t like to drink the way I get the feelin’ he does.” 

You snorted, turning to him with a knowing chuckle, “Let’s just say that I’m sorry in advance for whatever he says or does when he gets home, if he gets home. Sheriff Pike might end up callin’ in the mornin’ tellin’ us to pick him up.” Though it was stated as a joke, Arvin could hear the tragic reality behind your words. 

Arvin then noticed the pack of beer bottles that you were pulling out of the bag. As if you could feel his eyes looking at you with worried curiosity, you glanced over at him, noticing the way his eyes flicked between you and the beer in your hands. You offered a sad shrug, “I know what you’re thinkin’ but trust me. Sometimes it’s better to have him drunk and possibly content than sober and angry there’s nothing to drink. Besides, the beer is better than the hard stuff with ‘im.” 

“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be makin’ faces. Your business is your business,” Arvin backpedalled, giving you an apologetic nod. 

You shook your head, “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. I’m sorry you gotta see all of it. I been tryin’ to keep to keep him calm but if you end up stayin’ a while, I’m sure you’ll get to see him at his worse times.” 

Arvin chewed his lip as he contemplated whether or not to bring up what had been going through his mind but he had to make sure you were alright. “I-I heard you ‘n your dad talkin’ last night… right after you left my room.” 

Your face fell as you realized what he was talking about, “You weren’t s’posed to hear that. I’m sorry.” Shit, this was what you were hoping to avoid. 

“Are you alright?” 

Gentle. Caring. His tone was something that had been long lost to you in this house and it took the words out of your mouth for a moment. It was embarrassing, the way your heart welled up with… well love wasn’t quite the right word but the warmth of being cared about. Not since after your mother had passed had you heard somebody actually care about how you felt. 

You just nodded and gave a forced smile that you could tell was easy to see through but it was the best you could muster. For someone who was able to take so much shit from their father and was able to look the man who would throw things at you and grab you by the hair dead in the eye with nothing but contempt, it was compassion that made you crumble. It had been so unexpected, especially from Arvin, the stranger living in your house. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to overstep. I only…” He stammered over his words and at first you were confused until you felt the single hot tear tracing its way down your cheek. 

You were quick to wipe it away, shocked at your own uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. You hadn’t realized until now that you had zoned out on the ground while Arvin’s words repeated in your head but now a flash of embarrassment ran through you. “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sniffled once before giving a small laugh of disbelief. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since anybody asked that.” 

You straightened up and ran your hands through your hair, eyes closed as you thought of what else you needed to do. Thankfully, if your dad was at the bar, you had at least another four hours to just you and Arvin, all night if you were lucky, though you seldom were. That was when the feeling of dread set in. Your dad had requested chicken roast for dinner tonight and whether he came home early and only a few beers in or you had to drive him home hungover in the morning, the man would be furious if there weren’t at least reheated leftovers for him. You had to kill Patty and prep her for dinner. 

“You okay?” Arvin asked again, though this time it was in reference to the way a heavy look fell over your features. It wasn’t a profound deep question like it was earlier. 

Your head wavered from side to side and your lips twisted, “My daddy asked for chicken roast tonight. I gotta go out and fix Patty up.” You tried to put it lightly though it felt anything but. “I’ll be out in the coop. You’re more than welcome to clean up in the shower or do whatever you’d like ‘round the house. The radio is in the livin’ room if you wanna tune into somethin’.” 

You pushed yourself off the counter and walked to the door in your kitchen that led out to the backyard but Arvin made a few steps to follow, “Is it alright if I keep you company? It don’t feel right bein’ in your house without you or your daddy here.” 

You smiled at the thought of him staying with you and you nodded, continuing out the door, “Sure, c’mon.” 

The hen house wasn’t very far from the back door. From there, you could see the several acres of land that your father was wasting. Your grandparents had bought this land in the late 1910’s and had started up a little farm of their own to sell locally, though your father had abandoned the farming portion after they died. It was where your daddy had grown up and then where you had as well. God, how you missed your grandparents. Your grandmother’s soft words of love and kindness but sternness and willingness to swat your butt with a wooden spoon if you got an attitude (though she would yell at your father if he ever tried to discipline you - “Now you leave that poor baby alone!”). Your grandfather had looked like a rough and angry old man from years of hard work but he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met. How the two of them had raised your father was beyond you. 

When you approached the wired fence and jiggled the lock open, the chickens inside stood surprisingly still. They trusted you. You could see it in their little brown eyes. You were safe and warm and didn’t want to harm them. You came in for the unfertilized eggs they laid and left, oftentimes with some seed and a soft pat or two on the head. Patty, a fat white hen with black specks, walked comfortably around your feet, nuzzling her head against your leg. She was the nicest hen you’d ever had. She trusted you. 

God, you were about to cry again. You bent down to pick her up and you held her against your chest, trying to look her in the eye, though it was difficult when she kept jerking it in different directions. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” you murmured low. Usually it was your father that would slaughter the hens if he really wanted the meat that badly. You had never done it yourself but he’d made you watch every time so that you knew how if the time ever came. Each time it made you sick to your stomach. 

Already, you felt green. The unassuming hen that you had been friendly enough to for her not flip out when you held her was none the wiser that her life was about to end by your hand. You glanced over to the large wood round just ahead and the axe that was leaned up against it. 

Your face contorted as you realized how much you disliked the placement. The way your father would slaughter chickens right in front of their friends made your heart break. It was barbaric. 

You walked over to Arvin and held Patty out towards him, “Would you mind holdin’ onto her for a second?” 

Though visibly confused, he took the chicken from your hands, drawing back when her wings fluttered out at the contact with the new strange man. Arvin watched as you walked towards the large round and tried to push it with all your might. “What’re you doin’?” 

“I’m-” you grunted, feeling it slide slowly, inch by inch, “trying to move it where the other chickens can’t see.” You took another moment to use all your force against it before standing up straight and breathing heavily, “I know it sounds dumb cause they’re only chickens but it feels cruel to make ‘em watch, y’know?” You went back to pushing the round and Arvin approached behind you. 

From here he could see the blood stains in the wood. It looked as if the blood had been washed off but the wood had been stained crimson regardless. There was also a divot where an axe had clearly been driven down many times over the years, chipping away at the wood. 

Arvin’s heart actually warmed a little at your attempt to show mercy and your willingness to go out of your way to spare some chickens’ feelings. It wasn’t something he was sure he’d do himself but when he heard you say it, he realized you had a point. It was cruel to imprison a bunch of animals and then lead them out one by one to be slaughtered in front of everyone, each animal waiting their turn. “Here, take ‘er back. Let me.” Arvin stepped in, handing Patty back over to you and bending down to lift the round onto its side with much effort. The wood had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and had long since settled into the ground where it had been placed when you were a child.

Your eyes widened as you watched his biceps bulge, straining the material of his blue t-shirt. You’d never seen a man with muscles like that before and you found your eyes trailing along his arms, following every popping vein from the tops of his hands, up his forearms, and onto his biceps until they disappeared beneath his shirt. It was something you hadn’t expected to see in him. Arvin looked like a quiet, polite, hardworking young man but you never would have imagined the immaculate muscles he possessed. You found your mind wandering to what other surprises laid in store beneath all those layers he wo- 

You needed to calm yourself down. If only he could hear your thoughts, he surely would be furious and disgusted with you. You hadn’t had such impure thoughts since that one time you had been messing around with Jimmy Bates in the backseat of his old car back in your senior year of high school. The two of you didn’t even go all the way but you went far enough and the guilt ate you alive since the two of you were never officially together anyways. He was just the cute boy from high school that you had pined over years that had finally given you the chance right before he shipped off to join the war. 

“This alright?” Arvin asked, shaking you from your fantasy, and you snapped back into reality to realize he had rolled the wood round around the side of the coop behind the wooden wall, outside of the other chickens’ views. 

You nodded and walked over to him, “That’s perfect. Thank you so much for doin’ that. I know it’s sorta stupid.” 

Arvin shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, “If it means somethin’ to you, it ain’t stupid at all. Besides, now that you pointed it out, it was a little barbaric.” 

You smiled up at him, one which he returned. How was this boy so damn nice? Was this some cosmic way of the universe finally giving you something good in your life? You’d become so calloused to your father’s harsh words and barked commands that you had forgotten how nice it was to feel cared about and validated. And you barely knew him. 

“‘M glad you think so.” You looked down at Patty in your arms and any good feelings you’d had melted to sadness and fear. “You been a good girl, Patty. I know you struggled with layin’ eggs for a while but you were always a good girl. Never bit me once unlike some of them other hens.” You weren’t often very soft and vulnerable but you were about to take something’s life for the first time and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that on your heart. If this were a life or death situation, you would feel better about it, but it wasn’t. The only reason Patty had to die was because your father would throw a fit if she didn’t. 

You carried her to the log and gave her a little kiss on the top of the head, “Please don’t hate me but I understand if you do. Say hi to my momma for me, will you? Tell her I love and miss her.” You set her down and got her in the position you always saw your dad put the other chickens in before he chopped their heads off. Arvin handed you the axe with uncertainty but watched on as you struggled to bring yourself to finish the deed. 

You held her down and you could tell by the way she was flailing that she was panicking now. Patty was well aware of what was happening. “I’m sorry!” You choked, tears welling up in your eyes as her panic began to turn into your own panic. How did people do this? Why was this so freaking difficult? 

Tossing the axe slightly in your hand, you readjusted the handle and just as you went to swing, Arvin piped up, “I can do it.” 

You looked over at him, the afternoon sun reflecting the tears in your eyes and making the color of your irises stand out in tragic beauty. “I-I- Would you really not mind?” You breathed out in relief. 

Arvin stepped forward and you handed the axe out to him, “I don’t mind.” You held onto Patty until Arvin could position her just right as well. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never had to slaughter a chicken before. He had heard that all you had to do was cut their head off though and then he’d heard the rumors of them running around like crazy even after their head hit the ground. How hard could it be? 

Once he had the hen pinned down where he wanted her, he looked up to see you chewing on your thumb, brows knitted in discomfort. It wasn’t the first chicken you’d watched get slaughtered but it was far from something you enjoyed observing. Arvin signaled to you with a nod before raising the axe above his head and you shut your eyes tight, flinching at the sound of the old metal head thudding into the old wood. 

**

You had the carcass sitting in the sink while you pulled off the blood soaked feathers, depositing them into the trash bin by the handful. This part was easier for you, something you’d done many times in the past. “Thank you for doin’ that. I’m sorry I’m such a baby.” 

Arvin sat at the kitchen table behind you, “You ain’t a baby just cause you don’t like to kill things. I’d say it’s probably rather normal.” 

The time was inching closer to four o’clock now and the sun was beginning to hang ever so slightly lower in the sky, the precursor to sunset. It was warm outside and a cool spring breeze blew in through the open window above the sink. You snickered as you pulled another handful of feathers out, “Yeah? That mean you ain’t normal?” You looked over at him with a playful glint in your eye but your smile fell when you saw an uncomfortable look cross his face, almost like he’d seen a ghost. 

“I ain’t never said I liked killin’ either.” Arvin attempted to match your joking tone but it was pretty evident there was a weight behind his words. 

“Hey, I‘m sorry. I was only jokin’.” A pang of guilt washed over you but it was only that. A joke. You hadn’t imagined teasing him over something like killing a chicken would set him off, especially since he volunteered to do it for you, but apparently you were wrong. 

Arvin sniffed and scratched his nose, “I know.” After a moment of awkward silence, he stood, “Let me give you a hand. What do you need done?” 

You scanned his face once more to make sure he was really okay but you decided to drop it when you saw his insistent look. You shook your head, “I got it. It ain’t much after I get this all gutted and cleaned.” You picked up the mostly featherless carcass by the wings and plopped it back down into the sink. 

“Well ‘m sure there’s vegetables or somethin’ else that goes with it, right? Let me start cuttin’ those up.” His persistence was adorable, making your heart flutter in the most wonderful way. The idea of a man actually being helpful was unknown to you before Arvin. Your life had been filled with your dad’s drunken bossings since you were twelve years old. You couldn’t remember the last time a genuinely kind voice offered you anything more than a smile on the street, not that you took that for granted. Arvin was just different though. Noble and helpful and kind. 

“You really don’t have to-” 

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that but I really do want to help. So what can I do to make things easier on you?” He took a few steps closer to you until you felt the beginning of what could have been sparks if he stepped any nearer, like when you hold two magnets a few inches apart and you can feel the energy between them, that hint of attraction, but it’s not quite close enough to pull them together. 

The blush in your cheeks at his simple gesture made you break the eye contact with a nervous laugh of retreat, “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be so insistent,” you drew out with a teasing drawl, “you can cut up veggies. There’s potatoes over there and carrots and zucchini in the fridge.” 

Arvin’s lips turned up in a small smile when you finally resigned your stubborn ways and he went off to find the vegetables where you had directed him. 

Needless to say, when your father came home from the bar to find you and Arvin talking over a song by the Platters playing on the radio with Arvin cleaning up the dishes while you tossed together the vegetables and the seasoning, he was less than pleased. 

“What the hell is going on here?” His slurred speech made your eyes widen in fear. He was supposed to get home later like he always did. But then you found yourself chiding your irresponsibility. Why the hell would you take that chance? You knew better than to let Arvin help out and now you were gonna pay. 

Arvin sensed the way you tensed up beside him and watched as you spun around to face your father with haste, “Just finishin’ up dinner now. Should be ready by six so you got more than enough time to take a sho-” 

“Why the fuck is he doin’ the dishes?” You father was leaning against the wall, clearly relying on the structure for support. This wasn’t the time to test him, not with Arvin here. It was times like this when he’d start throwing stuff at you. 

Before you could say anything, Arvin piped up firmly but respectfully, “I offered, sir. It’s no problem at all.” 

Your dad pointed at Arvin, “A man ain’t got no place with his hands in a sink of dishes. You leave that shit to her and she’ll just grab you a beer.” He stumbled over his own feet before catching himself ungracefully. 

Arvin’s jaw set tightly and you gripped the countertop with white knuckles behind you. Times like this, you weren’t even sure what to say anymore. No amount of standing up for yourself got you anywhere with him. You never made any headway with your dad’s sexist views on gender roles. It was pointless. The only thing to do was try and work your way to supporting yourself so you could get the hell out of dodge and never look back. 

Arvin’s voice surprised you, “A man’s place is helpin’ out the women in his life when they need, not leavin’ ‘em to do all the housework themselves.” You nearly choked on your own tongue at his words. It was a bold statement for a man to make, especially to the head of the house that was being so gracious as to host him free of charge, but he didn’t back down. It appeared like the jab was lost on your drunken father but Arvin continued with a slightly less accusatory comment to diffuse the situation regardless, “I grew up helpin’ my grandma with all the house chores so I really don’t mind at all.” 

You watched the way your dad eyed Arvin and then you before scoffing and grumbling incoherently as he shuffled his way into the living room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I don’t want you gettin’ kicked out ‘cause of me. You didn’t have to say nothin’.” 

Arvin glared at where your father had disappeared and nodded, “Yeah, I did. You don’t deserve all the shit he gives you.” 

You suddenly found yourself avoiding his eyes and twisting your lips. He was right and you were well aware of that fact. The abuse your dad put you through was uncalled for at best. The fact that Arvin had actually taken the time to not only notice the same fact but acknowledge it and stand up for you was something you never thought you’d hear someone do. It made you uncomfortable. You’d been fighting this battle by yourself for so long that letting somebody even know it was being waged was enough to make you want to sink away. Even so, a part of you wanted to let Arvin keep standing up for you. It made you feel weak after having to stand up for yourself for so long but also validated. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a moment before turning back towards dinner that sat in a roasting pan on the stove, “Thank you.” 

______

Taglist: 

@thisisparadisemylove

@justapurrcat

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You’re Safe Now

Prompt: aaaa, i love your story ‘imposter syndrome’!!!! I love the dynamic between black and purple, it’s so sweet!! but what would happen if purple was a little kid, and a stowaway on a ship, and black ended up finding them? how differently would black react to an even sweeter and tinier purple??? (if you could write a small one shot or somethin based off of this, please do!!! only if you wanna, though!!!!)

Ahhh yess! ahhhhh yesss more of protective black, this time with little baby purple!I didn't wanna full on call this an au in the tags, but this is an alternate version of my longer fic 'impostor syndrome,' except purple is a lil bb. you don't have to read that first but you can if you want to--this one is more of an alternate timeline where there's very little context in the first one important

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, but nothing explicit

Pairings: impostor!black adopts lil bb crewmate!purple, nothing romantic

Word Count: 3471

Black is a senior Impostor. Deadly. Dangerous. This is hardly the first mission they've been on and it is far from the hardest.

...it is the first one with a stowaway.

“You fucker!” Red claws at their suit with the fury of a frenzied animal. “You’ll fucking pay for this!”

 Black muscles them into the airlock and slams the door shut. Red pounds their fists against the glass.

 “I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? I’ll—“

 Black’s fist slams the button and the airlock opens. Red’s furious body vanishes in the sudden decompression.

 At least the anger was a welcome alternative. For all the work that humans had done to build up their reputation as fearless, remorseless, and absolutely uncaring about anyone other than themselves, so few lived up to it. Especially in death.

 Black rolls their shoulders back and strides off down the corridor. The ship is empty now, save for their own steps echoing off the metal walls. Good. They can barely breathe with the stench of human fear roiling off of every surface. And soon enough they’ll be off this damn ship, back to Polus.

 They shake their head as they round the corner. They really are getting on, aren’t they? Mission after mission after mission. They all blur together after a while.

 Black stops.

 Tilts their head.

 Takes one big breath in…and out.

 What is that?

 Another scent. Not fear, that won’t go away for a while, but something else, riding the undercurrent. Something…less acrid, less bitter.

 They take another breath. Their maw begins to snarl.

 Red was the last crewmate. There aren’t any more humans registered on this ship.

 So why can Black smell another one?

 They fall into stance quickly, one hand going to their knife, the other checking the rest of their weapons, before stalking along the corridor. Their footsteps are silent against the metal floor. Their suit melts effortlessly into the shadows.

 Their maw rumbles in anticipation.

 Electrical. Of course.

 No one would bother to hide in a death trap unless they were certain they weren’t going to be looked for. Black feels their mouth turn up into a smile.

 Blur together they may, but a mission does have its fun moments every once in a while.

 Their footsteps barely give them away over the humming of the room, creeping inside under the flickering lights. They close their eyes for a moment to scent the air again.

 The human is close.

 Black turns, pivoting effortlessly on the balls of their feet. Their gaze lands on the space between the lights panel and the back of the computer terminals.

 There you are.

 They creep closer. Closer. A shadow falls over the machines. Inside, there is a human.

 Black leans forward and—

 —stops short.

 There is a human here, but not—well, not what they expected.

 They’re not wearing a suit, that’s the first thing. Instead, they’re wearing a shirt that dwarfs their frame and a pair of trousers covered in singes. Their hair is tied back messily, but not enough to keep it from getting caught on different parts of the machine.

 For another, they’re fucking tiny.

 Not just because they can fit into this small space—how did they even get themselves in there?—but because their head looks barely bigger than Black’s hand.

 Also, why is there a human juvenile here?

 Black shakes themselves. No. Now’s not the time to lose concentration. They refocus on the child.

 The child looks back at them, blinking slowly, their hands cupped around something in their lap. They tilt their head as much as they can as they stare at Black.

 Black tilts their head.

 The child mirrors it.

 They tilt their head the other way.

 So does the child.

 They lift their hand up to give a little wave.

 The child’s arm looks hurt, they realize, as a little wave comes back.

 “Hey, there,” Black says after another moment, “what’re you doing?”

 The child scrunches themselves further into the gap. “Hiding.”

 “I can see that.” Black runs a finger down the machines. “What’re you hiding from?”

 “Everybody.”

 That takes Black by surprise. If the child were just trained to hide from Impostors, sure, but…everybody?

 “Did the—does the crew know you’re here?”

 The child shakes their head. Black squints as they take their bottom lip between their teeth, chewing so hard it looks like it must hurt.

 “Hey, hey,” they call, “don’t do that, you’ll make yourself bleed.”

 “I’m supposed to.”

 Fucking what?

 “You’re what?”

 “I’m supposed to be quiet,” the child says, and damn right they didn’t mean make themselves bleed, “this keeps me quiet.”

 Black shifts, crouching down properly to stare at the child. They’re so…small.

 “Why are you supposed to be quiet,” they ask, lowering their own voice, “what are you afraid of?”

 There’s a pause. Then: “nobody wants to see me. They don’t like to know that I’m here. So I’m quiet and then I don’t get in trouble.”

 They curl up a little tighter.

 “…I don’t want to be in trouble.”

 Unbidden, Black’s maw snarls. They dragged a child onto this ship and forced it to hide away? Under threat of…who the fuck knows what?

 “I’m sorry.”

 They snap out of it when they see the child flinch away.

 “Hey, shh,” they caution, “you’re going to hurt yourself on the wires.”

 The child doesn’t listen, still shying away. Only when Black realizes their maw is still rumbling and forces it to shut the fuck up do they relax a little. Black sighs, glancing over their shoulder.

 “Come here.”

 The child’s eyes widen.

 “Come here,” Black repeats, holding out their hand, “or at the very least, come out of there, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

 They shake their head furiously. “Can’t. Can’t come out. They’ll be mad. Can’t be found.”

 “Whoa, hey, easy, it’s okay, no one’s mad.”

 “You are. You will be. I’m not supposed to make noise. I’m not supposed to be found.”

 “I’m not mad,” Black says patiently—since when have they ever been patient with something that wasn’t a mission?—still reaching out, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 They keep shaking their head. “Getting spotted means punishment. Punishment hurts. No. I’m safer back here.”

 Another wave threatens to fully split Black’s maw. What the fuck happened to this child? Why the fuck are they here? Children are supposed to be safe, cared for by their people, not cowering in a dangerous place because being seared by wires is safer than being out in the open.

 And why did the crew know nothing about it?

 For now, though, the now-familiar scent of fear hits them and they bite back a curse.

 A child is a child, human or not.

 “Hey,” they call quietly, trying to soften the rasp of their voice, “hey, listen to me, just listen, okay?”

 They shift, trying to make their posture as non-threatening as possible.

 “I’m not mad at you,” they continue, watching the child’s eyes follow their every move, “I’m not going to punish you. I just need you to come out of there, okay?”

 Those eyes narrow. “Why?”

 “You’re hurt.” They indicate the child’s arm. “I want to have a look and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

 Unconsciously, they cradle it to their chest, even though the suspicious look doesn’t go away. “Grown-ups don’t care if I’m hurt. They just want me to be quiet.”

 Black swallows their rage. “I care,” they say instead, “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

 “Are you going to hurt me?”

 “No, I’m not going to hurt you.”

 “But I hurt myself and you don’t like that.”

 “I don’t like the idea of you being in pain,” Black says through forced patience, “and I want to help.”

 “Why?”

 Why, indeed. Black ignores it and wiggles the fingers on their outstretched hand again.

 “Because you’re still too close to the wires,” they say instead, “and if you stay back there much longer, they could hurt you very badly.”

 The child’s gaze finally softens and oh, oh, they look so small.

 “Come here,” Black calls again, gentleness seeping into their voice, “please?”

 “…you promise you aren’t mad?”

 “I’m not mad.”

 “Promise you won’t hurt me?”

 “I won’t hurt you.”

 The child shifts a little. They hug their injured arm to their chest and take their lip between their teeth again. Black lets out a soft noise, wiggling their fingers again.

 “Come on, baby, you can do it.”

 Finally, finally, they start to move. They shakily try to get on all fours, crawling out from the gap, only to let out a sharp cry when their shirt gets caught on the machines.

 “Shh, shh, easy,” Black soothes, “it’s okay, you’re just a little stuck.”

 “I can’t—I can’t move—I—“

 “Easy, just look at me, okay?” Their frightened gaze snaps to Black. “That’s it, baby, just look at me, I’m right here.”

 “I’m stuck!”

 “I know, baby, I know, shh—“ Making sure their gaze is still on Black’s helmet, they reach a little further into the gap— “try and take my hand, baby.”

 They reach, crying out when they try and rest their weight on their injured arm.

 “Shh, shh, other one, baby, you can do it.”

 Their hand is so small and soft and fragile. Black fights down another wave of anger and holds tight.

 “I’ve got you now, baby, now try and come to me.”

 “I can’t, I’m stuck, I’m—I—“

 “I know, baby, just try for me.”

 Out of their line of sight, Black grits their teeth and lets a single tendril flick out, disguised by the shadows, and yanks their shirt away from the blockage. They barely have enough time to reel it back in before they suddenly have a lapful of human child.

 “Hey, hey, easy, baby,” they murmur, “you’re alright now, see?”

 The poor thing is still trembling in their lap, their face all but buried in Black’s chest. Black coos, wrapping their arms tightly around the shaking bundle and softening the suit into something a little less abrasive.

 “Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re out of there now, you did great.” Their maw rumbles softly. “I’m right here, I’ve got you, you’re okay now.”

 It takes far too long for scared little fingers to reach out and clutch at Black’s suit.

 “There you go, baby, just hang onto me,” Black rumbles, rocking them a little back and forth, “you’re okay, everything’s gonna be okay now.”

 “They’re—they’re gonna be mad at me—“

 “Who’s gonna be mad at you, baby?” Whose ass do I need to kick?

 “The—the crew, I’m—I’m not supposed to be here—“

 Stowaway, Black’s brain realizes finally, they’re a fucking stowaway.

 “The crew is gone,” they say instead, gently pulling the little thing closer, “it’s just you and me now, baby.”

 The child stills. Then they look up and Black almost coos at the blatant hope on their face.

 “…you mean it?”

 “Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, running their hand through the child’s hair, “just you and me. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

 “So…” Those little fingers clutch a little tighter. “…I don’t have to be scared?”

 Oh, baby…

 “No,” Black says softly, “you don’t need to be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 “You won’t be mad at me and punish me if I do something bad?”

 “No, baby.”

 “Oh.”

 Black blinks as the smell of fear slowly begins to fade, replaced by the softer, sweeter scent from before. In their lap, the little one shifts closer, their arms going shyly around their torso.

 “Can I—can I stay here for a little longer, then?”

 “Of course you can baby, we can stay here as long as you like.”

 The child immediately snuggles up to them with an eagerness that takes Black by surprise. Less than a moment ago, they were shying away from them, suspicious, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and yet here they are. Curled up in Black’s lap.

 Black’s grip on them tightens marginally.

 Children are supposed to be kept safe. They are supposed to be raised to know what care looks like, to know what it is to be treated well so that when they do go off on their own, they can recognize what it looks like when someone mistreats them.

 Hiding away, afraid to make a noise, stowing away on a spaceship is not what that means.

 The child squirms in their lap and they look down.

 “Am I holding you too tight?”

 They shake their head, still squirming. “Tickles.”

 “What does, baby?”

 “Your tummy.” They shift again. “Tickles.”

 Ah. Black’s maw is humming, contented with the knowledge that the child is safe now, here in their arms, in their lap. A smile tugs at the corners of Black’s mouth as they rumble a little louder, watching as the child squeaks.

 “Alright, alright,” Black murmurs after a moment, stroking their back and making their maw be quiet, “that’s enough.”

 The child goes to hug them again only to wince.

 “Your arm.” Black touches it gently, noting the way they hold it awkwardly. “Can I have a look?”

 The child nods, cradling the limb to their chest and placing it in Black’s hand. It’s fairly badly bruised, but other than that, intact.

 “Can you bend it and unbend it for me?” They do. “Thank you. I don’t think it’s broken, I think it’s just bruised.”

 “It hurts.”

 “I can tell.” They give their waist a squeeze. “How about this, let’s go to the medbay and I can get you some bruise cream and an ice pack?”

 “I’m not supposed to—“ they stop themselves, swallowing heavily— “you said…you said the crew was gone?”

 Black nods. “Just you and me, baby.”

 “So I can…I can have the ice pack? A-and the cream?”

 Oh. “Yes, baby, of course. You’re allowed.”

 They nod shyly. “Then I…I want to go.”

 “Can you stand up for me?”

 They try, only for their legs to give out almost immediately, tumbling back into Black’s arms.

 “Hey, whoa, easy, baby,” they murmur, “it’s been a while since you stood up, hmm?”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Shh, shh, none of that now, it’s not your fault.” Black gets them settled again. “May I carry you?”

 The child’s eyes go wide. “You—you would?”

 “How else would we get to the medbay?”

 “O-okay.”

 “Yeah?” The child nods. “Can you give me your hands, baby?”

 Black takes the offered hands, guiding them around their neck and softly bidding them hold tight. In one smooth motion, they slide an arm under the child’s legs and stand, pulling them into their arms. They stand still a moment, letting them get used to it.

 “Alright?”

 The child nods, tucking their face over Black’s shoulder. “Why isn’t your tummy doing the thing anymore?”

 “Do you…want it to do it again?”

 Another nod. Well, that’s easy enough. Black smiles as the child sighs, relaxing into their maw as it rumbles softly again. They make their way to the medbay, setting the child carefully down on one of the beds and fetching what they need. As they turn around, they see the child staring at the floor with their eyes shut.

 “Hey,” they murmur, hustling back over, “hey, what’s wrong, baby?”

 “It’s really bright,” they mumble, “hurts.”

 Right, they’ve been in the dim light of Electrical for…who knows how long. Black turns the lights down a little.

 “Better?”

 “Mhmm.” The child’s gaze lands on the scanner. “What is that?”

 “That’s the scanner. It scans your body to see if you’re healthy.”

 “Wow.”

 “Mhmm.” Black holds up the tin of bruise cream. “Can I put this on for you?”

 “Will it hurt?”

 “No, I’ll be very careful.”

 “Okay.”

 As Black starts to spread a thin layer of the cream over the worst of the bruising, the child lapses into silence, occasionally swinging their legs back and forth.

 “Are you an Impostor?”

 Black’s hands falter for a moment.

 “Yes.”

 They’re going to be afraid again. They’re going to find out I killed the crew and they’ll—

 “Does that mean you can shapeshift?”

Black’s head jerks up. “What?”

 The child cocks their head. “I heard that Impostors can shapeshift, is that true?”

 “Yes…yes, we can shapeshift.” Black gestures to themselves with their free hand. “Technically, I’m doing it now.”

 “You don’t actually look like that?”

 “No.”

 “Oh.” The child swings their legs again. “Can I see you shapeshift?”

 “…if you want,” they say after a moment, “but I’m going to need you to close your eyes for me.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I get embarrassed when people watch.”

 “Oh. Okay.”

 As the child closes their eyes, the rush of trust leaves Black more than a little heady. They close their own eyes, rolling their shoulders to let their human shape form, finding a smile still on their face as it settles into place.

 “Okay, you can look now.”

 The child cracks one eye open, only to gasp in delight and reach out for Black’s face.

 “Easy,” Black chides lightly, “I still need to finish your arm.”

 “But you’re really pretty!”

 Unbidden, heat rises to Black’s cheeks as the child cups their face in their hands, staring at them with the wonder of someone seeing the stars for the first time.

 You are the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

 “I like this face,” the child declares, squishing it a little, “I like it a lot.”

 “I’m glad,” Black chuckles, “and I’m happy for you to look at me while I finish tending to your arm.”

 “Can I play with your hair?”

 In response, Black takes their free hand and rests it gently on their head. “Try not to pull, okay?”

 “I won’t.”

 The child lapses back into silence as Black finishes fussing over their arm. Their fingers card shyly through Black’s hair, uncaring about the slight pressure the bandages put as Black finishes wrapping the bruises.

 “There,” they murmur as they finish, “all done.”

 “Oh.” The child looks down. “Thank you.”

 “Of course, baby.” The hand doesn’t leave their hair. “Having fun?”

 The child nods, their own flush blooming on their cheeks. Black chuckles, raising a hand to gently cup their face.

 “What’s this for?”

 “Can I stay with you?”

 Black blinks, a little taken aback by the sudden question. The child’s hand trembles on their head and they reach up, holding it and giving it a soft squeeze.

 “You’ve—“ they swallow— “you’ve been really nice to me and I—I like you, so I want to—can I stay with you?”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, smiling as the child’s face starts to split in a wide grin, “you can stay with me. I—oof.”

 They barely have a moment to open their arms before the child all but throws themselves at them, hugging them tightly. Black chuckles, their maw purring, holding them tightly.

 No one is going to hurt you ever again, baby, I’ll take care of you.

 “Thank you,” comes the shy mumble.

 “Of course, baby,” Black murmurs back, pulling them away enough to see their face. They frown, seeing something in their hands. “What’s that?”

 “It’s a, um…” They hold it up, studiously not meeting Black’s gaze. “It’s my flower.”

 Black’s eyes widen. “Indeed it is.”

 A little purple flower with two green leaves.

 “It’s pretty.”

 “Mhm.” The child looks up at them and raises it to—

 I am going to die. I am going to die, right here, because this is too cute.

 The child tucks the flower shyly behind Black’s ear.

 “Now you’re both pretty.”

 “Oh, baby, thank you.”

 The child nods, still looking away. Black can’t stop smiling.

 “Hey,” they call softly, “what should I call you?”

 “Um—“ the child twists their hands together— “I don’t, um…”

 Something twists in Black’s gut as they realize that probably their name hasn’t been…fondly recalled.

 “You can pick a nickname if you want,” they encourage, “I won’t mind.”

 “I don’t have any nicknames.”

 Black thinks for a moment.

 “What’s your favorite color?”

 “What?”

 “Your favorite color,” Black repeats, “do you remember how the crew used to call each other by their colors?”

 The child nods. “Are you—are you going to call me by my color?”

 “Is that okay?”

 “Mhm, but then…do I call you Black?”

 Black smiles. “If you like, yes, I’m Black.”

 “Hi, Black,” the child says shyly, “I’m Purple.”

 “It’s nice to meet you, Purple.”

 “C-can I still stay?”

 “Of course, baby,” Black murmurs, “you can stay.”

[ma-sulevin]

Fuckuary Day 4: “You’re In Trouble Now”

Benjamin Fox x Gwen Porter ( @roguelioness​​ ) rated E

Words: 1,701

---

Benji’s half asleep when he feels the mattress dip next to him. He opens his eyes just in time to see Gwen throwing her leg over his hip to sit astride him, settling gently in his lap. She’s stolen his shirt again, and it rides up to expose her bare thighs. He’s so busy looking at his hands running up her legs that he doesn’t see that she’s also stolen his handcuffs until she dangles them in his face.

“Have you ever used these?”

He drags his eyes from her thighs to the cuffs to Gwen’s face. “I just arrested that guy last week.”

She scrunches her face up, and he realizes he’s answered the wrong question.

“Benji, no. I mean, have you used them… in here?”

Now he does know where she’s going with the conversation, but it’s way more fun to tease her. “In your apartment?”

He can practically see her trying to figure out how he could be so stupid when he gives in and starts to grin at her. She blushes bright right away, dropping the handcuffs on his chest. 

“You know what? Never mind.”

She starts to get up, but he grabs her hips and pulls her in the opposite direction. They roll together so that he ends up on top of her, pinning her down just by virtue of resting more of his weight on her body than she can move by herself.

“No, no, no,” he says, grabbing up both her wrists in one of his hands and pressing them to the mattress above her head. “You come in here, you steal my things, you wake me up…” He grabs the handcuffs from the blanket next to them where they fell and snaps them around one of her wrists before he pauses to look at her again. “You’re in trouble now, and you have to face the consequences.”

Gwen’s staring up at him with wide eyes, blushing brighter than he’s ever seen her blush. He waits until she nods at him to move, dragging her up to the head of the bed to hook the chain of the handcuffs around the metal of his headboard. She shivers all over when he tightens the other cuff around her free wrist, her mouth dropping open as she draws in a deep breath. 

“Let me know if those start to hurt,” he says, moving to kneel over her, his knees on either side of her thighs. “They’re not supposed to be comfortable.”

She nods at him again, fast, like she’s forgotten how to speak. He smiles and pushes the shirt she’s wearing up her stomach and then to her chest to expose her naked breasts. She arches into his touch and yanks at the handcuffs like she’s already forgotten they’re there.

“Should I read you your rights?” He takes both her breasts in his hands and squeezes, then massages gently when she shifts restlessly under him. “You have the right to remain silent, but I want to hear you moan.”

He pinches both her nipples to punctuate his sentence, and she does moan, though she tries to catch it behind her lips.

He shifts farther down the bed, adjusting his sweatpants as he goes. He’s already hard, just from seeing her at his mercy like this, how much she trusts him. It’s an intoxicating sight, but he also wants to make sure she gets as much out of this as he does, if not more.

“You have the right to an attorney,” he says, continuing the game as he runs his hands down her sides, over her hips to hook into the elastic of her panties. “But I want you all to myself.” 

He moves just enough to pull her panties off completely, dropping them unheeded to the floor before he moves to kneel between her legs. She parts them to give him room, drawing in fast, panting breaths as she does. 

She jumps when he puts his hands on her legs, and he smiles up at her as he slides his hands up, up, up until he reaches the crease of her hips. She lets him touch her the way he wants, chewing on her lower lip all the while.

“Hey.” He reaches up and teases her lip out from between her teeth with his thumb, then brushes it over her cheek. “Too much?”

She shakes her head, fast, and he’s pretty sure she’s telling the truth, maybe just embarrassed at how much she likes what he’s doing.

Just to make sure: “Want me to keep going?”

Nothing could have prepared him for the breathy, “Yes, sir,” that drips from her lips.

Her words go straight to his dick, and he shivers at the surge of arousal that flows through him. He props himself up on his free hand so he can lean down and kiss her, harder than he meant to, pressing his tongue between her lips and against hers. She opens to him, kissing him back, finally moaning louder into his mouth as he starts to take what he wants.

He slides his hand from her cheek down over her body, stopping to pinch and squeeze whenever he feels like it, relishing in the little squeaks and moans he coaxes from her until he reaches his goal between her legs.

She’s wet, completely soaked, and he moans as he cups her entrance. 

She’s driving him fucking crazy.

He breaks their kiss and presses another one to her forehead, then to her cheek, then the tip of her nose, all while refusing to push his fingers inside her even though he wants nothing more than to drive her as crazy as she’s driving him.

“Who do those handcuffs belong to?”

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking a few times as she tries to focus on him. “You?”

It comes out as a question, so he nods to let her know she’s right. “And whose shirt is that?”

Her answer comes faster this time. “Yours.”

“And who does this belong to?” He finds her clit and rubs the lightest circles he can manage over it with his two middle fingers.

It’s like he touched her with a live wire. She jerks under him, a cry escaping her, and she arches her hips up toward him for more friction. 

He doesn’t give it to her, not yet.

“Whose is it, baby?”

She forces her eyes open again and looks up at him before she gives him the answer he’s looking for.

“Yours.”

He smiles and kisses her again as he pushes two fingers deep inside her. He bites at her lower lip when she stops kissing him to cry out again, but he keeps his fingers moving deep inside of her, stroking at her inner walls with the gentle motion he’s learned she likes best.

He doesn’t stop until she shakes at the cuffs over her head like she was trying to reach for him. He pulls his hand away and props himself up over her, hesitating for just a second to see if she’ll ask to be released.

When she doesn’t, just licks her lips and spreads her legs wider, he grabs her hips again. 

“Cross your arms,” he says, and flips her over.

She goes, bouncing onto her front and letting her arms cross like he said. She presses her face into the mattress right away, arching her hips up and back to him, presenting herself for whatever he’s planning to do next.

He pushes his sweatpants down and frees his dick, wrapping his fingers around it to give it a solid stroke before pushing into her from behind. She groans into the bed with each inch that fills her, and when he’s pressed as deep as he can go, he reaches forward and tangles his fingers in her hair.

He tugs, just a little, just enough for her to know he wants to hear her, and then he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward.

She wails as he does, and another cry falls from her lips with each of his thrusts. It’s like music to his ears, and he holds her hips steady with his hands so he can fuck her as hard as she can handle.

His girl can handle a lot, and he tells her how good she is, how good she feels, how perfect she is until she comes with a scream muffled in the mattress and thighs that tremble on either side of his.

He fucks her through it, praises her until the pleasure catches up with him too, and he pushes deep inside her one more time.

As soon as he releases her hips, she slides flat onto her stomach with a shuddering moan. He leans down and kisses between her shoulder blades before climbs off the bed and wanders on shaking legs to find the keys he always keeps with his work clothes.

Gwen’s waiting for him with her eyes wide open when he gets back, chewing on her lip again as he undoes the cuffs and rubs feeling back into her hands.

“I told you to tell me if it hurt,” he says, guilt creeping in now that the rush of arousal is gone. Her wrists are red-ringed, probably bruised, and he brings them up to his mouth to press kisses to them while Gwen watches with dark eyes.

“It didn’t -- it didn’t hurt. Benji, c’mere.” She pulls her hands free of his grip and puts them on the back of his head instead to get him to look at her. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she pulls him down for a kiss. 

It lingers, sweet, and he feels it when she starts to smile against his lips. He lets her pull away when she goes to stand, the guilt he still feels washed completely away by smug pride as she has to lean against the wall to help herself stay upright as she walks to the bathroom.

As soon as she leaves the room, he grabs his phone from the side table. He needs to get them a pair of cuffs that won’t leave bruises next time.

[scripttorture]

Hey, I am writing a torture scene in a Star Wars fanfiction, where a character is tortured both with interrogation devices and with the Force. How do I make the use of the Force in torture seem as awful and realistic as the interrogation devices? Sorry if that is confusing, I've never written a torture scene in fic before and I am nervous about doing this one right.

Welcome. :) It’s a perfectly understandable fear, let’s get stuck in.

 There are some issues around some of the canon torture devices in Star Wars. The short version of which is that high tech equipment isn’t realistic in torture and it can often suggest torture is ‘advanced’ or ‘intelligent’ when it is not. But this isn’t really the core of your question and I don’t want to discourage you on your first try.

 For more realistic low-tech alternatives I have a post on common torture techniques in the modern era over here. You can read a little more about why I think ‘interrogation devices’ are leaning in to torture apologia by looking through the ‘high tech torture’ tag.

 You can read a bit more about it in this Star Wars review here or by looking through this tag.

 Central to this is how you communicate pain in a story. Because that’s really what we’re talking about here. How do you capture a type of pain that your reader hasn’t experienced?

 It might be helpful to know that pain isn’t one sensation. We actually process different kinds of pain differently and we each have different thresholds for different sorts of pain.

 That might sound complicated but what it boils down to is that knowing someone likes their curry hot doesn’t tell you how they’d deal with a head ache or a twisted ankle.

 So if I was approaching this my first question would be: what kind of pain do I want to make the Force feel like?

 There are a couple of little bits from various parts of the franchise that suggest the dark side feels ‘cold’. But I think you do have leeway to really decide what you want this to be like.

 I would lean in to the way the Force can cause pain without leaving obvious wounds. Because a lot of torture, both historically and today, does the same thing and these ‘clean’ (non-scarring) tortures are often dismissed. The damage they cause is downplayed, the pain they cause is underestimated. And unfortunately survivors of clean tortures (the majority of torture survivors today) are dismissed because we expect torture to leave scars.

 Our vision is a big part of how we judge other people’s pain. We find it very easy to instinctually imagine (and sympathise) with injuries we can clearly see. Things like broken bones, burns and cuts seem to be easier for us to understand. I’d use that, in the same way I would if I was writing a non-magical clean torture scenario.

 I’m going to describe the reported sensations/type of pain caused by three different clean tortures; stress positions, pumping and electrical torture using a magneto. (You can look up any of those in the tags for more information.) Feel free to use any of these.

 Stress positions cause muscular pain throughout the body. Think of the sharp pain the comes with pulled muscles and imagine that throughout the body. That tension, the feeling that the limbs are giving way, everywhere. A building muscular pain punctuated by sharp bursts. It’s trembling afterwards, weakness, staggering, falling. A burning, pins and needles sensation as circulation returns to raised limbs.

 By contrast pumping is internal, organ pain. It’s a stomach ache that’s like being stamped on. A stabbing pain that doesn’t end. If you’ve had a bad E coli infection then think of that. Nausea, the awful empty feeling afterwards. Switching from one type of pain to another until it starts all over again. The way your head reels and your awareness narrows.

 As for electrical torture, well here’s Alleg’s description of his experience with the French military in Algeria (I have edited to focus on his description of physical sensation).

 ‘Suddenly, I leapt in my bonds and shouted with all my might. Cha- had just sent a first electric charge through my body. A flash of lightning exploded next to my ear and I felt my heart racing in my breast. I struggled, screaming and stiffened myself until the straps cut into my flesh. All the while the shocks controlled by Cha-, magneto in hand, followed each other without cease.[…]

 ‘Suddenly I felt as if a savage beast had torn the flesh from my body. Still smiling above me Ja- had attached the pincer to my penis. The shocks going through me were so strong that the straps holding me to the board came loose. They stopped to tie them again and we continued.

‘After a while the lieutenant took the place of Ja-. He had removed the wire from one of the pincers and fastened it down along the entire width of my chest. The whole of my body was shaking with nervous shocks getting ever stronger in intensity, and the session went on interminably. They had thrown cold water over me in order to increase the intensity of the current and between every two spasms I trembled with cold. All around me sitting on the packing cases, Cha- and his friends emptied bottles of beer. I chewed on my gag to relieve the cramp which contorted my body. In vain’

 Obviously you don’t have to use any of these examples if you don’t like the sound of them. The basic idea is to think about a type of pain and use that to create an evocative description.

 You could even use your own experience if you wanted to. Think about the kinds of pain you’ve had in the past, migraines or pulled muscles or eating a curry that was too hot, and use that as a basis for magnifying the same sensation.

 That’s all Step One.

 Capturing the full impact of torture means more then the torture scene. It means warping the story under the weight of abuse. It’s the lasting effects on the survivor and the knock on impact on their friends and family. It’s the way that impact can radicalise people, even witnesses. It’s the effect torture has on the organisations that use it and those that it is used against.

 A story does not necessarily need to give all of these elements a lot of narrative space.

 If your story doesn’t focus on the survivor then their symptoms might just take up a sentence as the main characters ask whether they ‘made it’. And in that case you hammer home the impact by showing the effect on these people who are at a remove. Their fear, their anger, their resolve to stop this. Perhaps even a few lasting symptoms they develop as witnesses to a traumatic event.

 The original Star Wars movies don’t leave a lot of time to focus on lasting effects on the main characters but they still show each of them resisting torture in different ways. They show torture radicalising characters who witness it. They show it galvanising opposition and they show torture as ultimately undermining the organisation that uses it.

 Essentially think about the sort of story you’re telling and how much space each of these elements needs in your story.

 Most of the writers who come here are focused on a survivor character and want to write that character recovering. So I’m going to talk about that in more depth.

 If however you’d rather talk about systems in your story I do have some masterposts that’ll help. There’s one here on the common justifications for torture in democracies. There’s one on why torture doesn’t work as a method of interrogation here and a more detailed discussion of the effect torture has on investigations here. There’s also a post on common misconceptions over here.

 I also think you should read the post on clean torture.

 So, let’s talk about how torture effects people.

 Torture does cause lasting symptoms in survivors, witnesses and torturers. Survivors are left dealing with symptoms for the rest of their lives. But that doesn’t mean they never recover and it doesn’t mean survivors don’t go on to have fulfilling lives.

 Recovery is about learning to live with symptoms rather then mental health problems vanishing.

 Now we know the possible symptoms of torture. But survivors don’t generally experience all the possible symptoms and we don’t really understand why there’s so much variety in what individual survivors experience. We also, generally speaking, can’t predict which symptoms any individual will get*.

 From a writing stand point that means we’re free to decide what fits best in any story. I’d encourage you to pick 3-5 symptoms from the list here for any survivors characters. There’s a more detailed discussion of memory problems in particular here. Memory problems are extremely common in reality and very rarely portrayed accurately/well in fiction.

 Personally I think the best way to pick is by looking at the list and thinking about which symptoms will add to the story you’re trying to tell. Think about what might add interesting obstacles in the plot, what might create opportunities to show your audience more about the character and what might change the relationships characters have.

 So if your character needs to be charismatic and social does giving them anxiety create an interesting barrier to that? If your character is determined or holds their ideals really high, does giving them depression help illustrate those qualities by showing what the character is battling with every day? Would intrusive memories prompt deeper discussions with their friends about mental health, their fears?

 Wrapping up I would really encourage you to look at that masterpost on the common misconceptions about torture. Because so many of the ways we’re used to seeing torture portrayed are tropes that have no basis in reality. And a lot of them are based on really harmful misconceptions about torture and torture survivors.

 This probably feels like a lot. It is. Torture is a complex topic to tackle and the sheer volume of misinformation out there makes it that much harder to do it right.

 Read the links. Think about what you want to write. Practice.

 And if you have any more questions feel free to send them in when the ask box re-opens. :)

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Disclaimer

*There are a handful of exceptions here but for the most part whatever the torture technique the possible long term symptoms are the same. Exceptions include sleep deprivation, starvation and solitary confinement.

[enigma-im]

Family Affairs

Rating: teen Relationship: Robot/Female!Human Warnings:

Word Count: 2,211

Tracey goes to a family reunion where someone let lose the secret of who she is dating.

Main story -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"yea, can't wait. Uh-huh, see you all Saturday. Love you too, bye," I press the red circle with too much ire to be comfortable. I sit back in my office chair, rubbing my eyes once I drop my phone to my lap. "Fuck," I shout," Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" I let my hands drop to my thighs, staring up at the ceiling trying to think.

Lost in thought I don't hear the knocking at my door. It isn't till someone sets a hand on me that I notice. Startled, I jump, looking up at Daniel's also surprised face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, love," he hovers his hand over my shoulder. I stare from him to his arm then back again. When did he get in here?

"Oh, it's fine. I was just a bit lost in thought," I answer. I suck in a breath, sitting up to push away from my desk.

"What were you thinking about. Penny for your thoughts, if you will," he grins. My lip edges quirk as well. I stand and head out the room, Daniel following closely behind.

"Just dreading the family meet-up this weekend," I clarify. I head into the kitchen for a drink. Opening the fridge and grabbing a water. "They are always so…much? They are just difficult to be a part of," I take a sip," I'm just not a fan."

I rest against the island, watching Daniel for a moment. Looking at his screen, seeing how his mouth quirks to the side in thought.

"Why is it difficult? I thought family gatherings are something to enjoy," he asks with a head tilt. So adorable the way he gets curious about things. You can always know he is truly engaged in a conversation if he asks questions.

"they should be but younger vs older generations generally ruin these get-togethers. Older bashing the younger's choice in lifestyles while younger resent the older for ruining the world they are coming into. Lots of voiced opinions and politics," I answer. Which is true, I never enjoyed these kinds of things. Aunt Carol generally makes the gatherings fun but ever since she sent me Daniel she has only been interested in talking about that. 'How is he doing, are you treating him well?'' Does everything, ya know, work? ''You should bring him up to the house and let me see him again, how I miss him so.' I don't mind the questions, I get it, but I'd like to talk about other stuff.

"If you are so against it then why go?"

"because I have to. If I don’t then I will never hear the end of it," I answer. " 'where is Tracey? Probably off at work again, never gives us the time of day anymore since she graduated. I just don't understand that girl.'," I mock a elder voice," just a lot of that anytime I get a call. I just need to suck it up and go," I shrug. It’s a simple fact, a family isn't a must but having that kind of backup and community is important. I love them all dearly but I just want them to stop asking when I'm getting married and if I have a boyfriend. I cannot explain to everyone how I'm committed to a robot Aunt Carol made. That would be one hell of a mess.

I'm sure I'm just exaggerating

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

I sit in my car fuming, gripping the steering wheel too tightly with the music mute. I'm too pissed to tolerate any noises at the moment. I go well over the speed limit as I rush home, wanting this day to be over more than anything.

My mind wonders to the moment I walked through the front door. The home was lovely, sitting on the coast of a lake of all places. It just screamed 'I'm rich'. The view makes the get together the more tolerable. Which wasn't enough in this case.

I was first greeted by cousin Sophia, the twenty-something artist of the family. Seeing her accusing face should have been a foreboding sign. Like a picket-sign at the entrance of a dark forest telling others to turn back now. As the main character of a horror movie, I thought nothing of it.

The second person who greets me is my grandmother, dressed to the nines. I go into her group of older women. She is passive in her conversation, hinting at something I'm not getting. She passes curious glances at me, acting like I'm supposed to get some kind of joke. Like an idiot, I think nothing of it.

The beginning of the party feels like all eyes are on me. Whispers behind my back along with snickering. It isn't until I walk in the middle of Aunt Carol's conversation that I get a clue.

She was in the middle of talking about her latest project. Offhandedly mentioning Daniel, making me stop instead of walking by. I stay behind her, listening as she backtracks and ends up bragging about her work on my boyfriend. I don't panic, sitting mostly at the edge of stress. She continues blabbering about the intricate work and how special his A.I. is. I stop breathing when she mentions his capacity for feelings. My stomach drops when she mentions me. Next, filling everyone in on my relationship with a robot, not making me look good at all.

Now knowing why everyone was laughing behind my back, the party gets all the more devastating. I try to rough it out, having only snide comments. I can do this, it's fine.

I was an idiot. Like the dumb blonde in a slasher running up the stairs instead of out the door.

It starts small. Someone asks a question about relationships, curious about a boyfriend I have. Then its like a snowball down a steep mountain. Things go from passive to straight-up vulgar. I couldn't take it.

Thinking back, I dig my nails into the steering wheel cover. The perverts that I'm related to are insane! The blatant disrespect and ignorance were not only hurtful but rage-inducing.

I scratch the bottom of my bumper as I speed into the driveway. I throw the car in park and shove the seatbelt off. I grumble to myself as I storm up the walkway and into the house. Slamming the door behind myself I just barely see Daniel out the corner of my eye.

"Tracey? You are home early," he greets with a smile till I throw the keys into the bowl with too much force. "You ok," he asks, keeping wide breath. He knows from my work tantrums to give me a wide range less he wants to be the target of my ire.

I give him an off glance but storm into the kitchen to grab some leftover pie Daniel made. I grab the whole tin and bring it into the living room to devour. I sit on the couch with a huff and shove piles of pie into my mouth. I sneer at the wall as I chew, not even caring about the crumb falling onto my dress.

Daniel hesitantly walks in and sits on the chair diagonally from me. He fiddles with his fingers, perhaps waiting for me to speak. As I continue forcing more food down my throat he talks instead.

"you look lovely in your sundress," he compliments.

"Fucking Carol," I throw the fork onto the mostly finished pie tin, startling Daniel as I do, "I cannot believe her! You would think her of all people would know to keep her mouth shut but nooo~, she too damn proud of herself. She had to pat herself on the back and tell fucking everyone!." I toss the tin onto the coffee table, crossing my arms as I shake my head.

"What did Carol say," he asks worriedly. I finally look at Daniel, taking in his robotic form. Looking at every wire, screw, light, and hard plastic cover.

"She told everyone about you. Told everyone about her 'wonderful creation that is living with Tracey'," I nearly shout. His animated brows furrow, cocking his head at me.

"Does that bother you that Carol told people about me?" he looks almost offended now.

"I'm not mad about you but what she said about you. She apparently let it drop that I was 'involved' with you. Which led to a bunch of snarky comments and inappropriate questions all through lunch."

"Like what," he asks.

"'Couldn't find a real man, huh? Just had to build one?' 'You do know sex toys aren't people, right?' 'so stuck in her work that she married it, how funny.' Then my favorite from cousin Ethan, 'Do you think I could borrow him for myself? Must be one hell of a lay if you're developing feelings for it.'. Just the most disrespectful shit! Then what could I say? I couldn't be like 'no, it's not like that. He is practically human.' no one would have believed me, just consider me insane," I rant. I'm ready to blow a gasket just remembering the most embarrassing lunch I've ever been to. I even had relatives offering to set me up with their coworker's sons or friends. Like, holy hell!

As I'm stewing in my own anger I don’t notice Daniel folding into himself. I curiously look him over, noticing the most human gestures. He is holding his elbows, tilting his head away, and projecting a worried look on his screen.

"Daniel," I ask softer than I've been all day," you ok?" he glances up at me for a moment, turning back down to the floor.

"Do you wish you had something more real? A human boyfriend instead of me," he asks. His words twists my heart.

"Of course not," I answer. The question, to me, sounds absurd. At first I had the same idea, not till I got to know him did it no longer bother me.

"But," he hesitates," you can't take me out to places. Can't do all the social things like take couples photos with me or meet the family." he picks at the plastic on his arm, his fingers taping with soft clicks. His shoulders slump before he speaks again, breaking my heart even more. "I'm not," he pauses," real."

I watch him dumbfounded. I haven't thought of his insecurities, not even thinking he had any. He has always been so confident, even when he first got here he held himself with firmness.

I stand from the couch, and walk to him. I know just answering won't be enough. His animated eyes follow me, looking up with his head tilted back. I reach out and cup his face with both hands. I can feel the slight warmth radiating from his screen, nearly smiling as he nuzzles his face to my palm.

"Daniel," I start," There is nothing more real or loved than you. I would rather spend the rest of my time with you than have to tolerate a single conversation with another human. Don't you even doubt for a second that I would want some lousy man over everything you have to offer. I love you, and not because I think you are something that you aren't. I love my sexy robot boyfriend." I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. I watch as his eyes seemingly twinkle with admiration. His arms unfold and pull me closer, guiding my legs around his so I can settle on his lap.

"Thank you, Tracey," he just barely whispers. I lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, running my fingers down to his neck to hold his wires. He does his own form of a kiss, rubbing his screen to my forehead. I rest my head on his shoulder, fiddling with his cords between my fingers. I press short kisses to his screen, knowing he enjoys them so.

"Besides," I chuckle," I don't think normal men can turn into a vibrator." he sits up, leaning back to look down at me. He wears an amused but shocked face.

"Tracey, am I just a sex toy to you," he pretends offense," I say, perhaps your cousin Ethan will cherish me more than you are."

I bark out a laugh," shut up. He isn't allowed to have you." I continue chuckling as he rubs his screen to my cheek, groping my hips as he does.

"And no one is allowed to have you," he purrs. I pet along his head, clenching my thighs around his.

"I like it when you get possessive," I grin. He watches me from the corner of his eyes.

"And I like it when you grind into my lap," he pushes my hips into his. I playful swat as his hands, more content at sitting here for a moment longer. He catches on and sits back on the chair, pulling me close to lay against his chest.

We sit there in comfortable silence, holding each other. He pets along my back, tracing his fingers on the part of my spine open to the air. I run my nails over his chest, scratching at the plastic.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day with your family," he breaks the silence.

"meh, at least I have a great boyfriend to make it all better," I smile up at him. He grins back, leaning down for a kiss. Screen meets lips in a heartwarming embrace.

"Love you," he mumbles against me.

"love you too," I answer back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Someone on my Archive asked for another Tracey and Daniel story. so while babysitting a child who bit me, i wrote this short story.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main blog

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [7]: Gebunden

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” —Jane Austen

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The diner Dante takes her to is the standard cop hangout. Every city has at least one, with an interior that hasn’t been updated since the 1950s, a cook who knows everyone by name, and food and coffee that are remarkably good considering the otherwise outdated, somewhat grungy appearance the place has. Sitting in one of the corner booths that overlooks the busy street outside, Lir picks at her omelette, only half-interested in it and the crisp hashbrowns accompanying it. Some sort of jazz plays from a jukebox by the door, soft enough that conversations can be held easily yet loud enough that eavesdropping would be difficult. It reminds her of Sunday afternoons when her father was alive, how he and her mother would dance on the worn living room rug to Frank Sinatra or Billie Holiday or Duke Ellington, but that leads her back to her dream the night before, which is quite effective at dampening her already non-existent appetite.

In a lull while the record switches, Dante sets down his fork and reaches for his coffee, studying her over the rim. “Hate to say it, but you look like hell. Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she replies. When he opens his mouth, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to get into it. Just bad dreams, nothing more than that.”

He gives an idle shrug. “Suit yourself. You gonna eat that?”

With a grimace, she pushes her plate over to him, and he swaps it for his own empty one before setting in on the omelette, which he slathers with ketchup. It makes her wince, but to each their own is what she tries to tell herself, taking a sip from her own coffee. Both of them have been beating around the bush since he picked her up—Miller, her behavior yesterday—and she decides to put an end to it. “How much shit am I in?”

Dante chews thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing. “With Morrison? No more than you should be. Job’s safe, and he’s not looking to put any marks on your record. Apparently the D.A. said that, even without the confession, there’s enough evidence to nail Miller.” He pauses, then gives her a grin. “Honestly, I think Morrison’s glad someone ripped into that sorry sack of shit.”

“You think?” She tries to picture the gruff Chief being pleased about anything and finds that she can’t.

“Sure. Hell, he did himself when he was a detective, from what I heard.” He chuckles. “Might not seem like it now, but he used to be pretty wild, back in the day. Didn’t really settle until he started climbing the ranks, and that’s probably only because you can’t let those higher-up pricks get under your skin.”

She supposes that it makes sense. Relaxing, Lir leans back in her seat, watching as he devours the rest of their breakfast at a speed that leaves her surprised he doesn’t choke on it. “Thanks.”

“Huh?”

“For sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

He looks a bit embarrassed as he rubs the tip of his nose. “Ah, no thanks needed. We’re partners, right? Gotta look out for each other. Besides, I wanted to throttle the guy myself. Your tongue-lashing just beat me to it.” She smiles, but the expression fades when he asks, “You do that in Fortuna?”

“No,” she says shortly.

Dante gives her a curious look. “You know, I never did ask what led you to comin’ here.” At her frown, he adds, “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just askin’.”

Lir mulls over the best way to answer, trying to figure out the short version of her life. “My dad was a cop. Never really made it higher than a beat cop, but he liked his job and what he did. It got him killed eventually.”

“Shit, Lir, I’m sorry.”

She waves it off. “Guess that’s what drove me to join the force, too. Thought I could make a difference, you know?” He nods. “Anyway, Fortuna was nice. But there was a lot of whispering about how a woman made detective, a lot of insinuations, a lot of . . . I dunno. It’s a pretty old-school place. Women raise families, men work. I wanted to get out before I wound up dead-locked with people I couldn’t stand.”

“Why Red Grave?” 

“My father was here a long time ago. We moved to Fortuna when I was . . . I must have been around six, I think.” Lir toys with her coffee mug. “Other than that, I don’t have a real reason other than I liked the look of it the most.” Looking up at him, she asks, “What about you?”

“Me? Been here my whole life, born and raised.” He smiles, but it seems a little haunted, a little bitter. “My ol’ man was a real piece of shit. Joined the force to stop people like him.”

She opens her mouth to ask him how awful his father was. Wife beater? Drunk? Absent? Then she realizes that it’s, quite frankly, not her place, particularly as he’d done her the courtesy of not prying into her past, and she swallows the questions, feeling them burning in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Like her, he waves it off. “Doesn’t matter now. ‘Bout the only thing I got from him was my good looks, anyway.” Lir huffs a laugh without meaning to, and he winks at her before sobering up. “Anyway, Miller might be taken care of, but we’re still at a dead-end on Marsons. Got any ideas?”

“Did we get anything from the DMV?”

“No, and it’s not lookin’ like we will. You know about their feud with the police?” She shakes her head. “Ah, well. Lotta immigrants go there to get a license or permit or anythin’ that helps ‘em out, especially the ones who didn’t go through legal channels. DMV wanted law enforcement to agree not to send info to the feds, our city’s commissioner wouldn’t agree, now we’re stuck.”

Lir swears loudly enough that a nearby table gives her disgruntled glares. “Perfect. Guess we need to set up a tip line.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” She slumps down. It’s a necessary step to take, and Lir knows that it is, but tip lines are the bane of almost all investigations. Once they’re open, everyone calls in, some with information that’s actually relevant, some who just want to nose around, some who want their fifteen seconds of fame, others with nothing more to offer than a conspiracy theory or a completely fabricated story that winds up wasting precious time and resources. Add in the sheer manpower needed to run them,  and they move from being a hassle to a nuisance. “Guess I’ll bring it up to Morrison when we go in.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Having to wear a suit ranks fairly high on Lir’s list of uncomfortable experiences. Even tailored well—which hers is, something that had cost her a pretty penny due to her short stature—it is stiff, itchy, and the tie at her throat feels choking. Her only solace is that Dante looks equally put out, though she’s got a suspicion that it has more to do with the cameras, as she’s never seen him in casual clothes. At the podium is Morrison, telling the city that there is a killer, that caution must be exercised in all things, and that they are opening up a tip line for anyone who might have seen something or knows someone who has. Lir had insisted that they not ask for people who saw the perpetrator; it’s too hard, she had argued, for someone to view their neighbor as a potential murderer. But a witness? They could spin that story all day, and they were more likely to get relevant information from it.

“In short,” Morrison says, “we have found ourselves, in the wake of this tragedy, seeking any information that will aid us. Please call the number at the bottom of your screens if you think that you know something, no matter how big or small it might be.” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll take your questions now.”

A reporter at the front sticks up his hand. “Does this have any relation to the Devil’s Knight case?”

Dante tenses, and Lir looks at him curiously as Morrison replies, “We’ve found nothing to lead us to believe so, no.”

“But wasn’t there religious paraphernalia found with the victim?” the reporter persists.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” When the reporter opens his mouth again, Morrison smiles thinly. “The Devil’s Knight case, as you called it, occurred twenty years ago, and the perpetrator of those crimes died while incarcerated. We can’t rule out a copycat, if that’s what you’re implying, but we’ve found no evidence to support that theory.”

A woman lifts her arm. “I have a question for Detective Thorne.” Lir blinks, but steps up to the podium when Morrison beckons her forward, a dull wariness throbbing behind her temples. “Detective, witnesses saw you chasing a man across Fifth Street and Broad Avenue. Is he a suspect in this case?”

Lir clears her throat. “It’s possible, yes.”

“Are any efforts being made to find him?”

“As Chief Morrison explained, we—”

“Because it seems to me,” the woman continues, “as though the Red Grave police have no leads, no evidence, no suspects, and no hope of finding Sophie Marsons’ killer before he strikes again.”

Anger throbs behind her temples, yet Lir does her best to keep her face and voice neutral. “The perpetrator in this crime was meticulous, but it doesn’t mean he’s infallible. Someone out there knows him, or has seen him, or can help us build a better picture of Marsons’ life. That’s why we’re asking for your help.” 

(“Make it personal,” Morrison says, lighting a cigar. “They’ll single you out, Thorne, because you’re a woman. When they do, you keep the focus on Marsons. You plead for information. Make them want to help.”)

Lir takes a deep breath. “What happened to Sophie was a tragedy,” she declares. “It was senseless, it was violent, it was deplorable. She was, from what little we know of her, a bright, friendly young woman with her entire life ahead of her, someone who liked frozen margaritas with salt on the rim, who was interested in law. And all of that was brutally taken away.” Morrison touches her elbow, a sign to close her statement. “We . . . No, I want to catch the one who did this. I don’t want to see another victim. So, please, if you knew Sophie, if you saw her that night, call us. Or come in to speak with us. Thank you.”

She steps away, ignoring the clamoring of the press as she returns to her original spot next to Dante. As Morrison brings the press conference to a close, Dante leans closer to murmur, “Good speech.”

“Thanks,” she mutters back.

By the time the press has dispersed and she’s been allowed to change back into more comfortable clothing, the phones in the precinct are ringing off the hook. Dante spots her coming out of the locker room and grimaces, one pressed to his ear. Simmons is fumbling reassurances to someone on a different line. Everywhere, cops are speaking, passing notes, scrawling hurriedly to catch whatever information they can before moving on to the next tip. Lir takes in the chaos and the undercurrent of tension in the air, and then she heads to her desk, on which the phone rings shrilly. She answers, cradling the headset against her shoulder as she hunts for a pad of paper and a pen. “Detective Thorne.”

“Did you enjoy the spotlight, Detective?” 

The voice, distorted as it is by some sort of device, sends a shiver down her spine. Her heart pounds in her chest as she stares blankly into a drawer, the bitter taste of fear coating her throat. She doesn’t know how, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt that this is their killer, that he, like so many others, now wants to make himself known. She grabs blindly and tosses what turns out to be a pack of staples at Dante, who startles and glares at her, only for his eyes to widen when she gestures to the phone and mouths wordlessly, it’s him.

“You seemed . . . uncomfortable,” the man on the other end of the line continues. “Quite unlike your father. He loved the spotlight.”

Dante rushes into Morrison’s office, and the two emerge after a quick conversation, Morrison gesturing for everyone else to stop talking. An eerie silence descends over the precinct as Lir asks, “My father?”

Morrison presses the speaker button, and that garbled voice fills the room. “Yes,” he replies. “I knew him, though, perhaps, not as well as you.” There’s a pause, and then a grisly noise: wet and visceral, it sounds not unlike a butcher carving meat from a bone, and there’s a hopeless sort of despair in her that she sees on Dante’s face, along with fury, because it is the sound of another victim being claimed. “Tick tock, Detective,” the man intones, and then the line clicks and the phone goes dead in her hand.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Morrison sends her home with an escort that remains parked on the curb outside of her apartment. Having someone babysit her is irritating at best and infuriating at worst—Dante is also equally at risk, but no one is batting an eye over his safety—but Lir understands the need for it. The killer had called her, had mentioned knowing her father, and her face had just been broadcast on live television. So, the idea that he might choose to come after her next isn't entirely unfounded. Still, as she opens the curtains and peers out, watching one of the officers lean on the door of his cruiser and smoke, she wishes that she had some true peace.

Yet she doesn't want to be alone, either.

Moving to her sofa, she grabs her phone from a cushion and scrolls through her scarce contact list. Joan's number sits comfortable below Dante's and above Morrison's, and Lir dials it, listening to the beeping and waiting for an answer. It comes just before the call would have gone to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Hi. Joan?" Lir clears her throat. "This is Detective Thorne."

There's a pause. Then, "I remember you! You came in asking about Sophie. Sorry, sugar, as pretty as your face is, I've seen a lot since then. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if your offer for company still stands?" She winces as the words leave her mouth. They're too stilted, too formal, and she's too out of practice for this.

To her relief, Joan's reply this time is immediate. "Of course! Are you comin' to the bar?"

"No, I, uh . . ." She glances at the window. "I'm under surveillance right now. Because of the press conference. But I can give you my address?"

"Sure. Just let me find a pen."

Lir waits for the go ahead to rattle it off, along with instructions for which buzzer to press and what to say to the officers if they try to stop her. With that done, she calls the officers next, letting them know she has a guest coming over and what Joan looks like, agreeing when they tell her they'll still have to check her I.D. and frisk her as a precaution. Then there is nothing else to do but wait.

She tidies up her apartment, washing her few dishes and sweeping and making the bed, and she finds two bottles of wine and the meat and cheese tray the department had given her as a house-warming present a few days ago. Lir has just gotten the cellophane off when her buzzer goes off, and she hurries to let Joan inside.

The bartender arrives dressed like a knock-out, which is strange considering how casual her clothes are. From her dark turtle-neck sweater to her lightly distressed jeans, they imply comfort, but on her they look better than they ever would on the runway. Lir stumbles over her greeting as Joan hangs up her coat, and her nerves don't lessen until Joan leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you called," she says, smiling warmly. "I was starting to think you never would."

"I'm sorry. Between work and unpacking . . ." Lir starts to say, but Joan merely shakes her head, so she changes the topic. "I have wine. Why don't you settle in and I'll get us glasses? Do you prefer red or white?"

"White, please." Joan sits on the couch while Lir heads to the kitchen, looking around curiously. "Gotta say, this is the first apartment I've been in that belongs to a detective. It's nice."

"Thanks."

Lir locates the corkscrew hiding in one of the drawers and carries the bottle of moscato and two glasses to Joan. She takes one, holding it out as Lir fills it, and while Lir prepares her own, she says, "I saw the conference. The press are some miserable bastards, huh?"

"I suppose so," Lir agrees.

"And to bring up the Devil’s Knight case," Joan continues. "It's like they want the whole city on edge. Probably do, now that I think about it. How else will they sell papers?"

"What was that case, anyway?"

Joan gives her a look of pure surprise. "You mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I've heard of it, I think, but . . ."

"Well." Joan takes a long drink of her wine. "Where to begin? You have to understand, I was a kid when it all went down, so you'll have to find the file to know more, but there was this guy who thought he was the modern day Jack the Ripper. Went around murdering women, leaving them in alleys like trash. Usually there'd be some sort of . . . Bible verse or somethin' similar with the bodies when they were found."

"That's horrible," Lir murmurs.

Joan nods her agreement. "It was. Women didn't go anywhere alone, 'cause he wasn't picky, other than them all being blondes. I think. Anyway, eventually he got caught and went to jail, where I guess he died. It's sort of become this . . . trademark of Red Grave, I guess. Not on any tours, but people still talk, and there's a vigil held every year for the victims."

"What was his name?" Lir leans forward, propping her head on the back of the couch. "The guy."

"I dunno. He had surviving family, so the name was kept outta the papers, even during the trial. Kids, I think."

"Mm." Lir closes her eyes, her brows pinched. Something about this feels familiar, but she can't put her finger on why. Had someone said something to her during her academy days? Or had she simply read about it at some point and tucked it away with all of the other things she doesn't need?

A hand on her thigh breaks her from her thoughts, and she blinks her eyes open to see Joan leaning towards her, her lips curled in a little smile. "But I say enough about murderers. Let's talk about us."

"Us?" Lir asks.

Then Joan kisses her, her mouth warm and tasting wine-sweet, and Lir lets thoughts of the case slip from her mind.

[erintoknow]

this is nothing new

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

[Read here on AO3!]

Chapter: this is nothing new tw: death

[Same Old Blues]

You wake with a scream, tumbling off the couch, cracking your head against the edge of the coffee table with a ‘Thump!’ on your way down. Flashes of green before your eyes. Distantly aware of your heart pounding in your chest.

“Alex? Lord , Alex, are you okay?” The light flickers on as woman steps out of the bedroom, one hand shading her eyes as she winces against the light. Brushing back dirty blond hair, Chelsea tsks as she navigates the pile of clothes and library books that mark the corner of the apartment you’ve taken over.

Clutching your head, you pull yourself in. Try to make yourself as small as you can. Something… remembered something but what? It’s already gone. Doesn’t feel real, none of this does – already slipping out of your grasp, faster as you try to take hold. Why is Chelsea in Ortega’s apartment? Red and silver threads, something at your throat.

Hands find you and you strike out. Someone yells, “Ow!” the noise unheeded as panic renews; why did you do that? What are you thinking? You’re really in for it now – should know better. How many times do the same lessons need to be learned?

“Alex, Alex, it’s okay.” You tense, can feel the intention to touch incoming but it doesn’t – no hands come near you. “You’re safe. I promise you.” Notes of worry, directed towards – not you, can’t be you, has to be something else.

It’s a lie. One they love to tell. You’ll never be safe.

Have to… have to get out of here. Have to do something. Have to move. Get out. Escape. But there are hands, holding you down under white fluorescent lights, burning spots into your vision that cast of the crowd of onlookers in silhouette. Something is strapped over your head, while she looks down at you. Disappointment naked on her face, speaking with another woman’s voice. “Next time, I expect results forty-two.”

It’s the strobing flashes of red and blue that pull you out of it – a shot of adrenaline sets your hands shaking as you pull yourself out of the position you’d fallen into, laying half out of your bed.

You’re not back there , and you aren’t anywhere but here. Not Ortega’s, not Chelsea’s, not – not there. You’re in your own place. You have one of those now. An apartment. Remember?

Maybe not for long. Police lights? You clutch a hand to your aching head as you stretch out your awareness, take stock of the local minds, pick up the interlopers. Police. And… EMTs? Why? Dig deeper and your hands twist the bed sheet. Death. Someone’s dead. Footsteps in the hallway and nausea washes over you. It takes the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend a day cleaning out bedsheets, yet again , to tamper it down. Clothes stick to your skin in a cold sweat.

The apartment next door. On the left. Young man, lived with his girlfriend – her thoughts stand out, a barbed wire coil of grief. Was paying child support. Managed a convenience store. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Now he’s dead.

How? Why?

Try to press harder for the details only to immediately snap back. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wondered. You’ve never been good at learning that lesson, no matter how many times, you come to regret it.

Holding into the bedside table for balance, you push yourself up, vision briefly blacking out before filling back in as you stand. Give yourself a moment to adjust. To think.

The door. Check the door.

Navigating the gloom you step around the traps and check the door lock, the chain, bolt, and bar. Everything is in place. You’re still safe. Moving to the window you check that next. Shatter-resistant glass, threaded with a steel wire reinforcement. Not much for looking, but no one’s getting through it any time soon. Not without making a lot of noise.

You brush your mind against the police again. No thoughts to you. Or your apartment.

You’re not in any immediate danger.

Stomach prods you with pangs of pain. What time is it? Too early to be awake. It’s – it’s absurd, right? To think it’s your fault. His death. You weren’t even awake to do anything .

Wait–

Shit!

Jane! You were Jane and you were doing something – what? What were you doing?

“Are you sure you are alright to be out today, mon amie?” Dr. Mortum eyes Jane worriedly from the other end of the booth, fiddling with the glass of sherry in her hands. New glasses? The gold of her frames stands out against the dark tone of her skin.

“Doc, please.” Jane sighs, slumping back in her chair. No fancy looks today. Whatever is going on between Jane and Dr. Mortum now, that particular game is over. Your puppet, your mirror image, is wearing slacks and a cardigan. Plain and unfashionable. But you don’t need her to perform today. Not like that. Faded bruises still peeking out from under her shirt collar. Memory of stiffness. “It’s been weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” The good doctor takes a sip of her drink, one hand on the table between them. Her expression grows darker, and Jane leans in too. Nerves on edge. “So it looks like your employer made quite the splash.”

“All thanks to your hard work.”

Mortum’s expression only darkens. Her eyes darting towards the side, down at Jane’s wrist. Eyes tracing something. Jane shifts her hand away, under the table. “I suppose there is a truth to that.” She sighs, looks up again to catch Jane’s eyes. “Have you… thought any more, about what I said?”

Oh. This again. Dr. Mortum’s always been happy to just take the money without questions before. Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from?

“I can handle myself.” Jane’s smile gains an edge. “As I’m sure you remember.”

Mortum’s smile is polite, but her eyes betray amusement. “In vivid technicolor, mon amie.”

“Hah.” Jane snickers, “Don’t be such a nerd.”

Mortum keeps smiling. “Ah, but you recognized the reference. So who is the bigger nerd here?”

“Smart-ass.”

Can’t remember past that. But you just woke up so… you fell asleep, clearly. Did you fall asleep as Jane? Biting your lip you force yourself to lay down in bed, sheets still hanging half off. Close your eyes. Have to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Finding Jane is getting easier and easier these days. Like there’s a cord strung between you – follow the thread and you’ll find her at the end of it.

Sink in, and it’s always touch that comes first, after that everything else fills from the outside in. As if you’re water pouring into an empty vessel. Jane sits up, blinking with bleary eyes. Only the briefest sense of vertigo before her stomach settles.

The dull soreness of healing bruises floats into awareness. It’s dark, with warm fabric drawn over her lower body… She’s home at her apartment. Safe. Everything’s fine. You worried for nothing. Jane glances at the alarm clock. 4 AM. Now that the possibility of danger is brushed aside, you’re free to be frustrated at this whole situation.

Nothing for it now. You’re not going back to sleep if you can help it. Jane’s hand finds her cellphone, checking for any messages. Nothing new; just her last exchange with Ortega, asking about when they can meet up again.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Jane smile, a lightness in her chest, even as it leaves a bitter sting in your heart. Jane is dating Ortega. Not you. That’s the way things have to be. It’s for the best. For everyone.

Ortega…

She hasn’t even been released from the hospital yet and already she’s raring to get back into the thick of things. The fool idiot never knows when to slow down. Or when to quit. She’s taking the Ranger’s defeat at your debut more personally than you had anticipated.

Honestly, you went into that night fully expecting Ortega to kill you, instead she just… slowed you down at best. A wave breaking itself against a boulder, shattering to pieces. She’s losing her touch in her middle age. She’s only to get herself hurt even worse next time. Maybe you can get Jane to talk some sense into her? Just… at least slow down for a little bit? Take better care of herself.

Somehow has to do it.

It sure isn’t going to be you.

Can still see it in your head… standing in the floodlights, a bruised and bleeding Ortega laying prone below you…

Fuck.

fucking hell

piss

Jane staggers, fighting down the wave of revulsion, swallows the bile in the back of her throat. Shit. She’s usually better insulated from your attacks then that.

Well… don’t think you’re getting back to bed any time soon. If you’re going to be up this early you might as well do something productive with all that time.

“So now, I’m the one stuck sorting out this mess.” Spinning stories about how terrible your villain alter ego is as a boss has fast become your favorite way to bond with people as Jane. There’s something liberating in being able to just go to town on her and have people actually nod in agreement.

Jane sighs, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, sloshing the contents in a slow circle. “Honestly, it’s not my fault the last deal fell through like that.” She tugs at her jacket. Should enjoy the chill while you can. Once the sun’s up, the summer heat will be back in full force.

Jane’s companion, a latina woman who has clearly never skipped leg or arm day, takes a long drag from her cigarette, her back to Jane, against the tree. The two of them have stepped off the park path for privacy.

Honestly didn’t expect Rosie to answer Jane’s call. There’s been less and less time to be able to shoot the shit with her lately. A trend you expect to continue.

Even now Jane is technically doing business. Managing your villain career, building loyalty. But Rosie has been Jane’s oldest friend – or as close to it as she can have, and you’re finding it harder for Jane to let go of her than you’d expected.

“Sounds like a capital-class serving of BS to me, yeah.” Rosie stares off into the open field, chewing on thoughts your puppet isn’t privy to. “You tried looking into some of those old buildings up in the industrial park?”

Jane blinks, staring up at the tree branches above them both. “The… industrial park, huh. Hrm.”

“Yeah, like, I know you’re hoping to get somewhere more, like, central and shit, but there’s a lot of places that cleared out when the smog started getting bad. Bet you two-to-one you can find somewhere real cheap up that way.” She goes quiet then suddenly breaks into laughter. “And hey! That boss of yours is so paranoid anyway, right? Should be happy he gets somewhere no one in their right mind is going to go.”

Jane doesn’t respond right away. It could work. A cheaper asking price means more money free to invest back into gadgets, supplies, bribes. “Yeah, okay.” Jane “I’ll give it a look around. Thanks for the tip.”

Rosie winks, thumbs up. “Hey Janey, what are friends for?”

Jane finds herself returning the thumbs up. “Nothing legal, apparently.” That gets the barking laugh you were hoping for. Rosie slaps her leg. Jane clears her throat, gives Rosie a chance to compose herself. “Speaking of friends… You ready for another job yet?”

“You know me, I can always use more sin money.” She shuffles out another cigarette from her pack, eyes shifting between Jane and the lighter. “So… suppose I am. What'd ya got?”

Jane smiles. “I think you’ll find this one interesting.”

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Magic Vs. Science

Chapters: 19/25 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Series: Part 1 of 9. Summary: Magic and Science, are they the same or are they completely different? It just takes one person to point out all up and downs. Along with breaking the stereotypes that come up with being a wizard, alchemist and most of all being human. Thank you, @amynchan! D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

“English and Edward’s accented voice.” “Amestrian or another foreign language.” “Written notes.” ‘Thoughts.’ First Name: Informal Last Name: Formal (Or used to annoy others)

"And this is... Alchemy in one of its finest points..."

The sound of hands clapping together reverberated around the room, an electric discharge the color of blue came from the hands onto a pile of metal, wires and other random items. The moment the light dispersed to reveal a functioning Cuckoo clock. The clock struck a new hour and out came the... what appears to be a young version Mr. Elric batting around a bat.

"Really...? Really...?" Edward deadpanned, he resisted the urge to facepalm at his superior's creation. Was it necessary to create the mini version of him swinging around a bat? No. Did the presentation show one of the many possibilities of Alchemy? Yes. Yes, it did. With a chuckle, remembering how he would add his own touch whenever he created something to his past creations. "Questions?"

"How the bloody hell did he create that?"

"This...this is...unbelievable."

"How does it work?"

"Remember what Mr. Elric taught us. The proper application requires a full understanding of chemistry and ancient alchemical theory, including to have a talent towards recognizing and manipulating the physical objects with energy, which require uncommon levels of intelligence and aptitude."

"... Could we do that?"

"Maybe one day... In the far distant future." Edward waved off the looks of amazement. He walked over at the front of the room and stood next to Roy. He reached over to pick up the clock that was on top of a slab of wood which rested on top of a table and rested it next to it. Now he picked up the slab of wood to show it to the class. The slab of wood contained a Transmutation Circle burned into it. "This is a Transmutation circle, the coming semester, something that is needed to create everything with...Alchemy."

"Are you going to teach us that?"

"No. None of you are at the level required to even start learning Transmutation Circles. Once classes start once more, the main topic I am going to teach all of you is...Rebound..." The way Edward said that the last word sent an ominous shiver down all his students spines. "The forces that are being manipulated when using Alchemy...are not human in origin the consequences for attempting to bypass the Law of Equivalent Exchange in transmutation are not merely a failure. When too much is attempted out of too little, a Rebound occurs. The alchemical forces are thrown out of balance on their side of the equation fluctuate wildly of their own accord in order stabilize themselves-taking or giving more than interned in often unpredictable and catastrophic ways such as... accidental mutation, serious injury or even death. Terrence? Question?"

"Sir... have you ever seen any of that happen before...?"

Edward put the clock back on the table with a heavy sigh. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose wondering how he could answer that. There are many ways he could answer that question or he could sweep it under the rug completely. No, they needed to see the result of trying to do something completely stupid. "...What I am going to show you must not leave this room. Understood?"

Edward thanked Truth for the fact Rolanda and Quirinus are not in the room.

Roy watched Edward with watchful eyes, suspicion filled within him seeing that familiar look in the younger man's eyes. "You sure about this?"

"I'm just going to show them my automail. Telling them the story behind it... maybe at a later time."

-.-

Silence fell over them, they ate their lunch slowly and methodically. Chewing on their food while they thought over what they saw earlier and the new tidbit of information on their teacher. Their teacher did something that was against the Law of Alchemy and he is living with that consequences every day. Are they still going to study alchemy? Yes, of course, they are. They came this far and they are not going to back out any time soon. The only problem they have is... how in Merlin's beard does that legwork? They never saw anything like it before and it wasn't like any other kind of prosthetics they've seen before.

"How do you think it works?"

"It has to be connected to his nervous system. It moves around as an actual leg does."

"The nervo what?"

"It's like this..."

With that, everything went back to a sense of normalcy.

-.-

"GET AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Come Now, Edward!"

"I don't need a hug from you of all people!"

"Can't we ever have a day without this happening?" Mustang facepalm into his gloved hand, he peeked through his fingers to see a shirtless Major Armstrong trying to hug the screaming Colonel Elric. He glanced over his shoulder to see Elric's class and fellow instructors to see them watching the scene with mixed expressions. The fact that a lot of them looked bored and not bothered about the scene before them... Amestris is already getting to them. "Major Armstrong! Colonel Elric!"

Elric did not stop running away from Armstrong, he changed his course to run over towards the General and hid behind him. "Get him away from me!"

Fortunately for Elric, Armstrong stopped chasing after him and saluted, sparkles surrounding him still. "It just brings me great joy to see Edward Elric being a teacher!"

"Please tell him to stop chasing me...? Please?" Elric asked with mass hysteria in his eyes, he kept tugging on Mustang's uniform pleadingly. "Please?"

"Why am I here again?" Mustang muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to facepalm. This was something he was so not looking forward to.

"You and Major Armstrong are supposed to give a live demonstration to my class..."

"...Truth..."

-.-

Flame Alchemist vs Strong Arm Alchemist

A fight that is of epic proportions to the students and two magical instructors. They have never seen anything like it, nothing compared to what is occurring in front of their eyes. Some could feel the heat emitting from the flames or the rush of air from the soaring rocks that flew towards the fire. How both combatants are able to use alchemy in such a way has their minds boggling at all the possibilities and possible future for them.

Snap.

Punch.

Snap.

Blast!

Repeat.

"Amestris State Alchemists, all candidates undergo an extensive examination process involving a written test proving a high level of aptitude in the field, a psychological evaluation to determine whether the candidate is of sound enough mind to serve in such a specialized branch of the military and a practical examination in which the candidate proves to a military board whether or not his or her skills can be used in real-world situations." Edward explained to his students the procedure of becoming a State Alchemists. He stuffed a hand into his head and gripped his silver pocket watch, remembering the time he had taken such test. "Upon acceptance into the program, they are awarded a certificate of achievement marked with a symbolic title decided upon by the Fuhrer based on the newly accepted State Alchemist unique alchemical skills as well as their personal and dispositional traits."

"Flame Alchemist?"

"General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, is versed in standard physical transmutation, experimental theory, and biological alchemy. Fire-based combat style of alchemy, see those gloves he's wearing?" After quick nods and mummers of yes, Edward continued. "They help him manipulate the air to do what he is doing right now. If you ask him, he might answer a few questions. Don't push him about it."

"Strong Arm Alchemist?"

".... Major Armstrong, Strong Arm Alchemist, utilizes a combat alchemy that has apparently been passed down the Armstrong line for generations and mixes alchemical skill with physical prowess. He uses those metal gauntlets strapped to his fists to transmute objects by punching them. If you want to know more but end up losing your mind in the process, go ask him. I will not be held responsible if such event occurs..."

"...What is wrong with him?"

"I have been asking that question myself for years. If you think that is bad, you should meet his eldest sister, that woman is one of the most terrifying women in Amestris. Better yet...the entire world."

Pause.

"One of...?"

"The others are Captain Hawkeye and Teacher..."

"Captain Hawkeye? She did not appear to be that terrifying."

"Stick around longer then you will see."

-.-

Edward munched on his dinner as he watched his students mob, Roy and Alex, asking them question after question about the performance they did earlier. Both Alchemist soaked in the attention and answered bit and pieces. They, after all, needed to hide away the secrets of their alchemy. The experience of them watching Alchemy being done in such manner opened their minds and see what they are studying first hand.

"Mr. Elric."

Edward glanced over to see Rolanda taking a seat next to him, she kept her gaze over the students. "Yeah?"

"You said you were a former State Alchemist, could you do what they did earlier?" Rolanda asked, turning her heard to look at Edward with her hawk-like eyes.

"...I... It is a very long story. The result is me not being able to do alchemy anymore." Edward stated lightly, smiling slightly at the reason behind him no longer being able to do alchemy anymore. It was worth the exchange.

"You don't have to answer if it is too personal, what did you exchange for you to no longer being capable of using alchemy?"

"...Again...long story and this one is...a personal one."

"My Alchemy has been passed down the Armstrong Family for several generations!"

Pause.

"How in Merlin's beard did he became a State Alchemist?"

"Shhh! Not so loud, do you want him to hear you? He will go on about the Armstrong Family Line for ages."

-.-

"I'll come back and visit again before I return back to work." Edward swung Elicia around in circles around the train station platform. Mrs. Hughes stood a couple steps away holding a cloth-covered basket, watching the scene with a small smile. "Be good, stay in school and if anyone picks on you...tell your Uncle Roy or Auntie Riza. They'll take care of it."

"Don't encourage her, Ed." Mrs. Hughes shook her head at Edward's words.

"What? I won't be in the country, and I can't get any phone calls there." Edward explained as if what he said was nothing out of the norm. "Otherwise I would take care of the problem."

Mrs. Hughes only shook her head. "Of course."

The woman smiled at the young man and extended the basket out to him. "For the trip, down to Resembool."

Edward places Elicia back down on the ground, the girl giggles as she keeps a grasp on her brother's pants to no fall. The Golden Blonde reached over and took the basket and he smelled that familiar scent of apple pies filled his nose. Such a pleasant scent. "Thank you, they smell amazing!"

"Are you ready to go, Fullmetal?"

Edward, Mrs. Hughes, and Elicia turned to see Roy and his unit standing in front of them. The Sandy Blonde girl smiled brightly and ran over to Roy and hugged him. "Uncle Roy!"

Roy smiled hugely at the girl and patted her on the head. "There's my favorite Squirrel Scout."

Elicia's cheeks puff out. "It's Lion Scout! Lion Scout!"

"Gasp-Of course it is! How could I forget such detail~" Roy chastised himself for forgetting such detail. He glanced over at Riza and gave her a silent command. "Hawkeye, Havoc, why don't you two take Gracia and Elicia home. It's getting late."

"Of course, Sir!"

Both soldiers gave Edward either a salute or nod before they escorted the Hughes family back to their home.

"Bye Little Brother!" Elicia called out, waving at Edward.

Edward waved back with a small smile, the smile disappeared once she was out of sight. Glancing over at his shoulder to give his superior a bored look, the Golden Blonde could only wonder what the man is about to inform him. "What?"

"I have people stationed along the tracks, try not to get into trouble."

-.-

The train ride from Central to Resembool was filled with random games, eating pies, homework, eating pies, sleeping and once more... eating pies. This time around, Mr. Elric had fallen asleep clutching onto his suitcase. It is worth mentioning he kept muttering under his breath something about...wrench of doom...? Interesting.

"Does he live out in the country?"

"Naw, he has to live in a city or something."

"In a mansion?"

"Castle?"

"I think he lives in a small cottage in the middle of a forest and you could hear a bubbling creek nearby."

"Maybe by a river!"

"Or by a volcano."

"No. He lives in a laboratory or some sorts, him working on his alchemy."

"Mr. Elric told us he lives down the road from his fiancé, and we'll be switching our time between both homes. If not...mostly in future Mrs. Elric's home."

"I still can't believe he's getting married, he's still young!"

"...In the Magical Community... It is rather common to see a student from the more... restricted pureblood families... get married off the moment they leave Hogwarts. Do you believe that could be happening here?"

"Naw, from what Mr. Elric told us, he'd know his fiancé almost his entire life and said that she's his mechanic. Whatever that means."

"A mechanic fixes muggle machinery and everything else of that sort. Remember Mr. Elric's leg? That's a piece of machinery."

"...A mechanic? Hm..."

"What?"

"Mechanics are uneducated, dishonest, uncaring, dirty, and would purposely break parts to get more work or bulling their customers into unneeded services individuals. A mechanic...hah!" One of the students, a muggle-born Ravenclaw, huffed out in disgust. "My parents dealt with many mechanics over the years, they are all the sa-"

-.-

"Hello~" A very attractive female in her late teens waved at a group of strangely dressed schoolchildren, for Resembool, getting off a train. She has long light blonde hair tied in a high pony-tail, with long locks of hair on either side of her face and bangs, blue eyes and is wearing a short-sleeved sundress. "Hogvarts?"

The Hogwarts students and two professors wonder if this is the Alchemy Teacher's fiancé. The way said man described her to be... is not what they are seeing. She seemed...delicate, polite, and a grease monkey. Her voice is heavily accented to the point they could hardly tell what she was telling them to a point.

Suddenly, the young woman's eyes brightened at whatever was behind the group. "Edward!"

"Winry!"

Everyone turned around to see Edward stepping out of the train, grinning at the Blue-Eyed Blonde. He only took a couple of steps towards her when he was almost flung backward in a bone-wrenching hug, dropping his suitcase in the process. Edward braced himself to prevent himself to prevent himself to fall backward with Winry in his arms. Once he regained his balance, the Golden Blonde swung the Blue-Eyed Blonde around laughingly. "I thought you were going to wait at home, Winry."

"I couldn't wait, I had to see you as soon as possible. Don't worry, Granny is taking care of the pies." Winry said once Edward stopped swinging her around. "So...introduce me. I want to meet these...students of yours."

"...Don't tell me... You have no faith in me being a teacher?" Edward deadpanned.

"Hahaha. Oh, Edward... I'm just surprised you haven't killed anyone yet." Winry laughed, waving off Edward's look of despair. She reached up and grabbed hold of Edward's coat to pull him down enough to kiss him on the lips.

At that moment, everything went blank for Edward... everything just felt... perfect.

-.-

"How much longer now?"

"I can't feel my legs anymore..."

"This goes many of our ideas of his possible home..."

"At least it isn't freezing!"

"It's winter....it supposed to snow..."

"Sh! Remember, we are supposed to be camping. Camping in the snow isn't fun! Believe me... it's not fun..."

Walking up ahead of the group, Edward and Winry whispered to silently to themselves. Both all giggles and smiles but that was just a front. Pay closer attention, you could see Winry if gripping Edward's arm far too tightly and said male purposely kept his face forward to not show anyone his tears.

"Who exactly is at your house again...?" Edward asked through teary eyes.

"Your brother, Mei, Lan Fan and Ling...."

Edward stopped at a fork of a road. One road leads to the Rockbell's Residence and the other lead to his own residence. He turned over to face Winry, shoulder's tense and expression unreadable. "Who else is there?"

"You think I'm hiding something from you?" Winry questioned Edward with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest. She glared at the Golden Blonde, no once did she waver.

"It's Teacher, isn't it?"

"... I invited her and Sig. After you told me you told them we got engaged."

"How is she?"

"She's helping me with the wedding."

"Define helping...?"

-.-

Bang!

Slam!

Screams of pain!

Break!

Shouting!

The two Hogwarts professors and eight students stood in front of a two-story home with a sign in the front. It appeared to be a simple home if it weren't for the fact that Mr. Elric and Miss. Rockbell entered the home and the moment he closed the door behind himself... chaos. He had told everyone else to stay outside until he cleared whatever was inside the Rockbell residence. Apparently whatever it was... it wasn't pretty.

There was a debate about whether or not to go inside to check on the Alchemy Professor. That idea was shot down when the sounds of pain reverberated throughout the entire home.

Wait... is that silence?

SLAM!

The door was slammed open and both Mr. Elric's were thrown out of the Rockbell residence with shouts of surprise. Everyone kept their eyes on the doorway, not able to look away. It was either from fright or morbid curiosity.

Then... they saw... her?

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[chaospenelope]

The Unbeaten Path

The Flowers that Grow in Darkness

Freddy took a deep breath and took off his hat to unsuccessfully slick back his fur. It seemed like every day there was a new feud that needed mediation. It didn't help that Chica's first solution to most problems was to throw someone at it.

He glanced back at Faye, who was dangling helplessly as Chica and Penny untangled his lower half. A dazed Jovi was propped against the far wall getting looked over by Billy and Philip had his arms crossed in the corner, still holding back a snicker.

He put his hat on and started to head for the elevator. The animatronic just felt really drained at the moment. He needed to get away. He paused as he reached the gallery exit. He heard a strange noise on the other side of the vent. He got on his hands and knees in an attempt to hear better.

'Is that a mouse?' It seemed to be an echo of something chewing. Unfortunately even with his optic lights he could not see the source. He moved to push himself in the opening only to remember his shoulders were too wide as they clanged against the metal. Standing up he figured getting into the control room might give him a better view. Since a lot of the floor had been opened to allow excess to all animatronics this was a bit simpler than it used to be, since the vent that connected the elevator to the control room was gutted. It was now a steep ramp leading to a makeshift door.

The sound was much louder now, the vermin was most certainly in this room. Hopefully could catch the critter before Philip sees it, kills it, Chelsea sees that, gets upset and- well, there's just so many ways it could go bad. He really didn't want to deal with that. He was careful not to make a sound as he opened the door. However, he was caught off guard by what was actually chewing.

Sitting on a table curled up and facing the wall was the original Foxy the Pirate Fox. The animatronic was hard at work and had not noticed the tall shadow that loomed over him.

"Kit? What are you doing?" He drew closer to see what his 'closest friend' was nibbling on.

The fox's ears perked up as he heard his voice. His tail even wagged as he turned to look at him. His gold tooth glinting in the light as he smiled. Freddy would have smiled back if he hadn't noticed the half bitten piece of rope tied around his wrist and a pipe connected to the wall.

"Who tied you to the wall?" He asked, concerned and restraining his anger.

"Hmmm" Kit stopped to think for a moment. "That, that wee Bonnie with the needle fingers." He wiggled his fingers as he said that.

"Plushy tied you up? Why?" He moved to free him, but Kit had already managed to break from it.

"Aye, that be the one!" He stood up and rubbed his wrist a bit. "They didn't want me ta go out alone I think. I almost got away but by Poseidon's beard are they a fast one! I've been bested, I have ta turn in me running shoes." He chuckled to himself.

Freddy showed a brief hint of amusement, but it was over shadowed by his serious grumble. "I'll have to talk with them later."

"So," He looked around to make sure no one else was listening. "Have ye thought about...The day?"

"Yeah, I haven't actually...Sorry." He looked down, dejected.

"Ey..." Kit tilted his head as he got a look at his bear's face. "Ya feelin' alright mate?" He put his good, non hook hand on his cheek. "If ye don't want to talk about it-"

"Oh, I'm fine." He rested his face against the metal palm. He gave him a reassuring smile but the fox's sharp eyes could see he was tired.

"Aye...Then, maybe ya wouldn't mind takin a walk with me?" His sad, puppy eyes were not something he could ever say no to.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

There was a loud crash coming from the breaker room. "What the D-"

"That's just Faye again. C'mon."

The elevator was currently out of order, again. A common occurrence at the moment. They'd have to take the ladder up. Freddy out of thoughtless instinct wrapped his arm around the slightly smaller animatronic and started to climb up.

"Ah," Kit didn't mind being carried of course. He did wonder, however, why exactly Freddy did this. Was he possibly reading his mind? He never actually told him he enjoyed it. Maybe he was just worried he'd get his hook caught? His tongue stuck out as he watched the busted elevator get further and further away, his tail and other limbs dangling high above it.

The wall slid open as they approached the motion sensor. He gently placed him on the old faded carpet. Parts of the floor shined like it was on fire as the last rays of the day died behind the wall of trees. Most of the house was quiet, everyone was underground except them and one other.

In the living room sat a possessed mess of stitches, the rabbit Plushtrap was humming as they sewed something. As soon as they noticed the two they jumped on their project, covering up what they could with a nearby blanket and their own body. "What are you doing up here!? What did you eat through like a rat?"

"Aye, I did!" He stated proudly.

"Plushy, you can't force Kit or anyone else to stay down there just because you didn't want him going outside. I know you mean well but it's ultimately his choice. You don't have to keep fixing him if it bothers you so much."

"Well, yeah, I guess I understand....But, That's not really why...I really didn't want him to ruin his surprise. I couldn't let him go up in the house til I was done." They said, still sprawled over the pile.

"Surprise? Be it Treasure?" The Pirate's tail lightly thudded against the ground. "Can I see it?"

"No! Not until it's done!" They bit at his hand as he started to reach for the heap of cloth.

"The next time you tell me and I'll help you."

Their eyes shifted suspiciously. "...I was gonna, but you were busy so I took care of it myself...Though I guess it didn't work out as well as I'd hoped, so you can help now and get him out of here until sunrise."

Freddy sighed. His voice stern. "Well, Since Kit isn't hurt we'll just forget it happened, but don't do it again. I don't care if you're throwing a surprise party you don't tie people up or put them in a dungeon."

"What about a broom closet?"

"Plushy!"

"Okay, okay fine! Now will you please get him out of here?"

"Aye, Let's!" He pulled himself on Freddy's shoulders, showing his fanged smile again. The bear smiled back this time. Then he let go and ran out the door. "Adventure awaits!"

"I thought we were just going on a walk." He said to himself and followed.

The ground sunk slightly under their weight. Air was crisp and a little quiet. Unseen critters scurried around them as they walked into the growing darkness.

"It's strange," Freddy paused as he looked at the natural leafy canopy above. "After all these years and attempts to escape. We just walked out here without a second thought. Just, left through the front door."

Kit nodded. He stopped so he could stay next to him, holding onto the other's paw. "There were many a days spent tryin to see the outside of the old place...You, remember the time Bonnie and I tried to pick the lock on the door?"

"Yeah, more specifically the part where Chica wanted to throw an arcade cabinet through the glass, while you two were still standing there."

"Well can't blame her enthusiasm. We'd been promised so many times."

"Yeah...Henry never was good at keeping promises." He muttered. "Not for our sake."

"Charlie was. She always came after school ta say hi, even after her friends took up most of her time." They started walking again, Kit looking in every direction noise seemed to permeate from.

Freddy resisted the urge to scoff. They didn't deserve the term 'friends' not after what they helped accomplish. "Charlie was such a great sister. She taught us how to draw, gave us the prizes she won to keep it safe for her, and sang with us."

The pirate chuckled. "Aye, At first ye started storin them in yer torso and the sticky hand clogged yer innards. It took hours to get out. We thought you were a goner. If we could cry back them we would've."

"Yeah, poor Charlie took the blame...You guys really thought a sticky splat hand was going to kill me?"

"It was the first time any of us broke down." He explained with a shrug. "It was worse because it was you. Being you were the voice of reason. Remember how much of a mess we were then?"

"It's hard to believe were the same people but I do. We used to talk about what we'd do when the restaurant was closed. We were going to get jobs and get an apartment until we had enough money to travel the world." He gave a wanting sigh, kicking at the weed that grew in the middle of the path defiantly. "I knew we couldn't do that as we are even back then but I had this secret fantasy that Henry would make us human bodies."

"Hmmm. What did ye think we'd look like?" The fox rested his hook on his chin as he thought ears twitching. "Ye think I'd be a handsome human? Fast with strong muscles and a skull Tatoo on me back."

"To me you would be handsome." He smirked. He closed his eyes as his fox poked his nose emitting the small squeak.

"You'd say that even if I was a scrawny land lubber weenie, wouldn't ye?"

"Mmm. Yes, cuz no matter how much spinach you eat you're still my Kitty."

He huffed in faux annoyance. "Yea, and you'll be me Snuggly Care Bear."

The larger animatronic nodded, feeling a little jolt of electricity as he heard that old pet name. It's been so many years since he called him that. Of course they were out of commission for a good half of those years but he felt it in his phantom heart, his wired vessels, his steel bones. Hearing it seemed to erase those eroding years.

As they continued walking the fox finally noticed something odd to him. He had been looking around trying to figure out what it was and it suddenly hit him. "Wonder what happened to the flowers?" Kit asked as he eyed a once flourishing wild flower patch. "I swear on me Mum there were millions around here."

"It is getting cooler. Maybe they wilted last night?" The brown robot smirked. "Wait, 'Mum'? Kitty is your Captain Morgan returning to us?"

"Errr, No. It slips in sometimes...Not me fault." He pretended to pout until his boyfriend gave him a playful smooch.

"I know, It's the old program still trying to kick in." He then patted him gently. "We really need Lolbit to check that out Kitty."

"I'm fine really, it isn't affectin me movements like it used to." He stopped and let go of his paw. "They did a great a job ye see?" He ran in place for a bit and stood perfectly still. "No twitchin or lockin up!"

His spectator leaned against the tree with crossed arms. "It doesn't mean it won't return. It's basically a virus, remember?"

"Freddy. I'm fine." He insisted sternly. "I'd know."

The bear didn't say anything. He sighed and shook his head.

"I, know yer worried about me, but ya don't have to! I'm not some scared urchin quaken in me boots anymore." He walked up to his boyfriend and put his arms around him.

"I just don't want to lose you again Kit..." He said softly. Voice strained with the memory of his loved one's broken, torn parts twitching and convulsing. Jaws snapping and hook swinging uncontrollably. He could still hear the screeching. Not being able to take his eyes off him, stopping mid performance. Unable to run to him.

"Ye ain't gonna loose me, if sledge hammers, wrenches, or sticky hands aren't strong enough to tear us apart nothin will." Foxy rubbed the bear's back. The body quivered a little. He could feel arms around him, returning the embrace. Wet substance dripped on his shoulder as they held each other tightly. He cried too, remembering that horrible day. The day he was the last to fall. His friends bodies beaten, scattered, and unmoving. A beautiful blue eye staring up at him seemingly asking 'why weren't you fast enough?' When the phantom tears dried they started walking, hand in hand. They were reaching the end of the path.

The lake water reflected their optic lights as they walked past the cover of trees. There was silence as Kit collected what he deemed good skipping rocks. "I wonder what the perfect day would be? Flowers bloomin everywhere? Can't have one without them, right?" The first two splashed right in as he got a good position. The third skirted along the water twice before giving up. "Hm?" He raised a perplexed brow. "Flowers?" "Ye know, Our super special day?" He glanced at him, making a motion like he was holding up an invisible dress skirt, humming a familiar tune. "Oh!...Oh, the Wed- I don't know." "If ye change your mind it won't hurt me. I'm a big pirate I can handle it." He said coyly, the fourth rock he threw actually skipped five times. "No, It was my idea. I want to, as soon as possible. We should tell everyone before that though. That sort of thing needs help planning, right?" "Not if you don't want to." The thinner animatronic threw another rock that made a few more skips before plunging to the depths with a 'plap'. "We can just do it in secret if it'll make ye feel better." "Well, I want this..." He looked into Kit's eyes, his lifted eyepatch showing his full attention. Freddy held his hand and hook in his own grasp as he continued. "I want this to symbolize our next step in...Life and what we survived. We're alive, together, and..." He looked away, contemplating the full implication of the word. "Free." Eyes focused back as he continued. "I want to involve them because they are a part of our bond too. Rosie, Chica and Bonnie who have been with us since the beginning and helped us through that awkward pining phase, the Rockys who had the strange inclination to gather us in a pile, which helped Penny and Faye find us all in the fire, Shiva who we couldn't find Rosie without, and the Nightmares who rebuilt us so we could all be together again. If just one of them weren't in our lives, we wouldn't be having this conversation. The Toys may not be here in person but, I'd like to think they'd be happy too. Teddy still making sure to keep the whole event child friendly and covering  BB's eyes when we kiss." "Aye..." He nodded with a laugh. Then his ears suddenly drooped as he asked. "Ye, ye think, Henry would be happy?" 'The old Henry would...' Freddy thought bitterly. He pushed it away with a warm smile. "Yea, he and Charlie would definitely be there with everyone." He let go and sat at the base of the large oak. "It'll be a great way to start our new chapter." "We should tell 'em today then! Start it as soon as today!" Tail kicked up a few leaves as it waved with excitement. "What are wee afraid of? Are they gonna think we're silly? Chica reads to her cupcake that's silly!" He plopped down next to his boyfriend. "Ha, I guess you're right." He pulled him closer, kissed him making his nose squeak. They snuggled together for a while. They stayed that way for some time even watching as the sky brightened with the glory of sunrise. Until the blue eyed machine spoke. "We'll tell them when we get back." "Should do that now, eh? Wouldn't want any morning hikers catching a glimpse of the likes of us." "Yeah, we better." He sighed. "And I was just getting comfortable too." He stood up and held a hand out to help his secret fiancé up. The door opened and petals danced along the breeze that flowed. Not a single soul in sight. "Oh no! I'm gone for a whole night and they go and preform some weird ritual sacrifice!" "We best be following it then. So we can get it over with and clean up what's left." Rows of carefully placed flowers lined up to form a path to the back bedroom and elevator shaft. They were tied to the ladder that led to the second floor, Lolbit's place. It was eerily dark as they climbed into the large room. "I think ye be right Freddy they gone and-" "Surprise!!!" Everyone jumped up wearing partial suits or formal dresses. Behind them two rows of random chairs lined up as nicely as possible leading to Lolbit's center screen. Their digital image was decorated with marrying pixel attire. Bonnie stood to the side with Jovi as they played a soft riff of the bridal march. The table in front of them were carefully placed white suit, tie, and top hat. Next to that was a lovingly stitched pirate Captain's coat. "Who's idea was this? How did you know?" Freddy asked in amazement. Faye shrunk a little as everyone's attention turned to him. Wires and eyeballs spilled out of the suit's arms and bottom. A nicely dressed spaghetti monster. "I-I heard you talking the other day and I thought, I thought it would be nice if we d-d-did it all for you. Got myself tangled-t-tangled on purpose. Made sure you'd hear K-Kit in the vents. Plushy was supposed-posed to lead you out in the woods to find Billy's kids but you left before they were all ready. Luck-Luckily it worked out anyway. Hee hee!" "That's, I don't know what to say..." Freddy looked at all the flowers laced together in a beautiful aisle and along the hanging wires. He felt phantom tears welling up in his eyes. "Aye, it sure is a sight." "I didn't exactly approve of the secret." Shiva admitted. He too was dressed in somewhat formal wear, suit coat over his vest. The sleeves were still almost touching the ground. "I felt like the date should have been your choice but I suppose they took it as me wanting to, 'tell' on them so Plushy locked me in a broom closet." "Dang it Plushy!" "What? I wasn't gonna let him ruin the surprise Faye worked so hard on!" Bonnie looked up as he realized something. "Oh, that's why you weren't around to help put up decorations. I thought you started protesting because FredBear had to start stealing all the flowers from that annoying lady's yard." "Borrowed." The yellowish Nightmare bear corrected softly. "Right..." "We made rings and everything!" Rosemarie stated cheerfully pointing at the Nightmare chicken that held the old couch pillow that had two metal circles resting on it. "I made them from that nonfunctional Toy bear's pinkie." "Chelsea. Don't tell them that." Billy half whispered, half grumbled. His suit already had little cuts from where his children held on, one popping their head up from his neckline to look out. "Oh, sorry." "Uh, um." Faye was a bit fidgety trying to judge their expressions. "H-Hope you l-ike it. I know you probab-bly want-wanted to do it your-sself and I'm-m sorry we got a little carried away..." "It's perfect Faye, thank you. The fact that you all did this together, for us-" Freddy looked over to Kit. They smiled at each other as they held hands. "-Means more than you can ever imagine."

[chronically-autistic-dinosaur]

This is an EXTREMELY long post, but there you have it:

With the exception of the first photo, these tests were taken in March. I took the same tests back in November and I took them even earlier than that as well. I got nearly the the same results. I score high for Aspergers. I’ve had questions and concerns for the past 5 or so years about whether or not I had ASD (certain things stuck out to me) and so I started to do some research. I did those tests, talked to some people, and looked into my childhood and realized the signs were always there. Now, I could pay almost $3000 and get my diagnosis on a piece of paper, but what’s the point of that? I’ll still get the same results on the tests. The diagnosis will just sit in my medical file and unless I plan on getting government benefits, I don’t see the point. Yes, I was diagnosed when I was 12. No, I don’t have it in writing anywhere (that I know of). My testing was done as part of a clinical trial I was in and the results of those are never made public or put in a medical record. It sucks, but that’s how those things work. My parents know my diagnosis and I know. That’s enough for me.

Yes, I hit every developmental milestone, but most of us with Aspergers do. We don’t normally have the speech and language deficits that those elsewhere on the spectrum will have. It’s why we are usually misdiagnosed/diagnosed later in life. We are more intelligent than most people. My IQ is 120 (according to all the free tests I’ve done here and the over the years). Now that’s not genius level, but it IS higher than normal. I was reading proficiently at 4 years old. By the time I was in Kindergarten, I was reading at a grade 3 level and could comprehend what I was reading. We have excellent memory recall. I can retain information a lot easier than most. I could name the capital cities of most countries (and if given a few minutes, I could still remember). I love reference books and text books and I was the same way as a child. I’ve always been smarter than my age, which is common for Aspies.

In the language category though, I DO have minor echolalia. I will mimic/repeat what people have said to me. When a customer tells me they are paying with debit (or whatever their payment method is), I will repeat what they said. I’ll repeat numbers back when someone is telling me them. I’ll repeat phrases I hear on TV or movies. It may be immediate or it may be a delayed response somewhere down the road. I use words and phrases out of context. I’ll print something or a receipt will print and I will say “perfect” or “excellent.” I heard the word somewhere and I’m now repeating it in a situation. I talk to myself. And I’m talking full on conversations. Extremely common in those with ASD. I did it as a child as well but it would have been chalked up to “oh she just has an imaginary friend.”

I have very particular interests. At the age of 5, I was reading medical dictionaries and encyclopedias. I love anything medical. I love true crime and serial killers. My favourite TV shows are either medical or crime related. In grade 2, I knew the name of every dinosaur and what period they lived in. If I’m talking to people and they don’t like either of those things, the conversation is over. I could go on and on about my interests and not get bored. This is another ASD trait.

I also inventoried my Halloween candy. I did this every year up until I stopped trick or treating. I organized my teddy bears and inventoried them as well. In fact, everything in my bedroom was inventoried. I had a massive Barbie doll collection and I would spend hours setting everything up in VERY specific spots. It would stay like that for months and the Barbies wouldn’t get played with because I didn’t want anything to get touched and wrecked.

Stimming. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s how I deal with the world around me. Stimming calms me down and can prevent a meltdown. As a child, I chewed things. I chewed my sleeves on my sweaters and the collars on my t-shirts. I sucked on my fingers/hands. I still chew. I chew on hoodie strings. I chew my nails (which I also did as a kid). I play with my hands. I bang my fists against my legs. I play with headphone wires. I also do the stereotypical autistic clapping of the hands. It’s the most obvious of my stims, but what can you do? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Sensory Processing Disorder. This is the most common sign of ASD. In fact, anyone with autism will have SPD to some degree. This was actually the first thing I started researching since a person can have SPD without being autistic. After doing my research, that wasn’t my case. I have mild-moderate SPD. I have always been a picky eater. I eat foods based off of their texture. It’s why I eat a lot of processed food. It has no texture. I don’t like sticky foods like fruit because I can’t stand having sticky hands. In fact, I can’t stand having dirty hands in general. I eat finger food with a fork and a knife for this exact reason. My food can’t touch (unless it’s a stir fry or something) I can’t have tags in my shirts. I don’t wear belts. I don’t wear tight clothing. I don’t like being touched or hugged. It’s uncomfortable. This is also common in people with ASD. As a kid, I was forced to hug because in a NT (Neurotypical) world, that’s what you do. So I learned to fake it. I get window seats on planes so the flight attendants and other passengers can’t touch me. I wear noise cancelling headphones so I can block out most of the noise outside. It can be a tad overwhelming at times. I am sensitive to bright lights, high pitched sounds and certain smells. My brain doesn’t have a filter to properly filter out all the different senses so overload is a thing and always has been. My migraines are more than likely because of sensory overload. As a child, my sensory overload may have disguised itself as something else, though.

Social Interaction. Those with ASD struggle with social skills. I can count on one hand how many friends I had in school. And I’m going from Kindergarten to Grade 12. And I no longer have regular contact with these people. I was able to copy (common for those with ASD) those around me and make friends that way. But I had no idea what I was really doing. Making friends is hard when you have ASD. I lack the social skills needed to talk to people. I was shy. I liked playing alone because it was easier than talking to people and I could be off in my own world. To this day, I still don’t like talking to people. I have to rehearse what I’m saying before I say it. I don’t like talking on the phone. I will use self serve checkouts if I only have a few items. I use the self serve kiosks at McDonalds so I don’t have to speak to an employee. I have learned to adapt in a NT world and I have a job that requires me to talk to people. But it’s repetitive. I say the same thing to each customer. If I have to deviate from that system, I’m flustered. I do not make eye contact with people. It’s unnerving. I look past people. I struggle with reading body language. I avoid most large social gatherings. I’m not trying to be anti-social. But having to deal with all the people and the noise gives me anxiety and overwhelms me. Even in school, when ever there was some event in the class, I would try and be in the back, so I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone.

Emotions. I struggle with empathy and sympathy. Not ALL those with ASD have issues with those but I do. I have a hard time feeling sorry for people or knowing what people are going through. I don’t know why people are crying sometimes. I don’t know what to do when people are crying. Even as a kid, I could hurt my siblings and it wouldn’t bother me that they were in pain. I simply didn’t care. I also don’t express my emotions correctly or know WHEN to correctly express my emotions. It’s why I threw tantrums as a child. It’s one of the reasons I saw a counselor in Grade 3.

Meltdowns. These are different then tantrums. Meltdowns happen when I get too overwhelmed with everything (sensory overload or stress) and I shut down. I CAN go non-verbal but that is extremely rare. I also suffer from shutdowns, which are milder forms of meltdowns.

Routine and Structure. Another big sign of those with ASD is routine. This is one of the the things that stuck out to me the most before I even started doing research. I always had a routine. And it couldn’t be changed or it would cause major problems for me. I have morning routine and it doesn’t matter where I am, I follow it. I have another routine for my Monday and Friday shifts. If it deviates at all, we could have a meltdown depending on how much of a deviation there is. I don’t recall much routine as a child, but I imagine it was there in some form.

Those with ASD have sleep problems. I wake up 3-4 times a night and I remember being this way even as a child. I am never tired though. 4 hours of sleep has always been sufficient for me and the research I have done on ASD and sleep shows this to be a common thing. I also have to sleep with my iPad on. I can’t have complete silence or darkness when I sleep. I can recall sleeping with my light on when I was younger.

Now how did I go so long without any of this being noticed by teachers or even my parents? Well I was born in 1989. Autism was not a big thing back then so it wouldn’t have been on the radar of anyone, really. My mom did tell me that I’ve always had behavioural issues and “strange and odd” behaviour since I was a baby/child but again, autism was not the thing it is now so there was no reason to have me tested when I was really young. Same as in school. It was chalked up to “behavioural issues” or “bad parenting.” Females are more commonly misdiagnosed or not diagnosed at all because doctors still hold the belief that only males can have ASD. Females are also better at masking their ASD traits than males. I have been masking the majority of my life. It’s how I’ve been able to keep the same job for 10 years. It’s how I managed to make the friends I did. I can appear NT even though I am not. Masking is also physically exhausting and I am trying harder to NOT mask.

Being part of an Aspergers group on Facebook and being a part of the autistic community on Tumblr has really helped me. It lets me know there are others JUST like me with the same things and that I am not alone.

“I have autism. It’s a part of who I am.”

[buckyscrystalqueen]

A Recipe for Happiness: Part 3

Pairings: Mark Sheppard x witch!Reader (Harry Potter Crossover)

Warnings: Fluff. Swearing, unexpected pregnancy

Word Count: 5,168

Aesthetic by the lovely, amazing, beautiful @sorenmarie87

Part 1 / Part 2

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

“Dobby, please be careful with that. Those plates belonged to my mother.” You asked the house elf as he carried a box of dishes into your kitchen, dodging the other house elves that worked in Hogwarts castle that were helping you move everything from your house in Hogsmeade to the apartment you were lucky enough to find directly across the hall from Mark’s.

“Of course, Miss (Y/N). Dobby is being very careful with Miss (Y/N)’s beloved possessions.” You nodded at him as he set the box on the floor with the others. You flicked your wand in that direction and sent plates, bowls, platters, and cups of various shapes and sizes flying through the air toward the shelf they were going on.

“No, Lulu. That box goes back in the bedroom.” You said as you placed an undetectable expansion charm on the kitchen to give yourself a little more room to work with. You glanced over your shoulder at the knock on your door and all the house elves instantly froze. “Wait.” You said to them as you took a step toward the door. You pulled it open a fraction of an inch and sighed in relief when Mark smiled back at you.

“Brought you breakfast before I head to work.” He said as he held out a covered plate. You nodded and glanced over your shoulder at the elves that were trying to hide behind boxes and the little bit of furniture they had moved so far. 

“Umm… you remember you can’t tell anyone what you see, right?” You reminded him.

“You have my word.” He said. With a nod, you opened the door wide enough for him to fit through and quickly closed it behind him.

“Alright, back to work.” You said to the elves, sending them scurrying about to apperate back and forth between your old and your new houses.

“Wha…” Mark tried as he watched the sack covered creatures running about, unpacking boxes carefully into piles so you could place your belongings where you wanted them.

“They’re house elves.” You said with a glance up at him as you took the plate from him. “They do what their masters tell them, without question, unless they are free elves. Usually, they fear freedom. I’ve seen house elves go crazy when set free. Except for Dobby.”

“Dobby.” He repeated as the house elf in question apperated beside him.

“Yes, sir, friend of Miss (Y/N), sir.” Mark startled and looked down at the elf that had a suitcase of clothing gripped tightly in his small hands.

“Oh. Hello there. How are you?” You watched the bag slip from Dobby’s fingers and his eyes went impossibly wider and filled with tears.

“Sir asked how Dobby was.” He gasped as he took a step back. “Sir is nice to Dobby.”

“Dobby…” You said, warningly, knowing he was about to go on a slight tangent. “Finish working, then you can talk.”

“Yes, Miss.” He said as he picked up the bag and stumbled toward your room, purposely hitting his head on the wall for punishment on the way.

“Dobby!” You called out as you grabbed some silverware from a drawer. You heard him cry out and scold himself as Mark looked up at you in shock.

“Totally normal.” He told himself as he watched a house elf named Pip rush past him with her eyes trained on the floor while carrying a box of wizarding cookbooks toward the wire book shelf you had against the wall.

“Just…” You tried as you uncovered the ham, veggie, and cheese omelet Mark had made you. You looked up at him as he watched Wimble appear with a box of Christmas decorations that had been in your attic. “I know it’s hard, Mark, but you have to pretend they aren’t there. House elves aren’t meant to be seen or heard. You’ll stress them out even more and I don’t want to have to patch up holes in my walls or fix broken appliances or what have you when they use them to punish themselves.”

“Jesus.” He breathed as he sat down on a plush, black, star patterned sofa chair that Sybill Trelawney had given you when you first moved into your house in Hogsmeade. “OK. I can do this.” 

“This is amazing, by the way.” You said around a mouthful as you pointed at your plate. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I did. I have to look out for my girls, right.” You smiled and nodded as you rubbed your hand across your growing bump.

“Well she appreciates it, too. Do you have a long day today?” He nodded his head as he forced himself to not watch three house silently struggle with your couch under Dobby’s command.

“A double.” He said as he looked down at his hands. “I won’t be home ’til half past ten at least. But if you haven’t gotten food by then, feel free to call down to the restaurant. I’ll send some down…”

“Thank you.” You said with a smile as you chewed. “But I have some things to finish up at the school and tonight is the end of term winter feast, so I won’t be home ’til late myself. But… um…” You started as you looked down at your bump when your daughter wiggled around a bit. “Well, there’s a store in Hogsmeade called Baby Witch. It was just down the road from my old house. I talked to my Aunt and if you are OK with it, she’d like to meet you and go shopping with us before Christmas… you know, if you can get a day off or whatever. We can pick up some of those books, while we’re there.”

“I’d love to.” He said as he stood up and came over to the small, wood, cutting board island you had brought from your summer home. “I mean, I do have to meet your family some day. And if you’re not opposed to it, I’d like you to meet my father.”

“He doesn’t know anything, right?” You asked as you finished your breakfast and went over to wash his plate. “Because he can’t…”

“He doesn’t know.” Mark reassured as he took the plate from your hand to wash it for you, only for Winky to come running over to do it for him.

“Let her.” You said as you gently pulled him back and handed her your fork. He nodded at you and made himself look away again. “I’m sorry I have to make you keep secrets for your family. It’s just… it’s the law. I can tell you because of her…”

“I know, darling.” He said with a nod as he leaned against your fridge and reached out to rub your bump. “I get it. Oh, by the way, tomorrow, you and I must go down to the O2 shop to get you on my contract. You, love, need to join the muggle world with a mobile so I can keep in touch with you.”

“Is it hard?” You inquired as Winky handed Mark his plate. “Don’t thank her. She’s sensitive.”

“No, we’ll get you a simple mobile.” He said as he nodded once at the elf before she ran off to finish her job. She squeaked and accidentally ran head first into your island before scrambling off the floor to go back to work. “Why do they hurt themselves.”

“It’s just… it’s just how it is.” You said as you watched the elf you had a soft spot slip around the corner. “There’s actually a book series called ‘House Elves and Self-Hatred’ that I can add to the list if you want.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” He said with a shake of his head. “I’ve so much to learn as is.”

“It’ll take time but I promise I’ll help. Just think, there are a bunch of muggle born witches and wizards out there in the same position as you. It’s a lot easier to learn than you think. You at least don’t have to learn all the technology I have to.”

“Well that’s what you have me for.” He chuckled as he kissed your cheek and rubbed your bump once more. “Have fun tonight, darling. Don’t work too hard unpacking.”

“Oh, I’ve no intention of it.” You said as you picked up your wand and flicked it in the direction of the box of cookbooks, sending them flying in alphabetical order onto the shelf. “Have fun at work.” He rolled his eyes and headed toward the door, dodging a few elves that were carrying your dining room chairs over to the table.

“Sure, because working a double is so much fun.”

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

“Christ, that’s intense.” Mark said as he held onto your arm in your old living room until his head stopped spinning. You smiled at him and nodded as you rubbed his back.

“It’s gets easier to handle when you’ve done it a few times.” You said simply as you took his free hand and put it on your stomach so he could feel his daughter kick again, which she had thankfully started this morning when he had come over to leave for Hogsmeade. He smiled to himself and gently pressed his fingers into your skin to get her to kick back as you conjured a glass of water for him.

“Want to see your first bit of magic for the day?” You asked as you carefully turned him in what used to be your living room. “Now, this was my living room and kitchen, obviously. And those stairs lead to my bedroom and bathroom.” He nodded as he finished his water while you turned him back around. “It was quite small when I moved in here, obviously, and you’ve seen how many things I own. I had to put an undetectable extension charm on the place to fit everything. Which, no one can see unless I point it out to them. So now take a look.” You turned him around again and took the cup from him as the room you were standing in appeared to triple in size and your loft turned into a full second story with a gorgeous sun light that took up half the ceiling.

“Holy hell.” He gasped as he stepped forward into the room only to jump back when your aunt appeared out of nowhere. She studied him silently over her glasses with her eyebrow raised and the smallest tilt of her head.

“Mark.” You said after a moment as you took a step forward and smiled at your aunt. “This is Professor Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Aunt Min, this is Mark.”

“Can we trust you, Mark Andres Sheppard?” She asked as she searched his brown eyes, looking for the hint of a lie the way she did when she was grilling students. Mark nodded his head and tried to step back but your hand on his back prevented him from doing so.

“Yes, Professor.” He said as he continued to nod. “I wouldn’t want to bring my daughter or her mother… your niece, any harm.” She continued to stare at him, waiting for him to break, before you took a step forward and gently pinched her arm.

“Enough, Aunt Min.” You hissed, finally drawing her attention away from the father of your child. “He’s trustworthy. I know it.” She looked over at you for a moment before nodding her head.

“Well then.” She said as she gestured toward the door. “We’ve some shopping to do before we head up to the castle for supper.”

“The castle?” Mark asked as you laced your arm with his and lead him out the door after Minerva.

“Hogwarts castle.” You said as you gestured toward the place you had called home for so many years.

“But it’s just…” He started as you pulled him to a stop.

“Really look at it.” You said as you looked over at him. “That’s Hogwarts castle. Look past the charms.” You watched his face morph from curiosity to awe as the enchantments surrounding the castle faded.

“This is unreal.” He gasped as he looked around the grounds. You giggled and gently pulled on his arm as your aunt waited slightly impatiently outside Tombs and Scrolls.

“Come on, sweetheart.” You cooed as you lead him toward the book store. “You’ll see it all later.”

——

“(Y/N), look at this.” Minerva called out as she read the tag to a cute, pale pink bassinet in Baby Witch. “It self rocks.”

“Makes rocking your child to sleep after night feedings when your half asleep much simpler.” The shop owner, Theodora, said with a smile as she followed the famous headmistress around her store. 

“Self washing washcloths.” You said to yourself as you read the list of essentials you would need from a baby book you had bought in the previous shop and grabbed the items from the shelves. “Lavender baby wash, bath tub…”

“Darling.” Mark said softly as he looked at the foreign price of a package of three hooded towels that claimed to warm themselves without the help of a warmer. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to pay for this. I don’t even know what any of this means…” He breathed as he pointed to the price tag that read thirty-six sickles.

“I’ve got it.” You told him as you looked over at him with a nod. You helped me with the muggle money for my flat, I’ll help you with this. We can go to Gringotts tomorrow, and figure out money conversions between your money and mine to sort it out. It’s alright.” He nodded his head as you took the package of towels from his hand and flipped it over to look at the design. 

“Have you picked a name yet?” Theodora asked as she came over with some adorable dresses to show you. You shook your head and looked up at her as you sent the package of hooded towels to the ever growing pile of things in ‘your’ shopping basket on the shop’s back counter.

“Haven’t gotten that far.” Mark said with a smile as you took the dresses from her to take a look. “We’ve only just found out she’s a girl… and I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole magic situation.”

“My late husband had the same issue.” Theodora agreed. “But never fear, it will get easier. If I can give any advice, however, don’t attempt to explain why in this world. Just accept everything you see. Cars fly, we fly on brooms for sport, your child may even sneeze one day and accidentally light your curtains on fire. Don’t question it. It will drive you mad as it did my Howard. He was a scientist.” She tisked and shook her head. “Poor bloke didn’t stand a chance.”

“Look at this one.” You said as you held out a cute, red newborn onesie with a gold skirt that read ‘Future Gryffindor’ on the front with a small sorting hat beside it to change the subject gently. “That was my house at school.” You said as you added it to the pile. “My whole family was in that house. I sometimes wondered if I should be in (your house) but the sorting hat puts you where it sees fit.”

“What do you think I would have been in?” He asked as he looked at the onesies for the other three houses. You hummed before reaching out to grab a Slytherin version as well.

“With your career choice, and the personality I’ve seen thus far, you’d be sorted into Slytherin. No doubt in my mind.” He nodded as you added the green onesie to the pile and pouted at an adorable unicorn patterned swaddling blanket. “Oh, look how cute!”

“They’re real too, aren’t they?” Mark asked as you rubbed the fleece blanket across your cheek before doing the same to him as you nodded.

“We have some in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Yep.” He said with a nod as he picked up a hippogryph patterned blanket and looked at the unfamiliar creature. “Yep.”

“You’ll get there, sweetheart.” You said as you looked at a pink, ruffled baby carriage and a pink and white one with no ruffles your aunt was bringing over to show you.

“The pram will be my gift to you.” She said as she turned them both so you could look into them, and pointed to the one with no ruffles. “I’m partial to this one. It alarms if anyone goes near my grand niece besides anyone you choose. Even works against anyone who is using a concealment charm or any other enchantments.”

“You worry to much, Aunt Min.” You said as you looked at the tag for the pram she liked, absolutely agreeing with her on the security aspect the magical pram offered. “But we’ll definitely be taking this one. Can never be too safe.”

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

Mark wasn’t quite sure what was different about his apartment when he walked in after work on Christmas Eve but there was absolutely something. He stood just inside the closed door, trying to put his finger on it when the light in his bathroom glowing through the crack under the door caught his attention. He walked over silently to grab one of the candle sticks off the table but he didn’t reach the table by the time whoever was in his bathroom finished using the facilities.

“Oh!” You gasped as you walked out of his bathroom with a box of Christmas decorations floating in front of you. “Shit, I meant to have this all done before you came home…”

“It’s alright.” He said with a nod as he dropped his bag on the table with a sigh of relief. “Did you pick my lock?”

“First off.” You said as you set the box on the kitchen counter and started pulling things out of it with your wand. “If I wanted to get in to your apartment, I wouldn’t have to pick a lock. A simple spell would do. That is something I will have to fix, by the way. Second of all, I didn’t come through your front door. I came in through the nursery.”

“The nursery?” He asked as he watched you hang a string of lights around the door to brighten up his living room. You nodded as you finished the strand and looked over at him.

“It was going to be a surprise for the morning.” You said as you called him toward you with a wag of your finger. “But I’m terrible at surprises.” He nodded at your back and followed you down the little hall to his bedroom. “Put your hand flat here, please.” You said as you pointed at a small, black spot on the wall beside his bed side table that he wouldn’t have seen if it hadn’t been pointed out. He looked at you curiously before reaching out to lay his hand on the spot. The moment he did, the spot shifted into a door knob and a door appeared on the wall. “I figured you’d like access to your daughter whenever you wish.” You said as he pushed the door into the nursery which used to be on the other side of your apartment. 

“I did a little rearranging to make this possible since the rooms didn’t quite match up at first. But this way, if you’re with her, you have access to her room and anything you need for her from your apartment so you don’t have to worry about locked doors or what have you. You can lock the door from your side, too if you see fit. Just tap that spot twice with two fingers. I just… I wanted to make sure…”

“Thank you.” He said as he looked over at you in the half unpacked nursery because Mark had insisted on setting it up by hand. “This is perfect.” You nodded at him and blushed as you looked down at your bump.

“I’m going to finish decorating.” You said as you as you looked back up at him. “It was supposed to be the other part of your gift from me. I just… she kept making me run to the bathroom.”

“It’s alright, love.” He chuckled as he took a step toward you and pushed your hair back behind your ear. “I love it. But, if we’re exchanging gifts…” He smiled and walked over to his dresser to grab a small box from the top drawer. “It’s nothing big, just something that caught my eye.” You smiled and tried to fight back your brimming tears as he opened the box and showed you the simple, silver infinity bracelet with a small, plain charm on one side. 

“It’s meant to be engraved.” He said as he lifted it out of the box and gestured for your arm. “But I figured I’d hold off on doing so until we chose a name for our little girl.” You nodded your head and choked on your tears before quickly covering your mouth with your free hand. “Darling, don’t cry.” He chuckled as he clasped the bracelet and turned it on your wrist for you.

“You made me.” You squeaked as you tried to hide your face. You looked up at him and shook your head as your bottom lip trembled. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” He said sweetly as he leaned forward and kissed your cheek, only a few centimeters away from the corner of your lips. You looked over at him as your tears stopped in their tracks. His eyes darted back and forth between yours as he reached up and very gently wiped the remaining tears off your cheeks with his thumb. He leaned forward and gently captured your lips, pulling the breath from your lungs with a gasp. “This OK?” He asked when he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. You nodded as he brushed his thumb across your jaw.

“Yea.” You breathed as you rested your hand on his chest, and bunched the fabric of his open chef’s jacket in your fingers. “Yea, it’s perfect.” His smile grew as he pulled back and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.

“How about we finish decorating, then curl up in front of the fire under that giant, fluffy blanket on your couch, and watch a Christmas film?”

“Perfect.” You whispered with a smile. “Just perfect.”

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

“I can’t do this.” You said to yourself as you stood in your expanded closet in just a bra and panties. You shook your head as you pulled the dress you had originally planned on wearing to Christmas lunch with Mark’s father out to look at it for the umpteenth time. “Nope. I’m not going.” Mark sighed from the door of your closet and glanced at his phone again.

“Love, we really must be going. It’s a long drive…” He tried as he leaned against the door frame.

“I can’t!” You snapped as you looked over at him. “I’m not going.”

“You are going.” He repeated yet again as he started to look around for something you would feel comfortable wearing. “Because we’ve promised my father…”

“I’m too fat to go.” You whined.

“You’re not to fat.” He tried as he pushed off the door, and went over to take your arm. “You’re gorgeous. Now, I’ll choose something because my father is waiting.” You pouted as he lead you out of the closet, grabbing a pair of simple black leggings and a pair of black flats on his way. “Put these on.” He said as he handed them to you.

“They won’t fit.” You said as he headed out of your room to get something from his closet. 

“Do it anyways.” He called out in a sing song voice. You started to grumble under your breath as you got up and pulled the leggings on around your only twenty week along bump. You had just sat down to slide your flats on when Mark came back with a red button down dress shirt. “Now this.” He said as he stuck his head in your closet and grabbed the black tie off the dress you had planned on wearing.

“It’s too small…” You tried through a yawn.

“Yes, too small on me. Put it on.”

“But I’m tired.” You complained as you put the shirt on anyways.

“And I told you that you would be when you insisted on watching that second film.” He said as he took a knee in front of you and buttoned his shirt.

“I needed to be educated.” You hissed as you whacked at his hands to finish the buttons yourself.

“Not at quarter to one in the morning.” He retorted as he tied the ribbon around your waist above his daughter. “You fell asleep ten minutes into it.”

“Well excuse me for growing a child and being tired.” You sassed as you held out your arm for him to roll up the sleeves. “It’s tiring work I’m doing.”

“Well you can sleep in the car.” He said as he quickly rolled the sleeves up to your elbows and helped you to your feet. He handed you your wand and your small, glass ball ornament shaped handbag from the dresser and quickly turned you toward the bedroom door to leave through his flat so you wouldn’t hold the two of you up any longer.

“Quit pushing!”

“If I don’t push, you’ll continue to dawdle. And if you continue to dawdle, you will start to complain that my daughter is hungry, because it’s always my daughter when she’s annoying you…”

“Well she is…” You grumbled as he grabbed his car keys and wallet off the table by the door and threw the muggle coat he had made you purchase so you would blend in more in London over your shoulders.

“Yes, she is.” He agreed as he hustled you out the door. “But she’s also my daughter when she’s not keeping you awake… and you just went to the bathroom so don’t give me that shite.” You scowled at him and snapped your jaw closed, since you were just complaining and being a royal pain because you were nervous.

“He’s gunna hate me.” You said as fear based tears filled your eyes.

“No, love, he won’t.” Mark reassured as he took your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “When you’re not being stubborn for no apparent reason what so ever, you’re the kind, wonderful, beautiful mother of my child.” He pulled open the passenger door of his car and smiled as he gestured you inside. “He will love you, sweetheart. Just please get in the car.” Your eyes narrowed as you stared him down over the door.

“I want a bubble bath.” You bargained as you pointed at him. “And a foot rub.”

“Alright, darling.” He said with a nod, not caring what he was agreeing to since you had made the pair of you almost an hour late for lunch. With a huff, you got in the car and let him put your seatbelt on (since it was something you tended to forget when you rode around in the ‘death box’ as you called it). As he ran around the front, you used your wand to conjure a gold necklace with a medium sized green Christmas tree pendant to go with Mark’s choice of outfit and added a hunter green bow to your half up, half down hair do.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Mark breathed with a sigh of relief as he checked traffic and pulled away from the curb.

“I have to pee.” You said, cheekily as you conjured a pillow and laid your head on it against the window.

“Hold it.” He sighed, knowing that you were lying, as he reached over to lace his fingers with yours. “You’ll survive.”

——

“(Y/N).” Mark said softly when you were only a couple miles away from his father’s house. He glanced over at your peacefully asleep face and squeezed your hand to give you a few moments to wake up before he pulled in. “Sweetheart, we’re here.” You groaned slightly and rolled your head on the headrest.

“I was dreaming.” You moaned as you looked at him with hooded eyes.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked with a glance over at you. Your brow furrowed as you shook your head and sat up a bit.

“I’m not sure.” You yawned while stretching in the small space available. “There was a little girl, young little thing. And I believe she was playing in some wild flowers…”

“What did she look like, love?” He asked, pointedly as he pulled up to a red light. You thought about it for a moment as you opened your handbag and searched for a bottle of water.

“She had on a navy blue dress.” You started as you found your bottle of water and traded it for your wand so that it was hidden from Mark’s father. “She had her brow hair up in a little pony tail on top of her head… and she was laughing. Oh, it was the most beautiful little sound…”

“You kept saying Jupiter.” He said as he turned down his fathers street and looked over at you, hopefully. “Over and over again, as if you were calling to her.”

“Jupiter?” You clarified as you put the bottle back in your purse. “For a name?” He nodded as he pulled into the driveway and put the car in park.

“Jupiter Sheppard. I must say, I don’t think I can even entertain anything else after hearing that. It encompasses your world, and my enjoyment of astronomy. It’s just… it’s perfect.”

“Jupiter Sheppard.” You repeated as you looked down at your bump and ran your fingertips across it. “What says you, little one? Do you think you’re a Jupiter?” Mark reached over with a smile at the same moment your daughter, who had been relatively still for the car trip, rolled toward both your hands.

“Well, I think that’s two yeses for Jupiter.” Mark said as he brushed his thumb across your belly. “If that’s a yes with you, mum.” You looked up and met his eyes with a nod.

“I think that’s fate talking to us.” He nodded in agreement as he unbuckled your seatbelt.

“That was much less painful than I expected it to be.”

“Yea, you don’t have to deal with our little planet sitting on your bladder.” You groaned. “I still have to pee.”

“Alright, alright.” He laughed as he got out of the car and came around to help you out of the low vehicle. He took your bag for you and put it under his arm before pulling you to your feet so you wouldn’t have to strain at all. “Come on, my girls. Let’s go celebrate Christmas the muggle way.” You simply rolled your eyes.

Part 4

[t0ngue-tech]

Within Reach

↠flufffff, collegeAU, pianist!yoongi↞

word count: 6.3k

↠oneshot↞

a/n: hey demons. it’s me. ya girl. this is a BELATED bday gift for yoongi LOL. i know it’s not All Yours but i hope you enjoy it anyways :D 

“Jimin, you’re telling me that Yoongi—Yoongi—knows how to play the piano?” You exclaimed whilst emptying a small packet of sugar into your cup of coffee.

“Yeah. He’s been playing since forever-ever.” Jimin took a large bite out of his breakfast burrito and spoke in muffled sentences. “His mother has a small music academy for vocal training and instrument lessons.”

You scrunched your nose at the way your friend chewed his food, but nodded politely.

It was a beautiful spring morning, so it was decided that you and Jimin were going to have breakfast under a tree somewhere on campus. Being a creative writing major, there was one thing you were lacking in that moment: creativity. You had a paper that was due in three weeks and just like many college students, you didn’t start it yet. There was a pit of creativity inside of you that was begging to bloom, but you were having a difficult time trying to water it.

Jimin suggested that you learn something new to spark something inside of you, specifically learning to play an instrument. The idea didn’t sound so bad. It gave you the idea to write about the beauty of playing an instrument and how it’s an art form in itself. But again, the only problem you were facing was that you were a broke college student and you couldn’t afford to pay for lessons. Thankfully, Jimin dropped some news on you that was a bit shocking.

Your mutual friend, Min Yoongi, knew how to play an instrument. The reason why it was shocking news was because based on his lethargic and quiet demeanor, he didn’t seem like the type to play. He was a dj on the campus radio and he was also torn between two majors: music and business. You had suggested he double majored and his exact words were do you want me to die?

Yoongi was a stranger you met at the library during one of your shifts. Jimin instructed you to wake up a friend of his and when he didn’t specify who, all he said was he’s probably all the way in the back cubicle with his head in his textbook; Jimin got it all down to a T. Ever since then, you occasionally joined Yoongi and Jimin on group study dates or for a quick bite at the local eateries. Even if Yoongi was fairly quiet, he was very observant of his friends and was comfortable with the people he was close to. He quickly became a good friend of yours and you were looking forward to getting to know him more because there was so much mystery that shrouded him and it made you curious.

“So? Are you going to ask him?” Jimin waved his breakfast burrito in front of your face.

“Maybe. I don’t know–can you please just–I’m wearing white and there’s hot sauce in your burrito.”

↠↞

‘Maybe’ and ‘I don’t know’ turned into a text message that read: hey, yoongi. can we meet at the cafe around 5? i have something i need to ask you.

It really wasn’t your intention to text him, but after hours of an internal debate you finally made the decision to learn how to play the piano. In your whole life, you’ve touched a piano a couple of times because you had a cousin who knew how to play. He only ever taught you basic things but it never stuck with you because of your lack of interest at the time. You were hoping Yoongi was going to agree to tutor you because you envisioned what your paper was going to look like and it looked beautiful in your head.

You swirled the ice around inside of your plastic cup and took a short sip of your coffee. It was only one minute past five and you were jumping to conclusions thinking that he wasn’t going to come. There was a light shove to your shoulder and Yoongi turned up from behind and sat down in the seat in front of you. His black hair fell over his eyes and he wore his usual I-look-like-I’m-suffering-but-I’m-really-fine facial expression.

“Your text seemed urgent.” Yoongi spoke slowly.

“Well yeah, considering my paper is due in two weeks.”

“This is about homework?” You nodded. “I’m not a creative writing major y/n—oh god, let’s not talk about majors. My mother called last night to ask about my major and I was on the phone with her for almost two hours talking about it.”

You laughed at the stressed out look he had. “I just need some inspiration for my paper and I heard from a promising source of mine that you play the piano.”

Yoongi stared at you for a few seconds because not many people knew that he had a passion for playing the piano. Of those people, there was only one person who was a friend of the both of you. “Jimin told you?”

You leaned back in your seat and took a long sip from your iced coffee. “I can’t expose my source of information. Sorry, Yoongi.”

He chuckled and scooted his seat inwards. “You want to learn how to play?”

“Yeah. I love the sound of the piano and I want to know what the feelings a person gets when they’re sitting behind the keys and playing their favorite piece of music.” You didn’t realize how much you were smiling until you found Yoongi genuinely smiling back at you.

“Can’t I just explain it to you myself?”

You leaned back in and clasped your hands together. “No, Yoongi! I want to feel it myself, please?” He folded his arms across his chest and squinted his eyes at you, so you tried again. “Please, Yoongi?”

A sigh tumbled from his lips and he raised an eyebrow. “What am I going to get out of this?”

“I’ll give you ten dollars after each week and a small iced americano whenever we meet up.” You smiled sweetly at him, hoping your small bargain was going to influence his decision.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Make it 15 dollars if you get an A on your paper and 20 if you get anything less. Oh, and make the coffee a medium and you got yourself a deal.”

Your happiness was overflowing at Yoongi’s answer. So much so that you you jumped out of your seat and encircled your arms around his neck to give him a back hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou–thank you!” You sang into his ears. Yoongi just laughed and gently brushed your arms away before you could put him in a full headlock.

“Yeah, no problem. Just so you know, this is going to be in the way of me lying around.” He joked and stole your coffee away from you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were such a busy man.” Yoongi smiled at your sarcasm and stood up from his seat.

“Come on. Let’s go to the studio.”

↠↞

You’ve only ever been around the building of the radio studio, but never inside. It almost felt like you were walking through a room entirely made up of glass; you took little steps and kept your hands to yourself. Yoongi, on the other hand, bumped into mic stands and even knocked over a small box with blank discs inside. It was his own studio, afterall.

“You can go in the room over there,” he pointed to the area on the opposite side of the high-tech equipment. “All of the instruments are there for when we have students play live.” You followed his instructions and tiptoed around multiple wires and through the door.

The recording area was huge, considering the radio team had to keep a full drum set in there too. There were a bunch of instruments and amplifiers setup along the walls, it kind of terrified you because of how ignorant you were of anything in the musical instrument department. You sat down on the small bench that was seated behind the a long piano keyboard. Yoongi was on the opposite side of the glass window shuffling through papers and binders. Out of curiosity, you attempted to touch the piano keys and the mid-pitch startled you and Yoongi saw it all happen.

“It’s a piano not a monster, y/n.” He laughed. “It won’t bite you.” Yoongi took a seat on the space next to you and placed a music sheet on a stand. You stared at the black print on the piece of paper that looked a lot like foreign language to you. Did you really want to learn how to play the piano?

“You know what, Yoongi?” You began to stand. “Maybe piano isn’t right for me.”

“Hold—on.” Yoongi pulled on your sweater sleeve, making you sit back down. “This piece is fairly normal to play. It’s enough to make you feel that emotion that you’re searching for. Plus, I’m going to be getting free coffee from you, so there’s no way I’m going to pass that up.”

It was going to be a long and painful three weeks fitting in piano lessons into your schedule, but since Yoongi had complete access to the studio, he promised to have the lessons in the evening when it wasn’t busy. This whole thing was already making you anxious because you couldn’t go back to change the topic on your writing topic. You weren’t going to have enough time to write your paper if you changed your mind last minute. You were hoping Yoongi was as good as Jimin described because you were going to need as much help as you could get.

↠↞

You definitely needed all the help in the world.

Learning how to play the piano from your cousin was completely different from learning with Yoongi. Your cousin taught you how to play a song while Yoongi was starting all the way from the beginning. He was also teaching you how to read sheet music and forcing you to take notes on the different keys. Just like a teacher, he assigned you homework which was usually memorizing which key was what. It was extremely strict at first, but a week later, you got used to the routine you and Yoongi had.

You had classes everyday except for the weekend and Tuesdays and Thursdays. You worked in the library after your classes and in the mornings on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This made it easy for you to meet up with Yoongi in the evenings.

Yoongi’s class schedule was much more relaxed than yours. He had classes only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but he worked in the studio everyday at six in the evening. He had planned to tutor you every other day and on those every other days, he would be receiving his iced americano.

You were meeting with Yoongi in an hour, so you spent your time curled up in a bean bag chair with Jimin opposite of you. He was studying for a midterm and you decided to keep him company to make time go by quicker.

“I see you keep checking the time.” Jimin smirked at you. “Are you that excited to see Yoongi?”

You glared at his smug facial expression. “No, Jimin. I’m just making sure I won’t let time get the best of me.”

“Mhm. Sure. So how is your lessons with him going?” Jimin asked, punching numbers into his calculator.

“It’s hard and a bit frustrating, but it’s fun. Yoongi is a great teacher.” You smiled and lightly tapped your foot against Jimin’s shoe.

“I bet he is.” Jimin chuckled and then raised an eyebrow. From the look of his face, you knew you didn’t want to hear what he had to say next. “Has he ever done that thing where he holds your hands or some shit like that?”

“Jimin.” You sighed. “He has, but if you’re hoping for a romantic drama scene, then you can get your head out of the clouds.”

Jimin pouted and you threatened to toss his shoe across the student lounge. “Why not?! You two look good together, you know. Even Taehyung agrees.”

You sat up straight and tilted your head. “Is this why you recommended I learn piano?”

He automatically put his hands up and laughed at your accusation. “No, of course not. The other day, Taehyung and I saw you and Yoongi leaving the coffee shop together. He was holding your backpack and you guys looked like a cute couple.”

The moment he was referring to happened two days ago and you recalled Yoongi offering to hold your bag because you looked tired. “Well, that’s all the action you’re going to be getting from the two of us.” Jimin dramatically gasped and clutched his chest. “I’ll see you later. Yoongi cleaned out the studio early.”

“Have fun, y/n!” There was a teasing tone in Jimin’s voice and you did everything in your power to not react to him.

↠↞

The walk to the radio studio seemed a lot faster than it usually was. It was probably because you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jimin teased you. You and Yoongi were friends and you liked the way things were with him. Also, you never really thought about him romantically. Sure, you thought he was cute but that was as far your thoughts wandered off to. If these new thoughts were going to distract you from your tutoring, you made a vow to flick Jimin dead center on his forehead.

“Hey, sorry about the mess. We had a full band play today.” You didn’t even realize you were already standing in the large recording room of the studio. Yoongi stood there, untangling wires and was looking more handsome than usual in a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans.

“It’s alright. Do you need any help?” You snapped out of it and set your bag down on the floor.

“Yeah, can you set aside some of the amplifiers and mic stands?” You obliged and quickly got to work and you were unaware as to how heavy some of the amps were.

Yoongi put things away at a brisk pace while you struggled to push certain items aside. He noticed your struggle and came to your aid with a chuckle.

“I got these. You can grab that blue binder over there. It has all the music sheets.” Yoongi pointed near the piano and carefully slid behind you. As he crept past you, he gently placed a hand on your lower back making you slightly jump at his touch. You quickly gathered yourself and strided towards the binder so you could sit behind the keyboard.

Park-fucking-Jimin. You were fuming on the inside. If Yoongi was to place a hand on your lower back the other day, you wouldn’t have mind. If Yoongi wore a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans the other day, it would have been like any other day for you. But thanks to your oh-so beloved friend, you were beginning to feel shy and distracted around him. This was not like you at all. If Jimin didn’t mention anything about you and Yoongi looking like a cute couple, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

“Alright, y/n. You definitely improved just in the course of one week.” Yoongi turned on the keyboard and took a seat a beside you. “Hopefully in two more weeks or less, you can find the feeling that you’re searching for.” He turned to smile at you and you sheepishly smiled back.

“Yeah and then I can finally start saving money again.” You laughed and avoided the twinkle in his eyes.

“Hey, at least I’m not charging you per hour.” Yoongi opened up the binder and placed it on the stand. “Try playing it from the beginning.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself before playing because the last thing you wanted was to screw up after he just mentioned you were improving. You could feel your fingers shaking as you hovered them over the glossy piano keys, hoping that Yoongi wouldn’t notice. The first handful of notes came out perfectly, but as the second half of the intro came along, you fumbled on the keyboard and pressed different keys.

“I got this, I swear!” You opened and closed your hands a couple of times to stretch out your fingers.

“Hm, I think you need to relax a little bit.” Yoongi chuckled and stood up to stand behind you. He squeezed your shoulders a couple of times to try and help you “relax”, but in reality, he was only making you more nervous. “And curve your fingers some more.” Still standing behind you, he reached around to take hold of your fingers to curl them; you were so sure he could feel your fingers shaking. After what seemed to be hours, Yoongi finally released your fingers and sat down beside you, close enough to the point where your knees were touching.

You hated this. You hated yourself for reacting this way, but most of all, you hated Jimin.

↠↞

“Jimin, I fucking hate you.” You breathed out.

Jimin downed his shot of liquor and chuckled. “Did I do something wrong?”

You squinted at him and shoved your shot glass in his direction. “For the past week, all I could think about was oh, you and yoongi make a cute couple or whatever.” You spat out and dropped your head onto Jimin’s dining table. “All I wanted was to learn how to play the piano so I can do my paper, but now I can’t stop thinking about Yoongi and his beautiful hands.”

A faint laugh rumbled from Jimin’s throat as he refilled your shot glass. “But this is a great thing, y/n!” He tapped your shoulder and handed you the alcohol filled glass.

“I can’t fucking concentrate, Jimin.” You slurred. “I just want to hold his hands.”

How were you going to finish your paper at this rate? You were infatuated with many thoughts of Yoongi and how you wanted him to hold your hands whenever you made a small mistake reciting the piano piece. Your paper was due in one week and you only had one small paragraph that you weren’t even satisfied with.

“Oh, by the way, I also invited Taehyung and Yoongi over.” He blurted out nonchalantly and you grabbed Jimin by the shoulders, almost knocking over the bottle of whiskey.

“Why would you do that?!”

“Because I passed my hardest midterm yesterday so we’re celebrating, why else? And can you please get a hold of yourself Ms. Drunkass.” Jimin peeled your hands off of him and brushed strands of hair out of your eyes to make you look a little less drunk.

“No, why Yoongi? It’s already hard enough that I see him every other day. Today is Sunday! I don’t have lessons on Sunday!” A groan pushed past your lips as you slumped farther down in your seat.

“Just relax! Geez.” Jimin stood up from his seat to exit his small dining room. You were hoping he was going to head into the kitchen to grab another bag of potato chips, but you heard the faint sound of laughter and his front door unlocking instead.

Good grief. You sat up straight and tucked a couple locks of hair behind your ears. If Jimin had to fix your hair in the first place, you probably looked like a hot mess—or just a complete mess.

Jimin returned with three large boxes that carried the intoxicating scent of pizza. Taehyung and Yoongi followed close behind him with an extra bottle of alcohol. Your eyes unknowingly trailed Yoongi who looked absolutely gorgeous in sweats and a hoodie. His eyes met yours and before you could look away, he smiled fondly at you and waved. You were so sure the alcohol was the reason why your body was one hundred degrees, but Yoongi definitely had something to do with it as well.

“I’m surprised you passed that final considering how little time you spent studying.” Yoongi blurted out and automatically took the seat beside you.

“Hey. If you’re going to insult me, I’m going to kick you out of my apartment.” Jimin grimaced handed you a slice of pizza and a bottle of tabasco.

Yoongi put his hands up and chuckled. You blankly stared at his slim fingers that were now placed on the wooden surface of Jimin’s dinner table. Everything around you seemed to slow down at the sight of Yoongi’s hands. You almost didn’t hear him calling your name even if he was inches away from you.

“Y/n?” Yoongi called out. Your eyes slowly met his and the entire room shifted at a torturous pace. “Are you alright?”

“I—“ You stammered and sucked in a breath. “Sleepy.”

Taehyung sputtered at how quickly you answered and almost choked on his food. Jimin shook his head and forced out a laugh. In your dazed and drunken state, you weren’t even sure why your friends were laughing.

“She pre-gamed hard before you guys came over.” Jimin explained as he packed you slices of pizza for you to eat in the morning. “Come on, y/n. You can sleep in my room tonight.”

You quickly stood up from the table and pointed a finger at Jimin that stirred laughter from Yoongi. “No. I refuse! We live in the same apartment complex Chimin.” You slurred. “I’ll just go back to my place.” You were going to excuse yourself from the table until Yoongi shot up and stood behind you, holding you by your forearms.

“Whoa there. You are not walking there on your own.” He reached for the ziploc bag that contained your pizza. “I’ll take you.”

“Such a gentleman.” You sighed while Jimin and Taehyung exchanged mischievous looks.

“Go down to the fifth floor; she lives in 518.” Jimin smirked at Yoongi who was clearing the way for you to carefully walk around the table.

“Okay. I’ll be back—dammit, y/n. Wait for me!”

↠↞

The elevator usually took a while to arrive, so Yoongi had you leaning on his shoulder to support your weight. You were clutching tightly onto his sleeve, trying to fight the urge to sleep right then and there. There was a lingering scent of cologne mixed with fabric softener etched into the fabric and you couldn’t peel yourself away. You couldn’t tell if Yoongi was bothered by your drunk presence because he barely said a word to you and it was making you feel uneasy.

“Yoongi.” You exhaled and he hummed. “You smell so nice.”

The melody of his laughter filled your ears and you closed your eyes, wanting to hear more.

“Thank you. I just recently got new cologne.”

You stepped back away from him for a second and stared at him with heavy eyelids. Your blurry vision was making it hard to make out what kind of expression he was wearing.

“And you, yooooou, are also very nice.” Yoongi seemed to be taken back by your sudden compliment because he just smiled, cleared his throat, and avoided your eyes. “You’re so talented in the music department and you’re also very patient with me.”

“Thanks, y/n.” Yoongi shyly smiled at you and then anxiously stared at the elevator doors that were still not opening. “You’re also a nice person. You’ve been doing extremely well during the lessons.”

You pressed your back against the wall and joined him in staring at the elevator doors. “Honestly,” you mumbled. “I think I would be doing much better if you didn’t have such beautiful hands.”

“W-What?”

Right on cue, the elevator doors opened and you staggered forward into the square space. Yoongi followed in suit and caught you before you could face plant onto the floor.

“I have beautiful hands?” He questioned with a tint of blush on his cheeks.

“Mhm.” You pressed your forehead near his shoulder. “I really want to hold your hand.”

↠↞

The next morning came almost instantly, but you don’t even remember climbing into bed. The thoughts in your head swam around, failing to piece themselves to together. The last thing you could remember clearly was seeing Taehyung and Yoongi following Jimin into his kitchen—oh god, Yoongi.

Mondays meant morning and afternoon class, but who had time to go to a 10 am class with a hangover? Not you. This particular monday also meant the one thing you were dreading: piano lessons. You weren’t sure why, mostly because you barely remembered a thing, but you felt uneasy meeting up with Yoongi.

You sat up in your bed wearing your university hoodie over the t-shirt you wore last night. Confused and hungover, you slowly turned your head to your side table and spotted your phone, a tablet if aspirin, and a glass of water. Beneath those items was a sheet from one of your memo pads with small black scribbles on top.

I went through your medicine cabinet for the aspirin, if that’s alright. Stay hydrated throughout today because we still have lessons later on. See you later! -Yoongi

You held the memo sheet closer to your face to make sure you were reading things clearly. Yoongi was the one who took you home? Not Jimin? The messy thoughts of Jimin either offering to walk you back to your apartment or letting you stay over his place were jumbled in your head.

Speaking of the devil. Your phone lit up and you saw the multiple messages displayed on your screen. The messages mainly consisted of text messages from Jimin and one singular text from Yoongi. You were obviously more interested in the one from the latter.

[8:34] nim ignooy: Good morning y/n. You feeling okay?

How sweet.

[10:08] You: good morn yoongi. i feel like death. thank you for bringing me home last night! i hope i wasn’t a hassle

You weren’t expecting Yoongi to text back quick, but after reading two of Jimin’s texts that were capslock of your full name, you received a text back from Yoongi.

[10:09] nim ignooy: Lol at least you’re awake. No problem :) you almost fell asleep in your hallway, but other than that, you were fine.

Thank goodness.

Before replying, you decided to take a gander at Jimin’s text messages. It was a mixture of texts from last night and early this morning.

[Yesterday 11:39] park jimout: YOONGI IS TAKING YOU HOME.

[Yesterday 11:39] park jimout: I’m texting this because you’re drunk as fuck and who knows, what if you forget

[Yesterday 11:54] park jimout: 20 MIN LATER AND YOONGI ISNT BACK. WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING LOL

The smirking emoji attached to the end of that text made you chuckle. Jimin was something else.

[12:13] park jimout: Omg

[12:13] park jimout: Y/n

[12:14] park jimout: YOONGI SAID THAT YO U SAID YOU KEPT SAYING YUO WANTESD TO HOLS HIS HABD

[12:14] park jimout: YOU JUST DRUNK EXPOSEd yOURSELD AND I WSNT THERE TO WITNESS IT

[8:47] park jimout: Good morning Mrs Min. It’s a beautiful day to hold some hands huh?

[10:08] park jimout: I NEED SOME FORM OF AFFIRMATION THAT YOURE CONSCIOUS PLS

Almost immediately, you quickly tapped on his contact information and listened as the line rang once, twice—

“Finally! You were literally asleep for a thousand years, you know that?”

“Shut up.” You groaned and rubbed the middle of your forehead. “What the fuck exactly happened?”

“Alright, buckle up boys. First of all, Yoongi was almost dead ass back hugging you because you were pretty much falling over my furniture. Then 30 minutes flew by, Yoongi is back and was like ‘sorry, I needed to make sure she was sleeping okay.’”

A smile appeared on face at Jimin’s words. Yoongi was one of the most warmest and sweetest guys you ever met, despite his exterior being the complete opposite.

“So he sits down, staring at the pizza boxes, barely saying anything. Taehyung asks if anything happened and I swear to god, he was smiling from ear to ear and said ‘y/n said she wanted to hold my hand.’ Tae and I almost flipped shit.”

You quickly put Jimin on speaker so you could cover your face and fall back onto your mountain of pillows. He was smiling? Yoongi was smiling when he was talking about it?!

“You’re fucking with me.” You muffled behind your hands.

“Nope. I swear, y/n. Call Taehyung and ask him!”

A dry laugh slipped past your lips as you thought about your piano lessons later on during the day. Since Yoongi said that you were “fine” and not a hassle, does that mean you have to act like you don’t remember anything from last night? Oh great, just another reason for you to be nervous around him.

“Jimin, I don’t think I can face him today.” You breathed heavily.

“Nonsense. I know Yoongi and he probably won’t make things awkward unless you make it awkward first, so, just be cool.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t tell Yoongi you wanted to hold his hand.” You felt the pain pulsing in your head. “I’m hungover and exhausted, I’ll call you later Jimin.”

After ending the phone call, you rolled over to your side and silently screamed into your pillows. How the hell were you supposed to face Yoongi knowing damn well you embarrassed yourself?

↠↞

“You need relax, bro.”

While Jimin spoke nonchalantly, you were panicking in the office chair and breaking out into a cold sweat. Yoongi was meeting with group mates to discuss a presentation they had to do tomorrow, so he texted you saying that he was going to keep the studio unlocked and you were free to wait in there.

“I am relaxed.” You said through gritted teeth, obviously lying.

“When did he say he was going to be back?”

“In like 15 minutes.” An agonizing groan tumbled past your lips. “I’m going to make things awkward, I know I am.”

There was no doubt that you were still hungover the fact that you were continuously spewing about how much you wanted to hold Yoongi’s hands. You made a promise to yourself to stay away from alcohol for a while. None of this shouldn’t have been a problem for you, but nope, Jimin just had to open his big mouth and make you infatuated with a guy you never really thought about before. You lowered your head onto the table and buried your face into the crook of your forearm. It baffled you how something as simple as “you two make a cute couple” could make you so whipped.

“Why don’t you just work on your paper until then because my food just arrived and I know you hate it when I talk with my mouth full.”

You sighed sadly because talking was helping to keep your nerves at bay, but you did need to work on your paper so you bid Jimin a solemn farewell and reached for your laptop. Hopefully Yoongi was going to take longer than the time he gave you. You weren’t ready to face him yet.

It didn’t occur to you that you were feeling sleepy until your body twitched you awake. The last thing you remembered was typing two more poorly formed paragraphs and then putting your head down as a reward. You swore you closed your eyes for only five minutes, but with how groggy you were feeling, it was definitely more than five minutes.

You lifted your head and the first thing you saw was the black screen of your laptop and your reflection staring back at you. I look like a mess. Your left arm felt numb because you kept it lying straight on top of Yoongi’s work desk. With the dust of sleep still in your eyes, you almost didn’t notice what was in your left hand. After blinking a couple of times and you eyes adjusted to the light of the room, you quietly gasped at the sight of Yoongi hunched over beside you with his head resting in the nest of his left forearm and the fingers of his right hand were laced in between yours.

What were you supposed to do? You needed to wake him up because you weren’t sure if he even knew what he was doing, but the moment was too good for you to ruin. Yoongi could probably wake up on his own if he was able to feel how much your hand was sweating. You swallowed the lump in your throat to prepare yourself before you gently pulled your hand back. As you softly wiggled your fingers, Yoongi stirred in his sleep and tightened his grip. You sucked in a deep breath, waiting to see if he was going to fall back asleep. It seemed as if he was going to stay in his position, but he groggily lifted his head and shuffled the stray hairs that fell over his eyebrows. Yoongi sat up, still holding your hand, and turned face you who was staring back with widened eyes.

It took a few seconds for the situation to register in Yoongi’s eyes and when it did, a barely audible gasp left his lips and he let go of your hand. Already missing the warmth, you brought your hands down onto your lap and nervously glanced back to your reflection on your laptop screen.

“I–uh–” He stuttered and cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Don’t apologize. Please don’t apologize. “No, it’s fine, Yoongi.”

It was completely silent for a moment and the air around you had become a bit dense. You clicked the spacebar on your laptop to reveal the two new paragraphs you typed up.

“Have you figured out your feelings when playing the piano?” Yoongi asked shyly, trying to take a look at your essay.

“Not completely. It feels like I’m missing something.” You ran your fingers through your hair. “What about you? What does it feels like when you play, Yoongi?”

He adjusted his posture to fold his arms on the table and rest his chin on his arms. He hummed and searched the atmosphere for an answer.

“Honestly, I feel at peace, like there’s nothing else in this world besides me and my piano. It’s a bit cliche, but playing the piano is my escape, so I’m the happiest when I play.” Yoongi wore the most genuine smile you’ve seen and you opened another document to type out a few bullet points on what he explained. Since he had been playing all his life, it was obvious as to why he felt nothing but bliss whenever he played the instrument.

“I know what you mean.” You smiled back. “I feel the same way when I’m writing personal projects or even when I’m reading certain books for inspiration.”

“See? You know exactly what the feeling is. Are you sure you really needed to learn how to play an instrument to feel it? Or did you just need an excuse to see me often?” You were slightly taken back by his laugh comment and the laugh you let out sounded a lot more forced than you would’ve liked.

“Y/n.. I–I’m sorry for holding your hand so suddenly.” Yoongi was leaning back in his chair and twiddling his thumbs together. “When I walked in, you were already napping and so I sat down next to you. Your hand was out in the open and I don’t know what came over me. I just—I really wanted to hold your hand again.”

On the inside, you were reduced into a puddle of feelings at his words. On the outside, your lips were parted and you could feel your entire body tense up. Not only did he want to hold your hand, he wanted to hold your hand again—wait—

“Again?” You questioned.

“Y-Yeah. Jimin didn’t tell you anything?”

You shook your head and Yoongi proceeded to tell you that after you drunk-mentioned that you wanted to hold his hand last night, you slipped your fingers in between his. Apparently, you were constantly gushing about how much you loved his hands and that you’ve been wanting to hold his hands for a while.

This time, your jaw hung open and your embarrassment meter was reaching its maximum capacity. Jimin knew this happened and he kept it from you for, what seemed to be, his own entertainment. There were no words to describe what you were feeling because first of all, you didn’t know how to feel. You completely made a fool of yourself by exposing your desire to hold his hands, but in the end, Yoongi admitted that he wanted to hold your hand a second time. The only words you could bring yourself to say were:

“I’m sorry.”

“No! No, don’t be.” Yoongi finally mad eye contact with you again. “I’m kind of glad it happened. Jimin and Taehyung has been teasing me non-stop about you and it grew on me… immensely.”

There was a pinkish red hue that glowed on his cheeks and mirrored your own.

“You too?! Oh god, he’s been doing the same thing to me and that’s why I’ve a little jumpy around you lately…” You rubbed the back of your neck and averted your eyes away from him. “I’m going to kill him, I swear.”

“Before you do—“ With flushed cheeks, Yoongi scooted his seat closer to you. He resumed his previous position with his head resting on his left forearm and shut his eyes. You were confused because he didn’t complete his sentence, but a few seconds later, he brought his right band to lace into your left. “Let’s just stay like this for a while longer.”

While your hand was sweaty, Yoongi’s hand was warm. You made no effort in hiding your smile and you could already feel the blush forming on your cheeks. You rested your chin on your free hand and gazed at Yoongi who had the slightest smile etched on his face.

Your paper could wait, killing Jimin could wait, because right now, you had something much more important in the palm of your hand.

♡ rae jagi

[sh-dafugup]

a year ago last week i started that manager job (that i quit in october) so i’ve been reminiscing.

recovered memories from my previous job for when the one i have now feels like the worst thing in the world:

*i made thirty 911 calls in six months

*PARENTS LETTING THEIR KIDS HAVE BABY-POWDER FIGHTS, parents teaching their kids to shoplift, parents teaching their kids how to properly curse out and threaten employees for asking them to not ride carts through the store

*throwing out $100 in stolen half-eaten food a night (mostly vienna sausages and coconut water)

*professional pan-handlers chasing customers through the parking lot asking for specific amounts of money, professional shoplifters filling up backpacks with whatever they could and meeting their boss across the street to empty out and get paid,

*a cashier overdosed twice in two weeks while on the clock,

*another cashier who gave me some kind of antibiotic-resistant virus that lasted six weeks (who also let her toddler go with pink eye for so long her eyes crusted shut) brought in her boyfriends to shoplift during her shifts. She stole thousands of dollars from the registers and the safe (inside heist before i started working there that was never solved) over the course of two years. She was filmed by a customer stealing money from another customer by ringing up a sale and voiding it without opening the register after the first customer left. and she started stalking me when she found out the vigilant customer came to me with the video of her stealing and that i'd reported it and opened an investigation. I had to beg my boss to fire her even after he saw the video. when we met and i was introduced as her new manager, she asked me if i liked to party and said she "used to smoke crack" but she promised she "didn't anymore."

*a homeless man from the tent city behind the shopping center tried to murder another homeless man by the dumpsters behind our store by beating his head in with a pipe.

*the mafia landlord threatened me because i wouldn't let him shop after hours, his girlfriend filled her purse with whatever she felt like on a regular basis and corporate told me to back off when i reported it. i was told "just because i felt threatened doesn't mean I was".

uhhhh...

*being threatened by customers on a daily basis for refusing to process returns with fake or outdated receipts for $1 brooms, being threatened by customers for not breaking hundred dollar bills on sunday afternoons for one-dollar sales, being threatened by customers for not having more than one register open at 6 on a monday night (guy told me he was gonna take me outside and show me what customer service really meant), being threatened by customers for making closing announcements.

a man who ran a popular Dominican nightclub across the street came in at five minutes to closing on Cinco de Mayo, asked what colors were on the Mexican flag and asked for 50 helium balloons in each color. He got flustered and left when he realized it would take more than five minutes to inflate 150 mylar balloons. none of us understood why he was trying to capitalize on a holiday Dominicans don't celebrate but it moves booze and he figured it was worth a shot.

a cashier got fired for stealing money and merchandise and under-ringing hundreds of dollars of food for her friends. she came back to shop all the time. last time i saw her she tried to steal frozen pork chops but got nervous and left them by the doors when she thought we weren't distracted enough. she went to a hiring event at another value store up the road owned by our company, but she was turned away because they had her arrested a few weeks prior for retail theft.

one time we had about ten to fifteen associates come visit from other stores for a special merchandising remodel and they were all from stores in nicer areas where people are normal. none of them understood why we didn't have the doors propped open for our customers that morning. even the district manager at the time tried to warn them that it was a bad idea, but the visitors insisted it would be more welcoming to the neighborhood. we were robbed three times before noon. twice by the same guy. he liked to fill shopping carts with socks and just run for it.

uhhh....

the freezers breaking three times in one week and losing $4K in food, having to receive DC trucks until the day of a special mid-year inventory (red flag store) because my DM was the antichrist and refused to delay the trucks, and then receiving two more full trailers the next day cause another store in the district had a fire and they gifted us their shipments

i had to lock myself in the back office to get away from a screaming middle-aged white woman who was insistent that i was lying about the restaurant next to us having a public bathroom because we weren't allowed to let the public in our stock room to use the barely operational employee bathroom.

the shopping center supposedly being built on legit-i-shit-you-not INDIAN BURIAL GROUND and there being some kind of demonic force or presence in our storage basement that gave people what i can only describe as a sense of dread and violent mood swings from moments after entering the store until they left. it was kind of like a SHINING experience crossed with what happened to the dad in the original Amityville Horror. outside the store, people were completely different, like the moment they went outside the rage stopped. and sometimes homeless people would sneak in the basement and live there for a while. and the basement was full of chiggers and dust mites and bed bugs. any time we had to bring fixtures or seasonal pack-away's up we had to tape our clothes around our ankles and wrists.

one day someone hit a transformer so the entire south end of town had a blackout and when i closed the store until the power came back, one elderly customer refused to leave and stood around for an entire hour until he could make his purchase. GREATEST GENERATION, MY ASS. others outside ignored the fact that the restaurants, nail salon, grocery store and urgent care center had evacuated and tried to forcibly enter my store while cursing at me for locking the doors in the dark. our system stayed offline for hours after that and every sale we made wasn't entered in the system until we realized our registers were showing hundreds of dollars in "excess" cash. while we were on the phone with the help desk getting it sorted out, two people didn't show up for their shifts and another (the one with the needle habit) showed up early and overdosed behind the register in front of a nurse from the UC next door just trying to buy a soda on her lunch break.

and one time a Puerto Rican cashier made a remark about her neighbors playing Dominican music in the middle of the night in front of a Dominican customer and they physically fought while while the Dominican customer announced to the entire store in Spanish to any Dominicans in there that we were discriminating against them and that they should all get together and "do something about it." I had to call the cops to break up the fight. no citations issued, i just had the cops tell her she was banned for life.

this one time one of my cashiers attempted to physically discipline a customer who threatened one of my managers when she'd said something to the customer about their kid running around and screaming and throwing things. cops had to break that one up too.

oh and one day i went in on a mid-to-close shift and the bank next door had closed down in response to "OUR" bank down the street being robbed so we couldn't run our deposit or get change from anywhere in the area. and the opening manager who told me so also casually mentioned that a delivery driver told her that morning that the power box on the back of the building had been hit by a truck "or something" and that electricians would be by to look at it later in the day. when they showed up, it HAD been hit with something and I was told un-regulated power was pouring into the building, that it was a fire hazard, but power and light wouldn't be able to fix it for approximately two weeks. corporate insisted we stay open for business--they said a chance of an explosion didn't mean it necessarily would. when the electricians took the door off the box to check out the guts inside, they mentioned that the wires leading into the building looked out of regulation but were interrupted by a swarm of live hornets nesting in the meter box that poured out into their faces.

our phone line was split with someone else's in town so sometimes our store phone just didn't work. calls would cut out, we'd hear other people talking on the line. most of the 911 calls i made went like, "what's the number there at the store?" "oh, i'm calling from my personal cell, our phone is out of service." we never had it fixed.

human resources tried to fire me because an associate said i was cursing in the employee bathroom after a customer chewed me out for something trivial. I handed her my keys and walked out. I was the fifth person to hold that position in two years. at least two other people have had it since I left seven months ago.

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [6]: Remembrance (Fear)

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-- both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams..” —Bram Stoker

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante doesn’t bother to turn on the radio for this trip. It’s a first, and it unsettles her. From the few things she’s learned about him since they met—the confidence that borders on arrogance, the fleeting moments of kindness beneath the gruff exterior, the fact that he loves and hates cop-house coffee—the affinity for classic rock is the most prominent, and the lack of it now only cements how badly she has messed up. Humiliation had given way to shame once she was out of the precinct, and now shame is circling right back to anger, though this time it is mostly aimed at herself. She hasn’t even been in Red Grave City for four days yet and she’s gone and shown herself to be an unreliable loose cannon as far as her new Chief is concerned, someone who might not be suited for the type of crime that comes with big cities.

Needing something to break the silence, she leans over to fiddle with the knobs, only for Dante to shut the radio off as soon as she’s turned it on. “Not now,” he says shortly.

Lir bristles, tries not to. “What? You’re gonna sit over there like I’m some sort of, I don’t know, wild woman who might claw your eyes out?”

“No,” he replies.

“Then let me turn the damn radio on.”

“No,” he says again. “I’m gonna talk, and I want you to take that chip off your shoulder and listen. You can bitch at me when I’m done.”

“Fuck you.”

Dante curses as he pulls into a spot outside of her building and puts the car in park. “That’s what got you into this mess. You let your temper get the best of you and, yeah, Morrison was right to send you home because you nearly fucking ruined our chances to put Miller away with your little stunt in interrogation.” He runs his hands through his hair, upsetting the strands so they fall around his face. “I get it, Lir, I fuckin’ get it. I’m just as pissed as you are. You think I like that there’s a guy out there hurtin’ women? Fuck no! I hate it, and I hate that we can’t seem to get a lead on him. But Miller ain’t him, and you forgot that.”

“He’s just as bad!” She protests hotly. “Marie didn’t deserve—”

“There’s a reason we don’t call victims by their first names,” he points out quietly. “You’re gettin’ too close, Lir, too personal with this. Any other time, I’d say that’s a good thing, maybe you could figure out what we’re missin’, but if it’s gonna send you off half-cocked . . .”

Lir understands where he’s going with that line of thinking and snaps, “Don’t you dare try to take me off of this case, Dante.”

“My first partner was a lot like you. Spitfire, hot temper, bleedin’ heart. You know what she did?” He looks at her steadily, unflinching. “She got herself killed. Found a lead and went after the perp without backup, broke protocol. Yeah, we nailed the bastard in the end, but only ‘cause she put a bullet in his thigh just before he beat her to death.”

It’s a sad thing to think of. If she weren’t so pissed, she might have offered sympathies, but all she can think of is Sophie Marsons, like she’s a dog and this is the bone she can’t stop chewing on even when her obsession turns it to splinters that cut into her gums. “I’m going to find this guy, Dante. I’m going to feed him his balls and crucify him. You hear me?”

He moves so quickly that she has no time to react at all. One minute, he’s in his seat, turned to face her; the next, he’s over the console, one hand braced on the back of her seat and the other on the handle of the door, his arms a cage that trap her in her seat. Being cramped up like this, locked between the bulk of his body and the door of the car, Lir fights to keep her breathing controlled. The warm, humid air inside the cab is heavy with the scents of sweat and cologne and the unique musk of damp fabric, but under all of that is something else, something other, that makes her so keenly aware of the space he takes up that it almost frightens her. No, not frightens; it's not fear that makes her pulse race, or her palms damp, or her throat dry. It's desire, plain and simple, to be touched, to be held, to be kissed.

To feel human again.

Dante is so close that it would take no effort at all to sit up and seal her lips over his. A desperate, foolish move that would cost her her reputation and her career—it's always the woman's fault in matters of seduction, whether she initiates it or not—but the idea sticks once it's been born. Easy, sure. And then she could invite him up, see how the stubble on his jaw feels on her breast, and when Morrison calls her into his office to force a resignation she can look at him and say, "Sorry, boss, but I really needed a good lay."

"Back off," she hisses through clamped teeth. Dante doesn't move, just watches her, his eyes half-lidded and burning where they linger on her face. "Back off, Redgrave."

"You gonna go off and get yourself killed?" he rumbles.

Her shoulders tense. "No."

"I want your word, Thorne."

The fact that he's back to using her last name stings after hearing him use her first for a scant twelve hours. "Fine. You have my word. I'm going to sleep, and then I'll see you at the precinct." Saying the words aloud soothes her a bit. They make her sudden need for him make sense: it's just sleep-deprivation. Just exhaustion.

He studies her for a moment longer before he nods and moves away, settling back into his seat. “It’s . . .” Dante checks his watch. “ . . . noon. On Monday. Christ. Morrison doesn’t want you back in until tomorrow. Trust me,” he says wryly at her frown, “you come back in today, he’s gonna put you on administrative work for a week. Go shower. Sleep. Get somethin’ to eat. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“What about you?” she mutters, playing with the door handle.

“I’m gonna crash myself, then catch up with Trish, do the report on Miller.”

He’s taking tasks off of her plate, and she mumbles her gratitude as she climbs out of the car and heads inside. Her apartment is cool and dark, blessedly silent. Lir stands in her living room and looks around and the half-unpacked boxes and the clothes she’d left on the floor Saturday afternoon and lets out a long sigh before getting to work. First she picks up her mess, depositing her stuff in the hamper and hanging her coat up on the back of the bedroom door to dry, then she slowly peels out of her damp clothing and takes an indulgently long, hot shower. She makes her bed, puts on pajamas, towels her hair and combs it out, wondering idly if it’s time for another trim. Then she returns to the living room, making a pit stop in the kitchen for a glass of wine and to toss a frozen burrito in the microwave before grabbing a box and settling on the floor with it.

It’s labelled books a-c, and she takes a sip of her wine as she opens it and begins laying the books in neat stacks around her. She’d done her best to keep them organized while packing, but some things got moved around to make them fit in the box, and she puts them back in order and carries them over to the bookcases on one of the windowless walls. There’s four cases total; slowly, breaking only to eat her burrito and refill her wine, Lir fills them with a variety of novels ranging from biographies to horror stories to mysteries to true crime accounts, until all of the boxes with books scrawled on them are empty and collapsed for recycling. She eyes the next stack, these labelled living room, then the clock on the microwave. It’s just after five, and Lir shakes her head and puts her empty glass in the sink. Exhaustion is making her nauseous now—that and too much aspirin and wine on a stomach with only a burrito to keep them company—and she just wants to sleep.

The pizza, she thinks, climbing into bed and putting her phone on her nightstand. We never ate that fucking pizza. Wonder who did?

Lir slips easily and quietly into dreams of her father. In them, she is five years old, and her father, a man named Augustus Thorne, a man who would die when he answered a robbery call at a convenience store and was bludgeoned to death with a bat, is sitting in his recliner, a dusty, threadbare thing that her mother only half-feigns horror at having in their den. She is at his knee, working a puzzle that she has completed before, bright splashes of color in the shape of a barn, a horse, a cow on large pieces fit for a toddler’s hands. The room is warm, painted with early July sunshine, and motes of dust dance lazily in the air. Soon, he will put away the newspaper he reads every day, and drink the last of his coffee, and then he will take her outside until he has to leave for his shift. Maybe they’ll work on the truck that runs on a prayer, though she hopes that he’ll push her on the swing instead. The truck scares her.

It scares her mother, too. It is a slipshod, bastard of a truck, assembled from whatever serviceable parts her father could find, the paint mismatched and rusting, the engine a beast that snarls and sputters when awoken. Her father calls it the Beast with the same affection he uses when speaking of the stray dog that sometimes sleeps on their porch, a loving sort of exasperation that makes all of his threats of selling the truck empty. Her mother simply calls it dangerous.

“Lirael,” her father says, folding up his paper with a dry snap that has her looking up from her puzzle. “What do you say we go out, get some ice cream?”

It’s more than her five year old mind ever dares to hope for, and she leaps up with a squeal. “Can we, papa? Really?”

“Yes. But you have to promise not to tell your mother.” He makes a grave face, running his fingers across his mouth in a zipping noise. “And to eat all of your dinner tonight. Otherwise we can’t go.”

“I promise, papa!”

“Even the peas.”

Her face screws up in disgust that only momentarily tempers her excitement. “Do I have to?”

“Mm-hm.” Her father nods sagely. “Peas are good for you.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders sag. “Even the peas.”

He smiles then, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepening to slashes that run to his temples. “That’s my girl. Clear away your puzzle and put on your shoes.”

Lir dutifully does as she’s been told, her tongue peeking from between her lips as she carefully puts the pieces back in the box and carries it to the shelf. Then she gets her sneakers from the rack by the back door and puts them on, whispering, “Over, under, pull it tight. Make a bow, pull it through, do it right.” Her mother had taught her that little rhyme in January, wanting her to know how to tie her shoelaces before she started kindergarten in fall, and, even though her loops are uneven and the knot crooked, she gets them both done on the first try.

Her father takes her hand and leads her outside, where he helps her into the car her mother insisted he buy when they learned they were having a child. Lir waits as patiently as she can while he fastens her seatbelt through the slots of her booster seat and checks to make sure the safety lock is on. He ruffles her hair affectionately before closing the door, and she sits up straight to look out of the window as he gets in the front and starts the car. Their little house, set on a nice yard, is twenty minutes from town, and Lir always loves the rides there and back. She likes to count the different things she sees, pointing out the other cars and houses and people to her parents, who humor her. Sometimes, her father will play little games like I Spy with her while he drives, too. 

Today, though, he’s silent, not even the radio turned on, and Lir squirms uncomfortably in her seat, which feels too small. “Lirael,” he says quietly, “what are you doing, girl?”

She blinks, looking at him now through eyes that are now adult, the handles of the booster seat digging painfully into her hips, which are too wide despite her slender frame to fit within it anymore. “Father?”

Augustus does not turn to her. Horrified, she watches as the back of his head begins to distort, caving in on itself as though there are phantom blows striking him, and his voice is hoarse and full of blood when he speaks. “You can’t deny what you see, Lirael. You can’t drown it in a bottle, or between a woman’s legs, or with a man between your own.”

“I don’t see anything,” she whispers, afraid. Her hand scrambles for the door, needing to get out, only for the safety lock to keep it firmly closed. “Please, papa, please, I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do,” he replies, as amicably as a dead man can. “You understand just fine, and you’d understand better if you’d stop running. That’s what I did, girl, remember? Oh, how your mother and I would fight over it, until she told me she wanted a divorce. I never did apologize for you hearing that, did I?” He sighs wistfully. “You were never meant to.”

“I’m not running,” she protests weakly. God, let me wake up, please, God, I can’t do this right now. It’s bad enough that she has to deal with spirits—or hallucinations, as her mother had called them, when Lir was too old for imaginary friends to work—but for it to be her father, when she’s asleep and supposed to be safe . . .

Only now does he turn, and she sees the terror of her father’s face, or what she always imagined it looked like before the undertaker took care of him. One eye is turned, staring blankly at nothing, bulging from its socket like it’s going to fall out at any moment, blood streams from his crushed, broken nose and cut lips, and his teeth, when he smiles, are broken and jagged. There’s a stench of rot in the air, of dead things long buried, and she cranes back into her seat, her throat clogged with clawing panic. “You’ve been running for twenty years,” he says, “but you can’t anymore.”

Then there is a blaring horn and Lir screams as a truck careens towards them, one of the big ones used to haul freight and cargo, it’s headlights baleful eyes that pierce the cabin of their car as it strikes them head-on, glass shattering and steel screaming as it crumples—

Lir wakes, the piercing ringing of her scream echoing through the bedroom. She takes one shuddering breath, then another, before she crumples, sobs tearing harshly from her aching throat as she curls her knees to her chest and hugs them as if to keep herself from falling apart. How long has it been since she dreamed of her father? Since she graduated the academy, maybe, and the shock of seeing him like that, torn and broken, brings a grief she hasn’t felt since she was ten. Knowing that she is powerless against it, she allows it to flow freely, her tears soaking her shirt where they fall into it, the fear-scent of her sweat pungent and sharp. Father, father, she thinks, shaking. Why did you have to die? You should have known better than to answer that call, you should have taken back-up, you should have cleared the fucking store before you went in, playing the goddamn hero!

When the crying has tapered off to sniffles and her limbs have stopped trembling enough for her to move, she stands. In the bathroom, Lir washes her face in the dark, not wanting to see her puffed eyelids or reddened cheeks, splashing frigid water on her skin until the shock of it stops her tears completely. Then she pats herself dry with a towel and strips to wipe the sweat from her body before pulling on her bathrobe and returning to the living room. Her nightmare is too fresh, too vivid, for her to go back to bed. 

The clock on the microwave reads 3:01. The witching hour, and she stares at it dully for a moment before settling onto her couch and turning on the television. Lir flips through the channels until she finds a rerun of Red Dragon, and she pulls the duvet from the back of the couch over her shoulders as she settles into the familiarity of the world of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In the morning, she’ll call Dante, needing human company to truly feel at ease again.

For now, she watches as Will Graham shouts at a reporter and waits for the fear to let her go.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

psssst...if you're accepting prompts then you should totally write something for demon!alex *backflips out window*

CAREFUL, PLEASE DON’T HURT YOURSELF

Being a demon, ahunting animal in every sense of the world, Alex’s fight or flight response wasone of his strongest instincts. And right now, as he sat on the bed watchinghis girlfriend pace back and forth across their small bedroom with the phonepressed to her ear, her expression tense and shaky as she said those words- I’mpregnant…again- every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run and runand not stop.

But he’d promised.He’d promised on bended knee, with too many emotions to count bubbling in hischest as he kissed her stomach again and again, he’d promised to be here forher whatever she needed.

Even if it might endwith him being killed slowly and painfully.

Eliza’s expressiongave nothing away, he could only imagine what was happening with the other halfof her conversation as he watched his Betsey nod and make vague noises ofagreement and mumble half replies.

“No, we didn’t…itwasn’t exactly, no…of course…I know, Dosia, I’ve thought about it carefully…yeah…thanksso much, we’ll be there soon…I love you too.”

After an agonisinglylong wait which Alex spend trying to calculate how much damage his demonic bodywould realistically take on if he jumped out of the window right now, Eliza gavea nervous sigh and held the phone out to him.

“She wants to talk toyou,” she murmured apologetically, trying not to look like she was handing hima grenade ticking its way gradually and inescapably down towards exploding,though that was how it felt.

Alex accepted thephone hesitantly, taking a deep breath and trying to remind himself forcefully anything for Eliza, anything for mychildren, anything for my family.

“Your majesty?” hetried carefully, thinking it was best to start out very formally and politely,seeing as he was dealing with his boss’ wife, the Queen of the Crossroads andone of the most powerful demons in history.

And his Betsey’s bestfriend.

“So,” he tried andfailed to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice, “Eliza told you the goodnews, huh? New little bundle of- “

“Alexander Hamilton,”Dosia cut across him, her tone so cold and flat it left Alex feeling like he’dbeen dumped alone and naked on an Arctic ice floe, “Are you a complete andutter moron?”

Alex bit his lip,eyes silently begging Eliza for help but even his beloved couldn’t save himnow, “I like to think I’ve at least got street smarts- “

“Don’t interrupt, “Dosia snapped, no louder but there was a force behind it, an echo that turnedhis guts to lava, “Because I see no other way someone could watch the personthey loved, the very delicate and breakablehuman, whose already been through literal Hell for them, struggle to carryand give birth to one of their half demonic babies…and then accidentally knockthem up again!”

Alex trembled, “Um…Iknow and I’m sorry but I talked to Betsey and she says she s-still wants to gothrough with it…”

“Is that so?” thephone felt like it was getting hotter in his hand, uncomfortably hot in fact asDosia’s voice climbed and grew more fiery, trembling with the depth of Legion, “After500 years of existence, is something as simple as putting on a condom really thehardest thing you’ve ever had to do? Would you like me to explain it to you,for crying out loud? Here, so don’t open the damn thing with your teeth andthen take it between your thumb and forefinger…”

Even Eliza could hearit as her poor Alex received a sex ed lesson from a demon queen at fullstrength and volume, perching on the bed and watching with a fond, helplessexpression as he winced and held the phone at arm’s length, Dosia’s voice stillringing clear and powerful.

She did her best notto laugh at his misfortune, her hand resting soothingly on her belly where thenewest addition to their family was tucked up safe, the surprisingly tinylittle thing who was causing all this trouble. Usually telling your friends yourfamily was growing by one wasn’t a life-threatening task but their situationwas a pretty rare one, she had to admit.

Maybe rare was evenbeing too generous, unheard of was closer to the mark. Humans and demons didn’treproduce as a rule, let alone two times in as many years. Nor did they worktogether or date or live together or genuinely love each other the way Alex andEliza did, especially after facing everything that stood in the way of theirrelationship, so maybe all in all, having a baby wasn’t actually the weirdestthing they’d ever done?

Either way, a littleuncertainty was something Eliza was well used to.

She wasn’t all thatworried, Dosia had promised she’d just chew her Alex out for a while, leavinghim untouched. And as Eliza thought back to the twenty-six hours it had takento bring their son into the world, she couldn’t help but feel like he deservedto be strung up just a little bit?

She promised himselfshe’d put him back together with hugs and kisses as soon as he was done, gettingto her feet and wandering out of the bedroom, leaving Alex’s very angryeducation to be muffled by the door closing behind her. Shaking her headfondly, she wandered down the hall towards the nursery, the one where littlePhilip slept but would soon be turned around and redone for the new baby.

Philip had taken thenews that he was going to be a big brother very well, better than Alex andEliza could have hoped, especially when they told him that they’d be moving inwith the Burrs (so Eliza could be under their protection while she was in hervulnerable condition) which of course meant being even closer to his bestfriend in the whole world, little Theo.

He swallowed all thatchange and disruption with nothing but enthusiasm and yet the prospect ofgiving up his room for the new baby was what had shaken him to his little three-year-oldcore. So, Eliza wasn’t all that surprised when she found him sat ratherforlornly on the nursery carpet, like he was making the most of every secondthe room was still his, idly hugging his toy giraffe.

“Hello there, littleman,” she smiled, sinking onto the floor next to him, wondering how much longerit would be before her pregnancy made such simple movements impossible, “Youlook thoughtful.”

“Thinkin’,” Pipconfirmed, nodding so hard his mop of curls bounced.

Eliza stroked herlong fingers through his hair. Looking at little Pip as he was now, you’d neverbe able to tell what he was or, rather, what half of him was. Sometimes shefound herself unconsciously studying him, how he interacted with the othertoddlers they encountered at the park, looking for any signs or little ticsthat might put her precious baby in danger. Most of her nightmares these daysplayed out the things she couldn’t let herself even consider in daylight,namely what might happen if people knew the truth about her son. People meaningjust about anyone, more vitriolic hunters, demons looking to get one over onher boyfriend, even just ignorant humans doing their usual hideous thing withthings they didn’t understand. From her world, from Alex’s world, Eliza strivedto make sure her little lion cub had no idea of the myriad of dangersurrounding him from all sides.

She didn’t think thenightmares were going to get any easier, though, as her second baby grew.

“What are youthinking about, love?” she murmured, trying to shake those thoughts out of hermind.

Pip wrinkled hisnose, scrunching up his smattering of freckles, “Um…dunno?”

Eliza chuckledgently, “That’s okay…are you maybe thinking about what Pops told you yesterday?About the new baby?”

His sweet little heartshaped face flushed a bright pink as he admitted, “Maybe.”

She’d expected asmuch, gently lifting her son into her lap, holding him as close as she couldwhich never really seemed to be enough. As she did, she guided his pudgy littlestarfish hands down to her lower stomach, not for any particular reason, justthinking that the action seemed to soothe Alex and maybe it would work forPhilip too? But it turned out to be a very good unconsciously made decision.

As soon as his palmstouched down on his mother’s skin, Pip’s already large eyes widened even more,his mouth opening in a little O of surprise.

“Mama!” he whisperedreverently, “There they are!”

“Oh?” Eliza blinked,charmed by the expression of bewildered excitement on his face.

“Can feel them!” Pipwas practically vibrating with excitement, the demon side of his genes showingthrough in the restless energy that visibly buzzed through him, “Can feel them glowing!”

Of course. Alex couldpick up on the baby’s energy as they grew in her womb, from the way it wasentangled with his own, a part of him as much as it was a part of her. Whycouldn’t Pip do the same?

“Can you really?” Elizagrinned, with only a little touch of jealously. Why did she have to wait untilthat first kick when it was her body the baby was inside? Stupid demon powers…

“Uh huh!” Pip beamedback at her, the gaps showing in his teeth, “They’re green! Nice green, greenlike grass and flowers and…and frogs!”

Eliza snorted withlaughter at that, cupping Philip’s face lovingly in her hands, running herthumbs over his soft cheeks, “That sounds very lovely, little man.”

“I swear, if you puther life on the line just because you can’t keep it in your pants one more time, Hamilton, you lose yourdick privileges, do I make myself clear?” Dosia snarled down the line, probablycausing some of the wires and transistors along the way to burst into flames.

“I wouldn’t go thatfar!” Alex yelped defensively, his nature getting the better of him, “She’llhave you and Maria like last time, I don’t think her life’s in dangernecessarily…”

He realised immediatelythat this was the wrong thing to say as a horrible silence, somehow worse thanher words, filled the space between them, stretching out until he was beggingfor her to start yelling at him again.

“Uh…Dosia?” heventured in a mouse-small voice, wondering if she actually had fried theconnection.

“Alexander,” came theicy reply, “Have you ever had to carry a ten-pound weight in your stomach andthen push it out of, in your case, your ass? Because if you have a burningdesire to do so, I do have that power you realise and am perfectly happy tooblige you from this distance…”

The rumble in Alex’sstomach at that point was most likely a complete coincidence, the effect of thesoda he drank earlier (he wasn’t one for moderation) or something elsecompletely unrelated to Dosia’s threat but it still struck terror into him.

“No, no, no!” he gavea little scream, gripping the side table, “No thank you, your majesty, allpowerful and merciful queen of the underworld, I feel like I can empathise withmy girlfriend sufficiently without that, thank you and also I kind of want toactually live to meet my child?”

Dosia made a derisivenoise but thankfully, nothing happened to Alex.

“Listen, I’m nothappy about the fact that Eliza has to go through that mess again,” he groaned,running his hand through his hair, “But she wants to do this and I respectthat. For the whole nine months, I swear, I’ll be right by her side and doevery single thing I possibly can to make it even a little bit easier on her.And, for your information, I’d be saying that even if you hadn’t yelled at meso…so, yeah.”

Realising he didn’thave a good end to his argument, Alex just kind of trailed off, his hand fallinglimp by his side.

There was anotherharrowing pause before Dosia spat out, “Congratulations,” and slammed the phonedown on him.

That was when Alexdecided to run.

Philip and Eliza werestill sat in wonder as Alex sped into the nursery, skidding to a halt as allhis fear fled and expression softened at the scene in front of him.

“Can feel the baby,Pops!” Pip shrieked delightedly before his father could even open his mouth, “They’rein there!”

Alex chuckled, comingand taking a place by his Betsey so she could lean her head on his shoulder,taking the opportunity to wipe away a few emotional tears as she did. He’dreally hoped his little one would get that particular power of his, the onethat brought him so much peace, to know for sure that his loved ones were closeand safe.  

“He’s been telling meall about them,” Eliza explained, smiling tenderly, wrapping her arms aroundAlex’s, “How they’re feeling, what mood they’re in, he can sense all of it.”

“No way!” Alexgrinned, it sounded as if he was even more perceptive than his father, “That’sso cool, you go little buddy!”

Pip flushed withpleasure, demonstrating his power proudly as he carefully examined his mother’sstomach, her shirt pushed up for his hands, “Very green, green and happy. Kindahungry. Lotsa love.”

Eliza gave a gentle,happy little sob into her palm, snuggling close to Alex, “Oh…”

Alex found his girlfriend’shand and squeezed tight, his own voice thick with emotion, “And can you feelhow much they love you, mijo? How much they love their big brother?”

Pip puffed his littlechest out, eyes as bright and human as you could hope, “Yes! Love for me, too.”

Alex smiled, rufflinghis son’s hair. Maybe they didn’t fit into one category or another, maybe theywere breaking a few rules. But it sure as hell felt worth it.