#cleaning out my drafts prepare to be terrorized

[fromtheseventhhell]

"The Starks are going to hate Dany because her father killed their grandfather and uncle"

The Starks thinking about Rickard and Brandon:

[xenyasplacex]

BABY TRAPPED PART 2

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!OC

Summary: Chris is in a toxic relationship and the only thing keeping him there is his daughter.

warning- Toxic relationship, Miserable Chris, Shouting, Abuse, Physical Abuse, emotional abuse, Talk of isolation, crying

A/N : Soooooo, it’s been a while! see my dumbass thought i posted this a few days ago but turns out i just saved it to drafts 😍😍😍

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Part 1 <—> part 3

Things had changed in Chris’ household. Chris knew that through his life there were going to be times where he had to sacrifice certain things he thought he couldn't live without if he wanted their marriage to work and so far he had sacrificed a lot. Sometimes he thought about how younger Chris would look at him now. He had let this woman completely take over his life. First he had to sacrifice his friendship with nate who was a ‘bad influence’ on him, then he had to sacrifice his relationship with his parents who were ‘brainwashing’ him, then he had to sacrifice his friendship with Madi, Tara, Quen and Madison Beer because they were all ‘flirting’ with Chris and disrespecting his wife, he had to sacrifice his relationship with his older brother Justin because ‘he took to much of Chris’ time’. So, so, so many sacrifices had been made to make Aaliyah happy and yet here she still was, making his life miserable.

The couple were planning to move. That's what started the whole ordeal. The couple had decided to pack up and move to San Diego about a year ago and they only had 3 more days until they were gone for good. Well, to be completely honest it was more of Aaliyah yelling and Chris being too scared to do anything to stop it. Apparently she wanted to be closer to her dad and step mom which confused Chris because from what he knew, she hasn't spoken to her father since she told him she was pregnant. He still remembered when he told his brothers. Matt started crying on the spot which really did shake Chris to his core. Matt always said he hated Chris and thought he knew it was a joke he still didn’t think that Matt would be so distraught over Chris Leaving. They still planned to do Youtube. They planned to rotate, one week they would be in Los Angeles and the other they would be in San Diego. It would be tough but they had no other option. The whole argument started when Chris had stated he wasn't sure if he liked the dark brown wood for the floor that Aaliyah had chosen in front of their interior designer. He wasn't rude or malicious, he was simply voicing his opinion, but it was enough to have Aaliyah beating him for “embarrassing her.”

“You ought to wrap that wrist up.” Aaliyah said from the doorway of their living room staring at her husband who was hunched over their couch, trying to wipe the remaining blood from his mouth. He looked up at his wife with nothing but pure terror. The tyrant was back.

“Relax, i'm not here to hurt you,” Aaliayh chuckled as she approached him. Laughing, she was laughing. How could she be laughing? 

Aaliyah sat next to Chris examining his face and Chris simply froze. She had done this to him. She was the one to hurt him. She was the one who bruised him, she was the one who caused him to be bleeding out and now here she was, sat next to him like a loving wife. She leaned forward and abruptly brought her hand up to his face. By pure muscle memory Chris jumped back, preparing for the next blow to his already weak body. She laughed. Again. She laughed at his pain. 

“I'm not going to hurt you silly,” She laughed, “I'm just here to clean you up.”

Her smile was so deceiving. With that smile she could light up an entire room, she could have bored you outta your mind listening to her ramble about the most useless things but you would stay there and listen in the hopes of even catching a glimpse of that smile. She is so addictive yet she was poisonous. Like a hard drug, something you can't seem to live without even if its slowly killing you. 

After about half an hour she had fully cleaned Chris’ cuts and bruises and had kissed him so many times her lips were puffy and she was starting to feel slightly light headed. It was late, Adriana had been asleep for hours at this point and Chris was slowly starting to slip into unconsciousness

“I'm so sorry Chris, you know I love you right?” She said as she rolled on top of him in their shared bed.

“I know.” Chris said, not bothering to look at her, instead he stayed fixated on the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the same thoughts as always racing through his mind.

How did he end up here?

How could he let this happen?

Why couldn't he just man up and take his child and leave?

Why couldn't he protect his own child?

Why couldn't he tell his brothers?

Why couldn't he te-

“Chris!” Aaliyah yelled as she sat up, looking at him slightly agitated.

“Huh?”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No.”

Alliyah simply rolled her eyes before getting off him, “And im not good enough for you to listen to as usual. Some excuse of a husband you are.” She grumbled angrily.

Chris knew he had to deescalate whatever it was that was brewing or he could end up sleeping in his car tonight, so he sat up, resting against their head rest before picking Aaliyah up slightly and sitting her on his lap. He then kissed all over her face down to her neck until she was giggling uncontrollably.

“Chris stop!” She laughed, not pushing him away though.

“I'm sorry, it's not that I wasn't listening to you, I'm just so tired. Tell me what you were saying again, I promise you've got my full attention”.  Chris said before resting his head on her chest.

It was moments like this when Chris thought maybe things werent os bad. He was here with his wife, in their joint bed, kissing and laughing, enjoying each other presence, basking in joy and lo-

“I think it's about time we cut off your brothers.”

Moment ended.

“What?” He asked, whipping his head up. He was shocked. Him and his brothers were a package deal. It had been all of them or none of them for so long. His brothers were something he could rely on because they were countistant. You can’t exactly stop being a triplet after all, and now here she was. Getting rid of the one piece of consistency he had through tough times.

“Chris, you are far too reliant on them, I mean 3 weeks ago we got into a little argument and you picked up our child and spent the night with them. That's not normal Chris.”

It wasn't a little argument. She hurt their daughter. She hurt his daughter.

“Listen to me Chris,” Aaliyah started again, adjusting herself slightly so she was straddling him, “Chris I love you, I’m doing this because I love you. I mean what type of example would that set for Adriana? You need to learn to be strong on your own. Not with Nick or Matt holding your hand through life.”

Chris was silent, looking down at his lap through the whole speech.

“Chris, I am all you need. You don't need them, the fact that you've cut everyone else off and have been just fine just proves all you need is me, you don't need anyone else Chris i promise you.” She said sweetly before pressing a kiss to his lips which isn't reciprocated.

“I just… I need to think about it.”

“What?” Aaliyah asked, sitting up and starting to get off Chris once again.

“Those are my brothers Ali, I can't just get rid of them.” “Yes you can!” Aaliyah exclaimed. “Chris when we leave in 3 days you are to block their numbers and get rid of them or I promise you, you will never see Adriana again. If me and Adi aren't good enough for you then you don't deserve us at all. You don't need them Chris but you need me and you are a coward and a cheating bitch for even thinking you can have all of us to yourself.”

“I've never cheated on you Ali…” Chris tried to protest but she cut him off.

“What, you really think I'm that stupid? All the times you ‘go to your brother's house to film’ you think i don't know you're out being a whore. You dont think i know your out there fucking any bitch who comes within a 5 foot radius of you. You don't think I know? You're pathetic.”  She screamed at him. Chris couldn't even say anything. The claims were so far-fetched that he didn't even know how to defend himself. “Get the fuck out of this room Chris.” She said finally before turning over.

“Ali I didn't ev-” 

“Chris get the fuck out of this room!” Aaliyah screamed again. When Chris didn't move, frozen in pure astonishment she started punching him in the head.

The first punch was enough to snap him out of this trans, the second punch was enough to kick off a heavy migraine and the ones that followed were enough to add more fuel to this fire. 

“Get out! Get out! Get Out!” she screamed again and again, landing punch after punch. 

Chris quickly scrambled to his feet and ran for their bedroom door, trying to avoid the objects that she was hurling at him. When he finally got out of the room he just stood there for a while taking in what had just happened. He had to get rid of his brothers. His shoulder to cry in, his light at the end of the tunnel. He had to get rid of them. Slowly Chris found himself sitting on the floor, knees to his chest simply sobbing. He had to get rid of his brothers.

He had to get rid of his brothers.

“Nick stop!” Chris laughed as he watched his brother throw Adriana up in the air before catching the giggling girl again.

“I can't stop, i'm not gonna be able to see my niece any time i want anymore, i have to take in every moment i can.” He said before resting Adriana on his hip.

“I still can’t believe you're actually leaving.” Matt said softly, looking at his triplet brother. 

“Chris can you please tell him you'll call him everyday. I keep telling him we're still gonna talk all the time but the kid just won't listen.” Nick laughed, throwing Adriana into the air again. Chris’ smile faltered a little at that.

It had been 2 days since his argument with Aaliyah and she was still set on Chris cutting his brothers off. The only reason he was even allowed to come and see them was because he had promised that today would be the day he cut them off.

“Hey Adi, why don’t you we let Aunty Sunday put Nemo on for you the living room huh?”

Sunday was Matt’s girlfriend who Adriana absolutely adored. He watched as his daughter toddled into the other room before looking at the confused faces of his brothers.

“I need to talk to you two.” Chris stated bluntly before taking a deep breath and just letting out. It’s now or never and though he preferred never, he cared for his daughter too much to let her go without a fight.

“I love you guys. I really do. I love you with everything in me. You’re my best friends and I genuinely don’t know where I would be without the two of you but I just. I just think I need some time. Some time away from being a triplet to just think about my wife and my child. I just, I need time, you know?”

They didn’t know and they didn’t get it.

“Time? Like how long are we talking, like a week, maybe two?” Matt asked, Chris couldn’t bear this, he couldn’t even look at him. “Or like maybe a month?”

“I was thinking more like a few years,” Chris replied softly.

There it is. The bomb was dropped.

It was silent. Nobody said a word. Everyone was too shocked to even comprehend what had just been said. A break? For a few years? How does one simply decide that they need a break from being a triplet and how do they decide that need a break for so long?

Nick especially wasnt having it. Nobody optionally has a break from being brothers. Especially not triplets.

“What did Aaliyah out you on to this?” Nick spat with nothing but anger in his tone.

Chris and Matt were stunned but for different reasons. Matt because he couldn’t believe his brother would actually voice an accusation like that, and Chris because of how accurate it was.

“Wh-, what are you talking about Nick.”

“Don’t play games with me Chris. You don’t think we’ve seen the difference? You suddenly can’t make it to hang out or you suddenly can’t reply to messages after a certain time?” Nick screamed as he stood up off his couch.

“Nick I don’t know wha-” Chris tried again before being interrupted again.

“And I’ve seen the bruises little one!” Nick yelled again.

Caught.

Chris was stunned. They couldn’t know. If they found out they would only see him as week and unfit to be a father.

“What the hell are you talking about Nicolas!” Chris shouted as well, taking a step forward.

Nick rolled his eyes before grabbing Adriana’s baby bag, picking up 2 clean baby wipes and quickly coming at Chris. Chris flinched hard but that didn’t stop Nick from swiping the wipe across Chris’ face, revealing the concealer he was wearing and a purple bruise that had formed on his face.

“Yeah then what’s this?” Nick yelled showing his younger brother the wipe.

“Nick,” Matt interjected, trying to calm everyone down, “let’s all just take a deep breath okay?”

“What the fuck Nick, how dare you accuse my wife of something so evil! I fell down the stairs a few days ago! That’s were the bruise is from you sick fuck.” Chris yelled back.

“Oh spare me!” Nick replied. “So what happens when something happens to that little girl huh? What happens when she won’t let her have friends or go on playdates or go to the park? what happens when she isolates her daughter the same way she’s isolating you!”

“You know what, this is exactly why I can’t be around you. You’re all delusional and this sort of environment is not good for my child.” Chris yelled, picking up Adriana's baby bag and walking out of the room to grab Adriana.

He walked through the room, seeing Adriana and Sunday playing together. Without saying a word he picked his daughter up and started heading toward the door. “Chris? Chris what happened to your face?” Sunday tried to ask before hearing her own boyfriend running through the room.

“Chris! Chris stop!” Matt yelled while chasing after his brother who didn’t even turn around.

Chris walked straight to the car before gently putting Adriana into her car seat while Matt tried to calm him down.

“Please Chris, Nick was just trying to help, he loves you.” Matt tried to reason but Chris simply wasn’t having it.

“Nick he just accused my wife of beating me I can’t just le-”

“Chris!” Matt yelled, starting to get annoyed. “Chris we love you. More than anything and he’s just hurt that you’re leaving us. I mean a break? Come on Chris.”

That did make Chris feel bad. He always had his brothers. He wouldn’t be where he was now if not for them and now he was leaving them. Chris just felt so awful.

“I’m sorry Matt, I just… I just have to.” Chris replied softly looking down.

It was silent for a minute, then Matt spoke up. “Okay, and when this break ends we and Nick will be waiting for you, because we love you.”

With that Matt brought Chris into a hug. A proper hug. That was all Chris needed for the silent tears to come crumbling down. He was sure how long they were in that hug for before he felt another pair of area wrap around him.

“ I love you Chris, you have to know that.” Nick said, voice thick with tears.

“I know and I’m sorry. I love you guys too, both of you, so much” Chris said pulling away from the hug.

Matt then made his way over to the back of the car where Adriana had been buckled in.

“Hey baby, it looks like I won’t be seeing you for a while. You rember your Uncle Matt okay?” Matt told her making her giggle a little, not fully understanding the situation.

“And don’t forget your Uncle Nick either.” Nick interjected.

“Okay I promise I won’t. Pinky promise.” The little girl promised holding out her pinky fingers for both men to intertwine their fingers with.

The two said their goodbyes to their niece before shutting the door and looking back at Chris.

“Look, I don’t know what type of arrangement you and Ali have, but you protect that little girl or I will, you hear me?” Nick warned him.

Chris simply nodded, too emotional to trust himself to let out any sort of words. 

“I’m sorry, and I love you guys,” Chris said one last time.

“We love you too Chris. You take care of yourself okay?” Matt said one last time.

With that Chris got into his car and started to reverse out of his brothers drive way while his two brothers watched. Once he had fully reversed, he caught one last glance at his brothers, noticing the tears streaming down their faces. He wanted to stop the car, run out and tell them everything but he simply couldn’t. Instead he gave them one last smile before driving off. Now he was fully alone. Nobody to talk to, nobody to help him. He had nobody at all.

And with that, one single tear swam down his face.

TAG LIST:

@betasturniolo

@mattsbitchh

@nicksloverrr

BONUS SCENE

Nick just stood there in his drive way, tears running down his face. “Now what do we do.”

With that Matt took his phone out, going to ‘find my’ where a moving air tag was displayed. Nick’s eyes widened slightly, realising exactly what Nick had done.

“Now we go and help our brother.”

A/N: Heheh, Part 3 has already been started 😘

luv ya,

Xenya 🖤

Part 3

[monstersdownthepath]

One last question for tonight

I have an idea for a nascent demon lord associated with cannibalism, but in the way The ghoul lord is. No,this demon is an artíst. A king of culinary preparation and grotesque beauty. Creating beautifully horrific dishes, oftentimes in such a way you won't even know it's a sentient creatures flesh!

That second one is a big part of his worship,disguising their ingredients to trick other people into commiting cannibalism Ms. Lovett style.

Any suggestions for abilities and such? I was thinking about making him resemble a well feed anthropomorphic goat,usually wearing a butchers apron and carrying a magic cleaver.

I hope this isn't too weird? I'm still stuck on a name but Anthpagus seems like a fun name.

A demon lord after my own heart... Literally! I myself have conceptualized a critter like this (though it's a daemon) but it's languishing in my drafts until I can space it out further from my last demigod of cannibalism. Good choice in making it a goat; they're underappreciated even among fiends! If you're going to make it a disguised terror, though, you should eschew the smock and cleaver altogether and go for something far more subtle. Casual clothes, or perhaps the clothes of a chef, with exquisitely clean equipment. The favored weapon can still be a cleaver, and that's brought out when an ingredient isn't being cooperative.

In an effort to keep our ideas from overlapping too much I'll refrain from saying more, but as a Cannibalism As Horror enjoyer, I very much like what you've got so far! I'd suggest steering away from that name, though, it's a little too on the nose. Perhaps something like Auntie Page, which is on the nose in a goofy way that a Hag might utilize? Or, if you want to go a full chef route, you can do what I do when picking a name: Run a phrase associated with the critter (like "cooks living people") through Google Translate in a few languages until you get some syllables that sound nice, then trim out excess letters until it resembles a fantasy name!

[bh-writingdump]

Zeek's Freaks

Crimson Meets+ (Ed 1)

[Rough-ish 1sts Draft]

1st C's Meets E / 2nd The Tunnels / 3rd Eye Spy

Ink’s one of the only ones who can remove Ezekiel from the floor. While Ink doesn’t want to mark Ezekiel, the idea of them going in Crimson’s cell, dying and nobody remembering him on the outside is terrifying. (Note: Ezekiel did not tell Ink directly but was overheard by someone else who passed it to Ink.) Ink decides a tattoo is necessary to protect his investment. Crimson’s way of attack is through biting or strings. So by making a tattoo that makes it so strong that when activated, Ezekiel’s skin is like tanned leather will give them some degree of protection.

Unlike Sepia and Ink, Crimson strikes at people for “no reason” and spends more time in solitary confinement than out (aka. the sound proof shield over the cell is dropped). Crimson could go from docile to violent extra fast.

It’s part of why Ezekiel takes so much longer to enter Crimson’s cell than anyone else. Despite Ezekiel being open to having the cell door open, they won’t go within the yellow line. Even with all these precautions, it doesn’t come close to preparing for it.

Crimson comes off the least confident of all of them. The idea of having human, much less a witch this close without some assurance is terrifying. His strings never leave Ezekiel’s neck that 1st time. Ezekiel wouldn’t have entered at all if not for a clear sign of injury which somehow Crimson bandaged.

The discovery of their soul makes the usually calm and collected Ezekiel terrified. Ezekiel screams, clear fear (momentary contact). Crimson lets their body go and holds onto their soul. Not touching it, holding it.

The feeling of terror subsides and Ezekiel finds themselves confused why they were so terrified before, usually they aren’t scared of death type to scream.

Ezekiel tires to negotiate but Crimson touches their soul again, driving straight into a memory. The sensation is palpable, intense, painful. By the time it stops, Ezekiel is legit scared of getting out in one piece even though holding it together somewhat. Profusely sweating and shaking from the strain of their memories being roughly prodded at.

Crimson: she’s your mom. That’s why you’re here.

He grins with satisfaction at their quivering

Crimson: but she won’t come for you, will she? She knew you’d do something stupid. Get yourself killed. Clean her of this mess.

E: no! she wouldn’t—she’s fucked up but she wouldn’t intentionally

C: that’s where you’re wrong. if she wanted you to get better, she wouldn’t have sent you here. she wouldn’t be punishing you throwing you into my cell. She would’ve kept you far from this place as she could.

Crimson opens his mouth. Ezekiel stares in horror at rows upon rows of sharp teeth ready to puncture your soul. Ezekiel closes their eyes, only to feel a chilling breeze that makes the shudder.

C: next time you come in here, I’ll eat your soul, got that?

Ezekiel bolts. Not so much thinking as running. Over the course of months it took to work up to this, Ezekiel began to rely on Peaches for feeling safe, whether or not they care to admit it, a part of them seeks that safety. They type in code. So much habit that they don’t hesitate stepping across the threshold and stepping into Peaches arms.

E: he’s wrong. she wouldn’t she—she cares. She-she wouldn’t’.” It takes several hours for Ezekiel to be semi-cognizant of what’s happening. By then, the leather skin had faded. Bruises circled their neck and Peaches kept petting them, pumping them with affectionate intent. The memory makes Ezekiel tense, ready to bolt again but Peaches manages to sooth them in a similar way Ezekiel did for zem.

Peaches: zeek, look at me.

E: no nonono

Peaches helps Ezekiel look

E; he’s wrong!

P: what color are my eye lights?

E: no!

P: you know the rules.

Peaches is surprised when Ezekiel nods, answering the lamia’s questions and going through a number of exercises.

P: remember, pain is temporary. This will all pass

E: clings to Peaches, shaking hard

It takes another hour to calm Ezekiel down. Peaches keeps zemself between the door and Ezekiel.

E: I’m fine. It’s just a head ache

P: sleep

E: *yawns* I’m not even tired

P: you know what ocean would say

E: Peaches, I work tomorrow

P: he’d say you need to remove the barnacle from up your ass and rest.

E: language.

E: I appreciate the sentiment but I’ve met your sibling. He is great things but affectionate towards me is not one of them.

P: I’ll prove it to you

E: this doesn’t require my presense

P: I’ll talk to him.

Ezekiel tries to climb off but Peaches curls their tail around them and drags them back. Peaches knocks on the wall in code.

E: Peaches, I mean it. let me go.

A furious ratatattat comes back. Ezekiel groans as he’s held like a teddy bear or a cat under the armpits.

P: does that sound like he doesn’t care?

E: I wouldn’t know, I don’t speak in his creative insults.

How many different ways was there to say that they should shove it? Only Ocean would know 99 ways to say it wouldn’t swearing.

P: just try and listen, please?

The message is repeated

E: you’re right, he did say my name so he must care.

Peaches, exasperated: he said if you’re not staying with me until you recover, you should stay with him tonight.

E: well, that isn’t happening.

P: I admire your confidence

Ezekiel tries to get out but it’s like fighting solid rock.

E*glares*

P*smiles*

E*red faced glaring*

Peaches sighs and lets Ezekiel go before they get so pissed that they’re head explodes. They stop at the door, unable to keep their hands steady enough to put on their shoes. the whole mechanics of it upsets them. Tears in their eyes.

Peaches lies next to them, not touching, waiting for Ezekiel to ask for help.

Rather than leave, Ezekiel crawls back into Peaches arms and passes out.

* * *

Ezekiel pretends it didn’t happen the next day. Though when they’re nervous, they tug on their high collared shirt like it’s too tight.

Ink entirely forgot about the previous night but does ask about the strange bruising around their neck. The question is more out of boredom but Ezekiel is quick to leave, finding themselves leaning against a wall beside Peaches cell. There are whispers.

Ezekiel can’t sleep. Keeps thinking of crimson coming for them in their dreams. Ezekiel goes to Ink for a tattoo. This one is to protect their soul. Upon Ink finding out why, Ink adds another tattoo. It’s all located on their back, just under the neck. Ezekiel can’t tell what Ink is doing. It’s a permanent effect that creates bars around the soul that takes significant time and magic expenditure that would even give Crimson a hard time. Enough time that Ink would be able to send guards to Crimson’s cell.

Ezekiel goes up to the glass, telling Crimson that they’re coming in.

E: come out, Crimson, I know you’re in there.

C *laughter*

Ezekiel isn’t sure why they’re here. only that they want to make the nightmares stop. That Crimson will know exactly what he wrought. It takes going into the funnel webs to find Crimson. It’s a maze that Ezekiel easily gets lost in.

There’s voices that echo.

Kid: oh no, here’s here again! RUN!

A chorus of childish shrieks.

Teen: toldja we should’ve laid traps

Tween: and get shocked? That’s all you pal.

Kid: bad spiders bite. We’re not bad

E: Crimson, whatever this is, I’d appreciate if you shut it off now. you’ve had your fun.

Voices go quiet. By the time Ezekiel gets out Crimson is waking up and walking out another tunnel.

Crimson looks up at Ezekiel like he’s seen a ghost.

Strings criss-cross out of nowhere making a new wall that divides Ezekiel from the tunnels.

Crimson laughs ominously, the sound of his feet skitter.

E: Yesterday’s business isn’t over Crimson. I won’t apologize for checking in on you. Reports said that you were seriously injured. Throwing me out would’ve been a sound reaction but touching my soul? You know you crossed a line.

Laughter cuts off, a softer voice speaks. Then the next one comes out gravellier than Crimson’s voice, like he’s got a cold.

C: next time you’ll be dead

No more voices, not Crimson, not a strangers.

Was that Crimson’s magic? The shock collars were notorious for being bad at modulating certain magic types, especially ones categorized as “errors” that could very so wildly.

* * *

It takes time to shake the panic but eventually Ezekiel’s soul settled to return another time. Ezekiel tried multiple times trying to offer coffee like the first time to no luck. It seems that Crimson talking through the glass is remarkably rare. Less rare than him emerging, usually he came out for meals but otherwise would stay inside.

Ezekiel came at night again, giving a warning during the day of how it’d transpire once the staff was gone. Nothing.

Ezekiel enters the cell, sitting down in the one area that the webs light any light through from the outside, coffee in hand along with sugar, cream, cinnamon and nutmeg.

Ezekiel: So… what happened yesterday

Strings shoot out, snatching the coffee but leaving the rest. Ezekiel tensed the intrusion, ready to for a fight. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they noticed a small part of the web had been cut open. Scared hands scoop up the cup. Sniffing, a sip, then coughing.

E: your welcome

Ezekiel admittedly, tried several times to get it right. Perhaps the co-worker they asked had been giving bad advise…

Ezekiel finds themselves, shaking, anxiety, panic, fear, somewhat exhilarating. A need to know so strong Ezekiel asks.

E: I’d appreciate an explanation for yesterday… the other day.

The shield comes down all of a sudden. Shoot. The shifts had switched today.

Ezekiel turns a key on the emergency button. All of a sudden something slams into their hand, pinning them to the wall.

C: you must have a death wish

Ezekiel throws out hand to smack Crimson away only for another string to yank them against the wall. Arms pinned above their head, Ezekiel stares into the glowing ruby red eyes of Crimson. Despite being around Ezekiel’s height, it didn’t dampen the effect as swaths of magic mist roll off them.

C: or what? You think I’ll be your bet for a little respect?

The bindings tighten

C: think again.

Ezekiel takes a moment to examine Crimson’s wounds, incredibly, many of them are on the way to being healed.

E: that’s remarkable. The last time I saw you, I thought you’d catch an infection or something with how they looked

Crimson steps back, covering the gash on his side.

C: how the hell do you know?

Does he.. not remember?

E: I was here last week? After you got in a fight with Sepia?

Crimson looks stone faced at you, no recognition.

E: when was the last time you saw me?

Crimson winces like he’d suddenly got a head ache.

C: couple weeks ago. Speakin’ of

His gaze drops down to your soul. Ezekiel presses their back into the wall.

E: would you like to participate in a test? It won’t hurt.

C: I’d sooner cut a leg off.

E: fair, if not a test, what about a game?

Crimson’s face goes unreadable.

C: what kind of game?

E: eye spy

C: what’s in it for us?

E: more terrible coffee

Crimson looks ready to say no then rubs his head like he’s got a head ache again.

C: alright, beset out of 5. You get 2, I get 3.

E: would you like to start?

The game goes. Brief flicks of excitement come off when Ezekiel loses and Crimson (sometimes not Crimson) wins. Sometimes a brief gasp or an “o” expression that passes that could’ve been Crimson being excited but almost looks childlike.

After Ezekiel loses, they drop off more coffee.

* * *

On the way back, Ezekiel passes by Ocean. Ocean usually has a very peppy cheery demeanor yet, he’s sulking. It’s more challenging practicing with him. He doesn’t seem to be entirely listening.

It’s only when Ezekiel gets up they hear the most beautiful singing. Ocean sings of cozy fire places, dark nooks where no one will find them. Somehow knowing exactly what would appeal to Ezekiel in that moment. They stumble, then crawl into the water, right into Ocean’s arms.

It takes a second for it to register what a bad idea that is.

“Shit. Ocean, I got something’s that’s healing. Why would you even do that?” Ezekiel hisses. The water feels terrible at it, stinging the tender flesh of their wrists too.

“What’s healing?” Ocean keeps up their peppy tone but there’s an edge.

Ezekiel, in a hurry to get out, says, “a tattoo. Recently gone one… on my back—ow! right where touching.”

Thankfully, Ocean lets go after that, letting you use the ladder to climb out only for him to pull up their shirt.

“Not only you went into Crimson’s cell but you went to INK as well?! I thought the rumors couldn’t get more insane.”

E: what I do is none of your concern.

Apparently, wrong tone. Ocean pulls them beneath the water, blue magic making them sink like a stone. If it weren’t for the air bubble around them, they would’ve drown in seconds. “Do you even remember what I said I’d do if you went there again?

E: noted. Can I leave now?

O: no.

Ezekiel remained there for a long time, walking along the bottom of the pool. It’s tempting to knock to get someone else to pull them out but knowing Ocean, this was akin to a time out rather than a way to hurt them. They’d wait it out and Ocean wouldn’t be knocked out for simply caring? Is that what it is?

Either way, Ezekiel was not happy coming out looking like a prune after a 20 minute time out.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Do you have any advice on how to write a noncon scene? I kind of want to try writing one as an experiment, but it’s not something I’m used to writing at all. I really don’t know where to start. I’m worried that it will just end up being cringy.

CW: Discussion of writing noncon under the cut, will not be graphic exactly but it will discuss emotions, resulting trauma, physical effects, etc

So, my first piece of advice is this: do not be afraid of the first go-round being cringy. Do not fear this. It will probably happen, because your first time writing out of your previous comfort zone will often end up feeling stilted or difficult! That is TOTALLY normal, don’t feel bad.

Secondly, let’s talk POV. Because a noncon scene from the whumper POV will be very different than from the whumpee POV. Your whumper can be intimate - they can be forcing some kind of affection into the moment, playacting at this being something other than what it is, etc. They may be sadistic and chasing their own pleasure without any regard for how it hurts the whumpee, or enjoying their pain. 

The whumpee may be frightened. They may be angry. They may get sick, or feel sick. They may be defiant or freeze up (fight, flight, or freeze is a good place to start thinking this through - would my OC fight back? Would they try to get away? Would they just freeze up and go still?)

Some super quick pointers:

1. It is very possible or entirely inevitable that your whumpee WILL be injured unless the whumper takes specific care to take steps to keep them from being physically injured by the process. The process of preparing them is often good for building tension and dread into a scene, but it’s not necessary if it doesn’t fit your whumper.

2. If your whumper is an intimate or romantic whumper, they may spend time trying to make the whumpee ‘enjoy’ themself, or convincing them they want this, or they made it happen in some way, etc. If they are sadistic, they may instead delight in emphasizing how much the whumpee does NOT want it! An overlap may be discussing how beautiful their tears are, etc. 

3. Your whumpee’s thoughts will likely fragment and become disjointed or panicked, but also they may begin to dissoci@te, feeling ‘separate’ from themself and what’s happeing to them. 

4. You don’t need to use a lot of flowery terminology for the body parts involved. I’m a big fan of cutting to the chase. Call a cock a cock, if you will. Euphemisms can be incredibly distracting for the reader and take them out of the scene. But also, if your creepy whumper is like my Savvie Marcoset, maybe they use those euphemisms to build even further dread and disgust in the whumpee without even realizing it. The flowery language may be part of how the whumper hurts them.

5. Noncon is a traumatic event. Your whumpee may try to set it aside, to keep going. Some survivors can rationalize or talk themselves through it long enough to push through the immediate danger. Some can’t. Take some time to think through your OC and what their post-noncon response would be. Every single person who survives a traumatic event is an individual who may have a different response both in the moment and afterward.

Examples: 

Kauri tends to turn it around, because of his own trauma and conditioning, and convince himself he wanted it. He pursues unhealthy physical connections with men for a long time as a way to more or less feel in control of a body he lost any agency over. With Owen, in the moment, he tries to please him and is frightened of not being able to do so well enough to keep Owen happy. 

  @whumpiary’s Cassius Bergen outright seeks out echoes of his own trauma to take control of it, and in the moment even when frightened forces himself to feign being into it, cracks jokes, etc.

@evermetnotforgotten’s Lev often dissoci@tes heavily and simply feels less present during his assaults. 

Danny Michaelson slips into a headspace of eager-to-please to make his experience less horrifying in the moment only to let his emotions out when he’s alone. 

Chris, you’ll notice, even in his memories primarily thinks of what happened to him with Oliver in metaphor and very vague allusions and doesn’t think about it with detail - until his breakdown, when finally you see him remember and acknowledge how absolutely horrifying his experience was, the terror and pain. In the moment, when he is facing it, he freezes up, goes still, and can’t fight back or even run.

  @moose-teeth’s B is a fighter, who defies and fights until literally injured badly enough that he can’t anymore.

  @whump-tr0pes’s Isaac names it what it is but also folds it into his existing struggles with self-loathing.

Antoni simply represses it entirely and refuses to acknowledge it ever happened. Even in the moment with Mr. Davies, he refused to name what was happening to him, because it would make it ‘real’.

6. For writing in the moment - if whumpee POV, keep in mind that as the scene unfolds, the whumpee’s thoughts will likely get shorter, interrupted, cut off. Show, don’t tell - the scratchy cheap sheets under their back, a cold chain around their ankles, the overheated warmth of the whumper, how sweat feels dripping onto skin. Disgust. Nausea. Their movements. Describe it all. Rather than saying, “Whumpee laid on the bed and thought they would throw up”, consider some details that feel more immediate:

Whumpee’s eyes locked on the ceiling fan, lazily circling, clicking softly with each full circle of the blades. The rhythmic click of the fan matched the way Whumper moved, his every rock forward briefly blotting out the sight of the fan, revealing it again. 

His stomach twisted, lurched, and he felt bile rise up his throat. When he coughed, dry and sounding more like a sob, the Whumper clapped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “Don’t you dare ruin this moment.”

7. For writing the aftermath - does your whumper pretend to comfort them? Do they clean the Whumpee up, provide aftercare that is a mockery of affection? Do they simply leave them to clean themself up, or even leave them somewhere where that isn’t possible? Are they injured, requiring first aid?

8. Finally, I want to reiterate my first bit of advice: the first time you write noncon, it will probably be cringy. It’s your first draft! Oh man. The first noncon scene I ever wrote was the actual fucking worst. It was SO BAD. But I reused details from it later on in a much better-written scene! 

Get the writing out, then reread and edit as you go, working through bits you’re not sure about. Consider how you can make the moments connect and flow together.

My biggest advice for a successful scene here is to remember that you are writing an act which will be traumatic to the Whumpee. Don’t throw that aside or ignore it, and to focus on sensory details of the experience to make it more immediate and grounded. 

[idy-ll-ique]

Didn’t Know Where Else To Go.

Pairing: Mob Boss!Sebastian Stan x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff and Angst

Warnings: violence, assault, death, mentions of smut at the end and curse words

Requested: Nope

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes- they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “...didn’t know where else to go...” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

Summary: Sebastian Stan: a mobster boss. Everyone in the city hated him. When he meets Y/N, a new bartender at his favourite bar, she makes it clear that she also doesn’t like him. What changes?

Author’s Note: Hey peeps! The aforementioned prompt is something I read on Tumblr and really liked it. So I decided to write a fic loosely based on it. I hope you guys enjoy this! (This has been in my drafts for a long time, I’m currently working on 2 requested fics)

---

Sebastian POV:

"Boss, there is someone at the door."

"Send them in," I commanded, looking up from my book. The person who walked in with him was… instantly recognizable. My jaw dropped— she had been crying. Her pupils were dilated, she was taking short, fast breaths and her voice was frail. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't know where else to go."

With that, she did the most YA-Novel-Female-Protagonist thing she could do— faint.

It all began 7 months ago. The person who was at the door was Y/N Y/L/N, a bartender at one of my favourite bars ever in the city. The thing is, when we first met, she hated me. Let me take you back 7 months.

Flashback:

I entered the bar, smirking when everyone turned to look at me. They looked away just as quickly, their voices becoming hushed. I looked around, stopping when I saw the bartender. Whoa, this was someone new and damn was she cute. Smiling, I walked over and sat down in front of her.

"Hey, was— oh. What will you like, sir?" I rolled my eyes at her. "Come on, why does everyone do the same thing? What is it about me?" I joked, winking. "Um, the fact that you're a fucking mobster and have been terrorizing the city for the past few years and would kill anyone if they question you? Uh, I don't know, actually," she snapped.

I froze. The woman seemed to really hate me. Here I was, thinking if I buttered her up enough she'd come home with me. I told her my order and looked away from her. "So, why here?" she asked me as she prepared my drink. "I really like this place, I've been here before loads of times. I don't plan to stop," I shrugged.

"Ugh, just my luck," she mumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Look, you don't have to be fucking rude, okay?" I retorted. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Shoot me? That's what you like to do, right? Kill people. Innocent people, let me be precise. No wonder everyone in the city except your goons hate you."

With that, she slammed my glass on the counter and stormed away from me, going to serve another customer. I was left staring at the glass, my figure shaking with repressed anger. She knew damn well I never laid hands on innocent people. No one in the city hated me.

Or did they?

The shaking stopped. What if she was right? I mean, she was much closer to the civilians than I was, what if they all hated me? "Uh, excuse me," I called out, hating how my voice cracked slightly. She glanced at me. "What do you want?"

"Answers."

"Ask the questions first," she huffed. "Does… does everyone really not like me?" I asked her. She stopped cleaning the glass, set it down and looked straight at me. "Yes. They don't like you. You're a mobster boss, dude! Have you seen films with mobster bosses? All of them, evil as hell. See how everyone in the bar became quiet when you came in?"

She had a point. "You know I would never lay a hand on innocent people," I defended myself, glaring at her. "Look, I'm sorry but we can never be too careful. What if you snap one day? What if you go rogue? Everyone lives in fear. They're afraid of you. And it's not like I can change everyone's mindset all at once."

"I guess you're right," I muttered, downing my drink in one go. "Hey, Mr Stan?" I looked up. "Y/N Y/L/N. I shouldn't have snapped at you," she apologized quietly, holding her hand out. "Doing this to get onto my good side?" I teased and she laughed.

"Come on, man! Doing this to show people you're not all you seem to be." I took her hand and shook it. "It's very nice to meet you, Y/N." She nodded and went back to cleaning the glasses. "Can I get one more drink?"

"I hope you didn't drive here." 

"I came on foot, actually. My house is just down the block." She gasped, startling me. "Mr Stan, giving your address away to strangers? How irresponsible of you!" I couldn't help but laugh. "I guess I trust you to not do anything bad." I spent another 2 hours there, chatting with Y/N.

She was a really fun person to be around. She had completed her education but was searching for jobs. In the meanwhile, she had decided to work here. 

By the time I was done drinking, I was too tipsy to even walk. "K, I'm goin'," I slurred, standing up. "Mr Stan, don't— oof," Y/N hissed as I fell off the chair in my intoxicated state. She rushed around the bar and helped me stand, wrapping her arms around my waist. "You can't walk in this state."

"I need to go home," I whined. "As it turns out, you've stayed long enough and now it's closing time. Let me get my coat." She dumped me on the chair and went to fetch her coat. I admired her from afar. 

She wore a mini-skirt that was flirtatiously snug around her thick thighs and a tank top. When she wore the coat, it extended past the skirt. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and she was looking very sexy in the dim light. "Damn," I whispered under my breath, smirking.

When she returned, she helped me stand. I draped an arm around her shoulder and we stepped out of the bar. "Okay, which direction?" I pointed to the right and we proceeded to walk. "Have you ever gotten this drunk before? Because it's obvious you can't handle booze."

"Not really, I usually have to stay sober for my job. We need real intellectuals in the mob biz, you can't have drunk idiots running a mob," I laughed, finding it hard to keep myself upright. Shouldn't have drank so much…

"Right now, sir, you are a drunk idiot," Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes. "Thank you, I will take that as a compliment. Plus, you can just call me Sebastian, it's okay." She shook her head and silence fell between us. "Tell me when we're there," she spoke quietly as I felt a headache coming.

"Being drunk sucks," I pouted, "I'm not even having a good time! It hurts everywhere—" "Probably because you fell off the chair." "—and my head hurts! I don't understand why people like to be so drunk." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You are seriously reminding me of my ex-boyfriend. He couldn't handle drinks either and I always had to babysit him when he got back home drunk," she muttered. "You can babysit me anytime!" I said cheerfully. "You're drunk, Sebastian, stop flirting with me."

"But you're so cute."

"Thank you, that is very kind of you."

"And se— we're here! That's my house!" She stopped in front of my house and rang the bell. "Is anyone at home or do I have to tuck you in?" she joked. "Nah, my best buddies and right-hand-men live with me. One's name is Chris—" Just at that moment, Chris opened the door.

"Wha— Sebastian? Are you drunk?"

"Sorry sir, I didn't know he couldn't handle drinks. I'm Y/N Y/L/N, the new bartender at Red Tavern." With that, she passed me to Chris. "Thank you for bringing him home, Ms Y/L/N. It's not your fault he got intoxicated, he should've known when to stop. He didn't cause trouble, did he?"

"Oh no, of course not, sir. He's fun to be around," she commented, gesturing towards me. I grinned. "Please, he's really not, you don't have to lie. Anyway, thank you so much again! Do you want a lift home? I can ask Anthony to drive you home." 

"That would be great, thanks. My house is in the opposite direction, it's a bit far…"

"Absolutely no problem. Anthony!" 

A few minutes later, my other friend, Anthony Mackie came downstairs, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah— oh, Sebastian is— damn." He tried to hold his laughter in. "Yeah. While I get him to his room, do you mind dropping her home? That's Y/N, she brought him home." Y/N waved at him.

"Of course, I don't mind. Thanks, Y/N, for taking care of our boss." She shook her head, waving her arms in dismissal. "Absolutely no worries, sir." They walked away, closing the door behind them. "She's cute, right?"

Chris blinked at me. "You have a crush on her!" he guffawed. "Duh, man. Did you even look at her? Girl was oozing sexiness," I smiled in fond memory. "Okay this got weird fast, I'm just gonna take you to bed." He got me to my room, placed me on the bed and left.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I passed out.

End Flashback.

"Y/N!" I yelled, jumping out of my seat to catch her in time. "Get a suite ready," I barked angrily at a few people, who immediately ran in fear. "And you, get me some water and a blanket." The person nodded shakily and ran out of the room. I picked Y/N up and carried her to the couch, laying her down. I sat next to her, checking her temperature.

Oh no, I needed a doctor. I took out my phone and called my personal practitioner but before I could speak, Y/N coughed. "Y/N," I whispered, cutting the call. "Sebastian, it hurts," she moaned. "Don't worry, doll, I'm calling my doctor. Stay here tonight."

"I don't have anywhere else to go." I froze. "Your house?" I asked. "That's… that's where I got attacked. I can't go back," she cried. "Wait, just— just take rest, we'll talk when you're better. Get some sleep, I'm calling my doctor." I called him again, glancing at Y/N when she took my other hand and closed her eyes. 

I chatted with him for five minutes; he said he'd take half-an-hour to get to my place. "Damn it," I grumbled, keeping my phone on the table. Just then, one of my servants returned with the glass of water and the blanket. I thanked her and she left the room, so it was just me and Y/N.

"Y/N, sweetie, can you please get up for me?" She opened her eyes. "What?" Oh God, she was getting weaker. "Have some water." As soon as I held the glass of water in front of her, she freaked out. Screaming, she pushed the glass out of my hand and it fell to the floor with a 'clang', the water spilling everywhere.

"No, no water, no… no…" She sobbed, pulling at her hair. "Okay, okay, no water! No water! Y/N, calm—" I grabbed her hands and clutched them in mine. She stopped sobbing; looked at our hands and then at my face. I brought her hands to my lips, softly kissing them. "No water. It's okay, Y/N, you're safe with me."

"Safe," she breathed heavily, "That's what he said to me before he poisoned me!" Who was he? Okay, she was getting insanely paranoid now… "I'm not like him, Y/N, I don't wanna hurt you," I whispered, looking straight into her eyes.

"Yes, you are! You both can't handle drinks!" she yelled, her tears beginning to flow once more. "Wait." My nostrils flared. Her ex-boyfriend, he harmed her? "Y/N, please, this is not good for your health, why don't you try to calm down? Breathe, baby girl, please," I pleaded.

She seemed to momentarily come to her senses. "Sebastian…" Without warning, she sat up and flung herself in my arms. And for once, I didn't mind holding her close. "You're okay with me. I'm not him. I am not going to harm you, Y/N, trust me," I mumbled into her hair, rubbing her back.

"I trusted him," she sobbed, "And he tried to kill me." This time, my anger won. I vowed to myself, if I don't kill her ex boyfriend in the next 24 hours— "I am nothing like him. We may have one shared trait," I rolled my eyes at its stupidity, "But I am nothing like him. For once, I wouldn't harm you even in my dreams."

Her sobs started to subside. "That's it, doll, don't cry. I'll keep you safe. Even if I die trying, I'll let no harm come to you." For 7 long months, I missed her. I missed her a bit too much. Every waking moment of mine was spent thinking about the beautiful bartender.

She was in my dreams. She was constantly on my mind. I longed for the moment when I could meet her again and ask her out. Alas, that time never came. 

A week after we met, I had to go to Romania for some important work. I spent three months there and when I was back, Y/N was no longer working at the bar. She found a new job and I had no way of locating her anywhere.

I knew Anthony dropped her home that one time but when I asked him, he told me she had asked him to drop him off somewhere else. From there, he said, she was going to walk alone. He offered to drop her home again, but she refused. Having no choice, he returned without knowing where she lived.

That resulted in me not knowing where she was. I was heartbroken and told myself to stop thinking about her. I became more and more engaged in work, I became moody, temperamental and cold-hearted. Everyone started fearing me more now.

And I finally saw what Y/N meant.

What if you snap one day?

That day was closer than I thought. Even though I became a much more accomplished mobster, there was one thing I couldn't do even if I tried— forget about the love of my life. 

"Seb, it hurts." I was brought back to the real world. "What hurts, baby girl?" I whispered, pulling her closer. "Head. Stomach. Legs. Arms. Heart." I smiled sadly at the last word. "I'll help you heal, Y/N, you don't have to go anywhere until you're better." She nuzzled into my neck. "I'd like that."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," I called out, it was probably the doctor. Sure enough...

"Mr Stan? Oh, you have a guest." I tried to shift to make space for the doctor, but Y/N whimpered. "It's okay, Mr Stan, she clearly feels safer with you here." I placed Y/N on my lap, covering her with the blanket. "This is my friend, Y/N," I spoke fondly, though I really wanted to add 'girl' in front of 'friend'.

"Nice to meet you, dear, I am Dr Greenwood." With my help, he quickly ran some tests on her. "Hm, she has a fever, her heart rate is very fast and that's not good. Is there any other problem you're facing?" She nodded. "Headache and stomach ache."

"She claims to be poisoned," I added. "Oh dear me! I need to run a blood test, will you be so kind as to extend your right arm?" She did as he told her and he quickly took some blood. "Will she be fine?" I asked worriedly. 

"Well, she seems to be doing okay currently, which means the poison hasn't affected her yet. How about I get back to you by the morning? Just keep an eye on her and if something happens, bring her to the hospital."

"Okay, doc. Thank you." He nodded and got up. "Bye!" Y/N called out weakly; he smiled at her and left, closing the door behind him. "You've got to tell me everything, doll," I whispered, putting her down on the couch. She lay down and I sat on the floor near her head.

"Okay, I will tell you. It was a few hours ago," she began quietly, "I was at home, watching the seventh season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine when someone rang the bell. When I opened the door, my ex burst into the room forcefully. He pushed me."

My breathing sped up. "He pushed you? How dare that asshole—"

"Let me finish?"

"Go ahead, love, I'm sorry."

"Right, so he was very very drunk. And he was talking about how I broke his heart by breaking up with him and how he was so mad at me that he wanted to kill me. In front of me, he popped open the bottle of beer with him and poured an entire bottle of poison in it! An entire bottle! Then he attacked me and pinned me to the couch, forcing me to drink the poisoned beer."

"How did you escape?" I whispered. "By kicking him in the balls. Unfortunately, I ended up gulping down a sip and panicked. Seeing no other choice, I pushed him as hard as I could and he collided with the table. He hurt himself and became unconscious. I ran out of the house to the first place I could think of— here."

"I'm glad you came to me, Y/N, you'll be perfectly safe here. Our security is top-notch," I chuckled. She smiled, too. "Where are Chris and Anthony?" she noticed. "They're in Romania. They decided to stay back."

"Wait, that's where you were this whole time? You didn't come to the bar again and until then, I found another job so I quit. I thought you would never come back. I missed you a lot," she pouted. "I missed you, too. I was actually in Romania for 3 months and when I came back, I couldn't find you. I didn't even know where you lived, I didn't know where to look."

"What matters is now we're back together again!" she squealed. "You should rest for a while," I muttered, running my fingers through her hair. I checked the time, it was almost 2 am. Laughing when she yawned, I sat up. "I guess I should."

"Come, I'll take you to your room." I stood up with Y/N still in my arms. "I don't wanna be alone," she worriedly spoke, "What if he's awake and comes looking for me and finds me here?" 

"No one is finding you here," I sighed, "I'll stay with you, okay? Just tell me your address." Without thinking, she narrated her entire address and looked up at me with sleep-hooded eyes. I walked into the suite my people had readied for her and placed her down on the bed.

"I'm right here, just relax and try to sleep," I crooned, running my fingers through her hair. She immediately closed her eyes, which relieved me because she was listening now. When her soft snores filled the room, I heaved a breath and got up. Covering her with a blanket, I left the room, quietly closing the door behind me.

---

"This is the place," I spoke to myself, stopping my car under the building. I got out and entered, taking the elevator to the sixth floor where she lived. When I reached her apartment, I noticed that the door was still open. I walked in, my gun ready as I looked around the place. Wow, Y/N maintained this place well.

I searched every room thoroughly, starting with the living room, then the kitchen and then the two bedrooms. Shit, did the asshole leave? Y/N told me she left him in the living room. I was about to leave when I heard belching coming from one of the bathrooms. I opened the door to the one closest to me, only to see someone puking in the toilet.

"Ew," I whispered and he looked up. "What the fuck—" He flushed the toilet and wiped his mouth with the toilet paper, "—are you doing here?" I realized he was still under the effects of heavy drinking. "Y/N told me everything," I sneered, hiding my gun behind my back.

"She knows you? Pfft, I knew she was a whore, why would she leave me for a goddamn mobster? Everyone in the city hates you," he jeered back. "Um, why don't you consider this? You're an abusive and possessive asshole and Y/N left you because you obviously were treating her badly?" I snapped.

"Don't get smart with me," he snarled, taking out a knife from his back pocket. "Oh," he snorted when I glanced at the knife, "Yes, I came prepared to cut that bitch up if she tried to fight back." The language he was using to describe Y/N was getting to me now.

"Enough!" I stated firmly, so firmly that even he paused. "I will not have you talking about Y/N like this, you are crossing a line." He returned to laughing. "Care too much about one of your sluts? What is she, your girlfriend?" Okay, he didn't have to rub it in…

"I said—'' I whipped out the gun and pointed it at him, "—enough. If you don't stop badmouthing Y/N—" He interrupted me again by laughing. "Of course, you're gonna shoot me. You like to murder innocent people, that's all you are! A bloody, fucking cold-hearted murderer! Y/N would never leave me for a guy like you! She is your slut!" he spat.

"Are you listening to yourself?! You tried to fucking kill Y/N because she couldn't put up with your abusive ways and your disturbing habits! I do not kill innocent people and I don't plan on killing them ever," I growled, "However, I do make exceptions for abusive boyfriends who treat my friend wrong!" 

With that, before he could retort, I fired three bullets at him. All three hit him in the chest and I watched as he fell against the floor, instantly dead. Some of his blood sprayed on my clothes and face, which made me scrunch up my face in disgust. But as I watched his lifeless body on the floor, a smile bloomed on my face. 

Y/N was safe.

I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, washed my face and decided to go back. But before I could, I realized that Y/N would be spending some time with me and would need her necessities. So before leaving, I packed two full-sized travel bags with her clothes, electronics, footwears, toiletries and sanitation products; anything I deemed necessary for day-to-day living.

Soon, I left the apartment with the bags to go back to Y/N.

---

"Seb?"

I looked up from my book as Y/N sat up, yawning and clutching her head. "Y/N, the results came back, you're going to be fine," I told her happily, sitting down next to her. "Really?" A smile bloomed on her face. "Yes! Dr Greenwood said you didn't swallow too much poison and that you will most likely excrete the amount you swallowed." She nodded.

"That's great news! I'm glad he brought one of those cheap poisons instead of the deadly ones," she giggled. Just his mention made my temper snap. "Oh, don't even talk about that jerk," I snarled, "I took care of him last night and now he won't be bothering you anymore."

She blinked at me. "You killed him, didn't you?" she deadpanned and I blushed. "I mean— I didn't—" I stammered but gave up when she raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I killed him," I muttered, looking at my lap. When she placed her hand on my cheek, I turned to look. "I'm not mad at you. Bitch had it coming."

I burst out laughing at her word choice, which made her smile, too. All of a sudden, she leaped up and wrapped her arms around my neck, catching my lips in a kiss. I stopped laughing and put my arms around her waist, kissing back. Had this just happened? Was she kissing me?

"I love you, Sebastian," she murmured upon pulling away, straddling my lap. I kept the book away and pulled her closer. "Really? I love you, too." She snorted. "Kinda obvious, you killed a man for me. I wasn't going to make a move on you but now I'm sure."

"Hm, my intelligent sweetheart," I grinned, leaning forward to kiss her again. The problem was solved and all was well. "What are your plans for the day?" she asked me, trailing a finger down my face, jaw, neck and chest. "Hm, don't have any," I smirked, pulling her closer.

"Wanna stay and… have some fun?"

"Boy, do I?"

Y/N laughed loudly as I flipped us over, laying down on top of her. Her laughs soon transitioned into moans as I attacked her neck and jaw with kisses.

We did have fun.

A lot of it.

A bit too much of it.

But who cares?

I was finally with the love of my life and everything was good.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

[ffwriterbts]

Lunar- BTS Werewolf AU Part 2

AN: As I’ve said before, if slowburn BTS werewolf AUs that have springlings of angst, smut, and fluff, this is the story for you! Other than that, please leave a like or comment so I know you’re enjoying the story!! I’m also looking for a beta reader or two for this story, if you’re interested in that! Just shoot me a message or leave a comment and I’ll get in touch!

Word Count: 2455

Warnings: None

Posted: 12 Dec 2020

Masterlist 

Previous Next

Eventually YN fell asleep, but she couldn’t remember when. When she woke up, however, she was laying down, with the wolf’s massive head resting on her stomach. Absently, she strokes the soft fur around his ears, sighing and curling into the blanket. She can’t help but love the feeling of it between her fingers, smiling to herself as she thinks semi-clearly about the events of the night for the first time. 

YN is completely shocked by the events thinking about them now. This giant wolf not only understands her, but he talks back. He was comfortable in her home, the doors were big enough to take him in easily, and he was oddly sweet, in making her finish the chicken. And to top it all off, he was severely injured! Taking a quick glance at the bandages, YN has a passing wonder as to how much healing the wolf had done overnight. 

Quite suddenly, the wolf lets out a short growl, and YN jumps. The massive head lifts, looking her in the eye, her hand still tangled in the fur behind his ears. It seems like forever that the two stare at each other, eyes locked, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. 

He breaks the intense eye contact, turning his great head and yawning before standing. YN watches in awe as the wolf stretches, careful of his injury, before he turns back to look at her expectantly. 

‘Eat?’ 

The voice, low and clear and much less pained, startles the girl into motion. 

“Yes of course, let me make you some meat. How’s beef sound? I’ve still got a lot of that in the fridge.” YN stands, quickly clearing the blankets and pillow from the ground. Hearing no clear objections, YN heads into the kitchen, ready to prepare enough food to feed an army. 

She doesn’t pay too much attention to where the wolf is or what he is doing, but she can feel his eyes following her from one place to the other, and she can feel the draft from the door that he had nudged open. Quietly, she explains what she’s doing to the wolf, wanting him to be comfortable. 

She couldn’t have explained why she felt the need to tell the wolf everything she was doing, but for some reason she felt that it was important that this wolf trusted her. 

It is because of this that YN is in the middle of explaining why she prefers to use one seasoning brand over the other when the wolf lets out an ear-shatteringly loud howl. She flinches so hard she almost spills the cooking meat, hands flying to cover her sensitive ears as she whips around to find where the wolf is and what he’s doing. 

The great wolf, his beautiful black coat shining in the morning light, is standing just outside her back door, eyes gliding over the trees as he lets out another howl, his face turning up to the sky. He looks like he is waiting for a response, and YN can tell that he got one when his head snaps sharply to the left of the small path YN loved to take. 

Quite suddenly, the wolf turns around, padding back into the house and partially shutting the door behind him. He leaves enough room that he could stick his nose or paw into the crack and open it if he needed to, giving himself an out. YN lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when the wolf returns to lazily lying in a patch of sun in the kitchen, his attention fully on YN and her movements while she makes the food. For whatever reason, she didn’t want the wolf to leave just yet. 

                                                           ~~~

The rest of the morning and the afternoon go well, with no hitches or startles. YN quickly falls into the habit of telling the wolf all the things she’s doing, not wanting him to be startled by anything she’s doing, and the wolf just watches her, not reacting much to what she does, and instead occasionally bumping his head into her hand for a light scratch behind the ears. 

When YN changed his bandage after they ate, she was shocked to see how much he had healed. While the wound was still clearly very tender, it looked like it had been healing for weeks or months instead of just a few hours. YN shook it off, deciding that it was just some strange ability this even stranger wolf had. It had been shown to her clearly before this point that he was special in more ways than one, so why not have accelerated healing? 

After the bandages were changed, and YN told the wolf just how well he was healing, the pair went back into the living area. YN took a seat on the lovely leather couch her uncle had left her, taking her usual seat and telling the wolf that he could come up if he wanted and was able. With a small noise that YN couldn’t place, the wolf clambered onto the sofa, laying his great head in her lap again. 

Without a second thought, YN turns on the TV and absently begins to stroke the fur around the wolf’s ears, relaxing at the repetitive motion and mindless noise. Together, they sit like that for a few hours, both of them resting and healing and mulling over the events that had happened to both of them. 

                                                             ~~~

There they stayed, for a long while, both half asleep and mulling over the events of the past 24 hours. YN was slowly coming to terms with everything that had been happening around her, with all of the weird things this strange, inky wolf could do. Absently, she wondered what else the wolf could do, and if the fanciful bedtime stories her uncle used to tell her were actually true. 

The wolf seemed to be resting peacefully, seemingly completely unaware of the turmoil swirling around in YN’s head. The wolf was just waiting, wondering when the rest of his pack would get there, and what the determination about YN would be. He knew that, despite his growing fondness for the strange human, if the rest of the pack didn’t share his liking for her, he would be forced to do things he would rather not do. 

When the door bursts open, YN might as well have jumped completely out of her skin. When before there was relative silence and peace, the room now had an unknown number of bodies snarling and pawing around. YN was understandably terrified, not having any idea as to what was going on or how that would affect her. 

The black wolf that she had been sharing her home with for the past day rose to his feet, eyeing up the other wolves that had entered the room. YN could feel the tension as the black wolf snarled, snapping as the other wolves did the same. All she could think about were the sharp, gleaming teeth and huge bodies around her in a way that was almost suffocating. 

Fear was rolling off the girl in waves, to the point that the wolves all were put on edge, looking for a threat deserving of that great amount of terror. 

It takes a couple minutes, but eventually all the bodies in the room calm down. YN gets off the couch and heads towards the kitchen, giving herself the illusion of an escape that puts her mind at ease. At this point, she is able to see that a  beautiful grey wolf and two light brown wolves have joined the black wolf she had opened her home to. 

Her living area is filled with the sounds of the wolves “talking” to each other, which YN decides not to break until there is a reason to. 

‘Who are you?’

Once again, the voice is directly in YN’s head, but this time it isn’t the black wolf. It seems to be coming from the grey wolf, but YN couldn’t be sure of that. 

“I’m YN, I moved in a few months ago. My uncle left me the house when he passed.” She answers simply, eyes flitting between the new wolves as “her” wolf comes to stand beside her. There seems to be some sort of silent communication going on between them that YN isn’t privy to, though she feels that it’s important for some reason she can’t place her finger on. 

‘Niece? Good.’ 

The same voice is in her head, and the fierce look in the eyes of the wolves fades into a softer, more general one. YN is confused by the statement, and the actions, remaining on edge, awkwardly shifting on her feet. 

“So, uh, do you guys want some of the beef I made earlier? I don’t know how far you guys have gone or have yet to go but food’s always a good idea, right?” YN can feel her ears burning with an unknown embarrassment, as she looks between all of the wolves before her. 

One of the light brown wolves yelps and heads towards YN, who puts her hands up on instinct, fear rising in her chest that she was going to be the one on the menu. Instead of attacking her through, the massive animal licks her palms, yelping some more as the word ‘eat’ is exclaimed into her mind. 

Letting out a little giggle and petting the massive head before her, YN is put more at ease, smiling as she turns and walks into the kitchen properly. 

“Well, I’m not quite sure how I’ll do this, because I only have one of these big bowls and there are four of you here, but I’ll figure it out.” YN muses to herself, again telling the wolves everything she’s doing so they don’t think she’s up to something, completely unaware of the fact that each and every one of the wolves in her home can read every one of her thoughts with complete and utter ease. 

“Oh! I have a baking sheet! I can just put it on there and you guys can share, yeah?” YN asks, dropping to her knees to rustle through a cabinet and find the baking sheet in question. Hearing no complaints, YN prepares the meat for the wolves, placing it carefully on the floor, holding onto one corner so it wouldn’t slide around on them. The two brown wolves quickly move to take tentative bites, the more playful of the two occasionally tossing his head over towards YN to receive a few scratches before returning to his eating. 

Once they finish, YN takes and dutifully cleans all the dishes she had made that day, ears straining to make sure she wouldn’t be attacked from behind, but yet trusting them enough to turn her back to them. She sings softly as she works, playful kid songs that she used to sing with her grandparents as she did her chores, inadvertently playing those loving memories for the wolves in her room as she does so. 

By the time she has finished with her chores, she turns to find the black wolf asleep directly behind her in a nice patch of sun, the grey wolf is carefully watching her actions from the corner of the room, and the two brown wolves laying further away, also having found nice patches of sun to lay in. YN smiles to herself, finding the sight of the wolves lounging in her space oddly sweet, before stepping over the black wolf, crouching down beside the great beast, giving him a few soft pets to partially rouse him, waiting for his eyes to open before letting him know that she would be checking his wounds and changing his bandages. 

She could feel the shift in tone as the great wolf let out a bit of a whine as the bandages come off, the others perking up a bit to watch what YN was doing, immediately ready to jump to his defense if she were to try to hurt the wounded wolf any more. 

Weary of the eyes on her, YN sets about making sure that she has everything she needs to clean the wound and change the bandages with as little pain to the wolf as possible. 

“Alright wolf, this is the part that stings, I’m so sorry.” She mutters under her breath as she does what has to be done, impressed by the amount of healing that’s been done already. 

“At this rate, you’ll be good to go by late tonight or early tomorrow morning.” YN sighs, taking the old bandages and throwing them out, before turning towards the wolves again. 

Checking the time, YN shakes her head and explains to the wolves that she is going to go to the study and write, as that’s what she usually does during this time, and that they are welcome to come with her if they want to. Turning on her heel, she heads towards the study on the second floor, fully expecting the wolves to either leave, or to just stay where they were. She really did have work to get done, regardless of the strange wolves that seemed way too comfortable in her space. Deadlines were deadlines, and she really didn’t want to have to crunch out a crap chapter for her editor, regardless of everything going on around her. 

What YN didn’t expect was for the black wolf to follow right behind her, limping slightly as he goes, but following nonetheless. Or for the two brown wolves to half-bark at each other, following behind their inky counterpart much more playfully, bumping into each other in a way that YN would have said must have been painful. Or for the grey wolf to follow behind them, much more somber than the duo in front of him, moving smoothly and surprisingly silently through the house.

“You do know there’s no sun to lay in, the study is the innermost room. Please don’t mess anything up, if you can help it, the study is my private place, really.” YN speaks much softer than she had been, causing the wolves to pay more attention to her words than before, feeling the importance of them. 

She opens the door, smiling to herself at the sight of the beautiful old books, the scattered journals, the overstuffed-and-ancient chairs, the slightly dusty paintings on the walls from artists YN couldn’t hope to know, the soft lighting, everything. It was comforting, but packed full of memories, some of which were still too painful and fresh to think of. 

YN heads over to the giant desk, opening her laptop and settling into the seat. She was aware of the four pairs of eyes that followed her movements, and she similarly followed theirs as they each found areas to curl up in. The grey wolf stayed by the door, facing it as if to make sure nobody tried to come in. The two brown wolves circled around the room a bit, before settling down by the overstuffed couch against one of the walls, both of them moving around periodically. Something in the back of YN’s mind told her that they were young, restless in a way that gave away their age.

It was the black wolf, however, that captured most of YN’s attention. He decided to place himself directly behind the huge desk chair, similarly positioned to the grey wolf, in the way that he seemed to be there for some sort of protection. She thought it was strange, the way these giant wolves were being so gentle, so protective. 

They settle in like that, with YN quickly getting immersed in the chapter she needed to finish, words flowing out of her in a way that made her feel almost buzzed. She loved that feeling- the feeling of creating, of making something out of nothing and breathing life into something so dead as a piece of paper or a computer screen. 

The whole scene was peaceful, in her opinion. She felt protected, she had ideas flowing out of her, and despite the fact the desk and it’s accompanying chair were both way too big for her and a little uncomfortable, she absolutely adored the study and all it had to offer. For whatever reason, it felt to her like home- the wolves in her space, the ideas, the old-artsy style of the room, all of it. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Cry Me A River.

anonymous  asked:

Prompt: Cry me a river, I cried a river over you.

Part TWO:

In the days following their first meeting, Claire did as Jamie had suggested and began reading her uncle’s memoirs the moment he emailed them to her.

One box of tissues hadn’t been enough.

Neither had two.

The bin beside her bed had been emptied a few times by the maid who supposedly was only employed to clean once a week but seemed to be there every day. She would (unobtrusively) appear in Claire’s room. Remove the overflowing bin and return it empty - a task she was certainly capable of herself but had no energy to point out.

As predicted, the draft was funny, sad, motivating and humbling all at the same time. She could pick out Lamb's voice in an instant and it made her sob harder to think that she’d missed these precious moments. There were embarrassing stories written about her, but she found that she didn’t mind them. This was for Lamb, by Lamb and she knew everything he’d passed on to Jamie was something interesting and vibrant, something suitable to be shared. Her past was suddenly coming back to life before her eyes, an easier time (though she hadn’t realised it). Free of the restraints of her family name and the ridiculous entitlement that had gone with it. The words seemed to lift off the page and in an instant she was back in a dusty tent, the taste of her first cigarette still coating her tongue as she coughed and laughed with some of the younger members of the group.

It had been a flurry of thought, her mind alive with images she’d forgotten long ago, an emotional rollercoaster that excited her and punched her in the gut all at the same time. When she reached the end, Claire had returned to the beginning and started again. She read deeper into each and every word, hooked on the sentences as they took her from his early life - a life before her own had even started - through to nearly the very end, until Jamie’s voice became larger than Lamb's as he took the reins of the story.

As the day of the funeral dawned, Claire had yet to even leave the confines of her appointed room. Cleverly, food had been left on a tray outside her door at mealtimes and she had not been disturbed by anyone in the house for anything. There were calls, of course, from the family solicitor and the funeral director to arrange the final details but he had sorted the newspaper announcements in a number of different ways to ensure that colleagues far and wide knew of poor Quentin’s departure.

She had even written the eulogy - but, without thinking, she had incorporated and rewritten some of her favourite adventures from the book. It seemed fitting to use his own words, to add a little of Lamb into his own funeral.

Though without Jamie’s support, she knew she couldn’t use it.

Terror gripped her at the mere thought of asking for permission. Having been absent -her own choice- when she should have been a more conscientious niece, Claire felt unworthy of using the words Jamie had so very carefully hashed out with Lamb during their long days together. Part of her thought *maybe* he should be reading the speech that sent him off to his final resting place. After all, it was him that had seen him the last important years of his life.

She could tell, though, that there was no way he would accept that. Something about his demeanor the day he’d picked her up, unannounced, at the train station told her much of his character. He was selfless, that she could guess. Willing to go above and beyond for the people he cared for - and she suspected he held Lamb in such high acclaim that he’d personally seen to it that she was provided for in every way from the second she arrived as her uncle would have wanted (despite her previous lack of attention).  

Staring at her unpacked suitcase, the remnants of her search for a decent funeral outfit still splayed half across the floor of the small room, she sighed and turned to face her closed laptop once more. The temptation to open it up and re-read the manuscript again was growing by the minute though she knew she didn’t have the time.

“Claire?” A knock on the door brought her out of her longing and she threw the half crumpled summer dress (why she’d packed that, she’d never know) onto the bed with a pile of other rejected outfits.

“Yes? Is the car here?” She questioned, looking at her watch to confirm that it was indeed still too early and that she still had time.

“Nay, not yet. I just wanted to make sure ye were alright. Mary said ye didna eat the breakfast she prepared for ye this morning and I was a wee bit worrit.”

Pulling the ties of her dressing gown closer around her chest, she pulled the door open wide enough for him to see that she wasn’t half starved and languishing on the floor. For the first time in a while an honest smile graced her lips and Jamie’s forehead evened out and the weight of worry fell from his shoulders. “I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful...it’s just that I'm not really that hungry this morning, sorry.”

“Did ye read it?” He asked, changing tac as he pointed to her computer where it sat, positioned haphazardly on the bedside table. He seemed intrigued and the rise of his question gave her the perfect opening.

“I did. It’s...magnificent. So powerful, and funny too. I forgot how much he used to make me laugh.” Her face lit up as she spoke, the deep lines on her brow easing as she sat on the bed causing Jamie to have to cross the invisible line into her room for the first time since she’d arrived. “Honestly, I can’t imagine it not being snapped up - at least by his former colleagues and friends - the moment it hits the press.”

The smile that made Jamie’s face beam from ear to ear made Claire’s heart swell. Genuinely worried about her response, he was obviously pleased that she’d found it acceptable.

“I have a question to ask, if it’s alright with you?” She continued, his relaxed demeanour bolstering her.

“Aye, ask away.”

“I’ve written my speech, the eulogy. Reading through his biography gave me a myriad of ideas, it reminded me of how much light and energy he brought to the world...but I used it to help me in writing my account of him. I’ve tried to put my own memories into my own words, though I’d like to use some of his own -some direct quotes from the manuscript…”

“Can you hold on for a moment, please?” He asked, holding his hand up and then rushing from the room.

Holding her hands together in her lap, she waited, her heart beating double time as she tried to quell the rising panic. If he said no, she’d understand but she would have some quick thinking to do.

She had nothing to worry about as Jamie returned in a flash, a piece of paper clutched carefully between his fingers. “Here,” he said, passing it over, “read this. I think it would be perfect to add to what you’ve already written. It was something we spoke about in passing the last few days and I wrote it down, just on the off chance that it would fit somewhere. No’ knowing, of course, that it might be the last thing we spoke about in reference to the book.”

Happiness fled from his eyes for a second as the sobering reality of what they were about to do set in before he shook the sombre feeling from his bones and placed his hands back carefully in his freshly steamed trousers.

“Oh, Jamie,” she sobbed, the new tears blurring the words as she held the paper away so that they didn’t ruin the script, “it’s perfect...but I think you should read this. You heard his voice, you’ve written what he told you so beautifully that I think he would want it to be you who voiced this in church.”

Grinning as he shook his head in disbelief, he took the proffered notepad back from Claire and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Are ye sure?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Ye should wear this,” he returned, changing the conversation once more as he plucked a clean lined black dress from the unsullied pile on the case. “Ye’ve still got the blazer he had made for you, the one wi’ the tools embroidered on the pockets and down the collar?” He asked, reminding her of a later section of the book, one where he had detailed Claire’s Masters graduation gift in detail including the story of the seamstress who’d adorned the pesky fabric and pinned herself that many times she’d scored the prints off her fingers by the end.

“Yes,” replying through the rapidly falling tears, she pointed to the door where the aforementioned article was hanging neatly on the back. “I still have it.”

“Aye. The dress wi’ that. You’ll look stunning, Claire.”

--

The service went out without a hitch; the church was packed, people having travelled halfway across the globe to share this arduous time with both Claire and Jamie. She’d spoken at length, far surpassing the one sided sheet of paper she had originally intended to stick to, the words falling from her freely. She felt stronger than she had on entering, her eyes glazed and large as she took in the sheer size of the audience, but once she had started, she found it difficult to stop.

Jamie did his part spectacularly, having almost the entire visiting congregation in hysterics. Just as Claire had predicted.

It made the wake a more relaxed affair and she stayed in amongst a group of Lambs oldest friends for the most part, laughing and reminiscing with them about everything she’d been taught by them and Lamb.

Seeing the light hearted nature of the conversation, Jamie watched from afar, talking to people here and there about the anecdotes he had shared during the funeral. She’d been quiet, of course, barely making a sound in the house since her arrival and he’d been cautiously optimistic about her opening up to him sometime soon. The aura of sadness she carried with her had distanced itself, the invisible black cloud dissipating with every breath she took of Scottish air and although she was still a mostly closed book, a small part of him wanted to entice her to stay and heal in Glasgow, on neutral ground, rather than return to Oxford straight away.

“I think that’s the last, Jamie.” Breaking the silence, he looked up to see the empty living room, a few plates strewn around with various elements of discarded food in the absence of life which had once preceded it but no more mourners.

“We should…”

“How about we leave it, just until tomorrow,” she interjected, sliding the last of the food waste into an open black bag, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“Aye,” succumbing to the extreme fatigue that covered him from head to toe, he grabbed a tumblr and held it aloft, “agreed. How about a wee dram and a private toast?”

“Perfect.”

“To Quentin.” The commencement began with him passing Claire a double whack of whisky before clinking his glass with her own. “A man of honour…”

“...and grace…”

“...with passion and love in his heart.”

“Long may he rest in peace.” Claire finished, slugging back the spirit and closing her dry eyes. She’d finally cried herself out, and though she felt the familiar tinge of sadness building in her chest, she managed to feel somewhat at peace herself at long last.

[kinsbin]

Like Father Like Daughter

Title: Like Father Like Daughter Ship: Dad!Will/Dad!Hannibal/Daughter!Xena [Platonic F/O stuff] Rating: T [minor talk of ptsd and violence]

Summary: Xena’s been avoiding Will and Will can’t figure out why. An urge from Hannibal to talk with their daughter results in a heart to heart that the both of them desperately needed. 

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for A YEAR and my bff and I have finally picked up watching Hannibal again and it inspired me to finish this!!! He’s featured in it too because we’re honorary kids together of these two SO. It’s a huge comfort thing to me and Will Graham, as a character, is someone I related strongly to... I just want him to tell me its ok.... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen in the Lecter home was busy, as it always was around lunch time. Hannibal contented himself with the preparations for the main course of lunch while Xena scurried somewhere in the other corner to make dessert. To be technical, he supposed they would both call it a tea snack. A light after-lunch aperitif to satisfy that sweet craving everyone seemed to get at the end of a good meal. Regardless of its vocabulary, watching his daughter happily hop around her corner of the kitchen brought the slightest hint of a smile to his face. They both worked to the tune of the operatic music he had chosen to be the background to their art, the need for conversation silent in the abyss of the granite castle they both found themselves happy within.

Xena was finishing up her tea cake, it smelled of lavender and lemon and he had to applaud her on the plating it was going through without a doubt, when Will came in. 

Hannibal gave a smile to his husband while Xena averted her gaze for a moment, focusing a little too hard on cleaning the plate that the sweet bread had been placed upon in hopes that it would make her not have to acknowledge the new presence in the room. Will stared at her for a moment when he was sure she wasn’t looking and Hannibal could feel the tension in the room between the two. He tried to disperse it with conversation.

“Good morning Will, or, should I say afternoon?”

“You’re getting on me about sleeping in, but, Ara’s still sleeping isn’t he?”

“He’s a growing boy. You are a grown man,” Hannibal’s voice is easy, teasing as he gestured towards the table, “Lunch will be ready soon.”

“He and Ara need to get better sleep,” Xena commented off handedly, “You’re both always up so late at night.”

If it wasn’t meant to be a jab, well, it still came out that way. Will felt the waves of emotion rolling off of her body as it still did not face him. He dared instigate, awkwardly peering over to her and looking at the cake she had made, impressed with the skills his daughter had in the field of cooking. Of course she spent all of her time with Hannibal. Of course she would be good at it.

“It looks delicious.”

Xena laughed, breathy and nervous, and nodded, “Thanks. I need to use the bathroom though, I’ll be right back. Don’t eat it before I get back.”

And she was suddenly out of the room. As quick as he had appeared, she had dissipated. A fog of smoke in the nothingness, leaving Will behind as he watched her trail go. He sighed, hands into fists as he returned to the kitchen table and all but flung himself down on it. Hannibal watched the tantrum from afar before adding his commentary.

“You should go talk to her.”

“I tried that,” Will gestured back towards the cake with a bitter chuff, “Clearly it went very well.”

“I mean,” Hannibal put down the knife he was holding, “You should go TALK to her, Will. There is a reason she avoids you.”

“Do you know it?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answered, “But I feel as though it is a reason you both should discover for yourselves. By talking it out.”

Will gazed at Hannibal for a long moment, the intensity between their determined faces causing a growing echo of electricity to thrum between them. With an exhale through his nose, Will felt himself pinch its bridge as he shook his head.

“She’s not a patient, Hannibal, she’s our daughter. Can’t you just...I don’t know. Give me a hint?”

“You’re the empath,” Hannibal answered cooly, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I feel...frustration. Worry. Nervousness,” Will listed the emotions he had seen radiating from the girl not moments before, “I felt...I felt fear, Hannibal. She’s-Is she afraid of me?”

“...No,” Hannibal relented at last, picking his knife up and returning to his preparations, “I believe she is afraid that she will become like you.”

Will paled at the suggestion. Hannibal continued to talk.

“Xena, for all of her pleasantries, has an equally impressive ability to feel the emotions of others around her. She’s demonstrated it to both of us on more than one occasion, as you are aware...I believe that, upon realizing just what she has in her control, she couldn’t help but think back to the things that happened to you. The things we told her and what you’ve gone through. Your...condition. The results of overusing it...She is afraid that-”

“That she’ll be like me if she interacts with it too much,” Will spoke as more of a realization to himself than to his husband, “Overstimulated. Overworked...To the point of accidentally hurting someone. Not being able to tell reality from dreams and...”

Another heavy silence as Will considered the consequences of the debate they had just gone over, the words swirling around in his head as he imagined the possibilities. He looked down, imagining his hands covered in blood as they once were. Imagining them as his daughter’s hands, trembling with terror. Looking up to see Hannibal’s face, calm and understanding. He knew one day she would do this. It would happen. And-

“She won’t become me.”

“Tell her this yourself, then,” Hannibal urged softly, “Aurelian may take after you, but it is Xena who truly relates to you. She needs your words, whether she is ready to hear them or not.”

The silence was heavier in the room after that, the echo of Hannibal chopping away at the remains of his meal preparation filled the room before Will exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Hannibal was right. He knew he was right...

Why was it so hard, then?

Will stood up just as Aurelian entered the room, eyes bleary from sleep as his dogs trotted eagerly at his side. Will didn’t miss the opportunity to greet the two pups and give his son a light ruffle of his hair as he meandered his way to the dining table, leaning his chin into a palm of a hand as he watched Will exit the room with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Where’s he going?” Ara curiously piped as Cairo curled at the base of his feet. Pyrrha had made it a point to greet Hannibal with a press of her wet nose to his hand before continuing to beg for the food on the table, making the older man shoo her away to her master’s side as he gazed off after his husband. Hannibal, in turn, only offered a shrug.

“Finding Xena, I suppose. Would you like any coffee this morning?”

“Oh, yes please!”

---

She wasn’t in the bathroom, which wasn’t too great of a surprise. Still, Will found it moderatley annoying to have to search for his daughter in the maze of their house. The rooms felt all too endless suddenly as he attempted to deduce just where she had went this time in her efforts to hide away from her father. Hide away from him... The thought hurt, but not as much as the determination to take Hannibal’s advice and see if he might work this out with her.

For their family’s sake.

Will eventually located Xena hidden in the spare television room, a book in her hand and a highlighter between her teeth as she stared down at it, busily reading through page after page and highlighting certain points with intense focus. He noticed only then that it was a cooking book, one that Hannibal had gotten her for one of her birthdays. A French literature, written in its national language so that she would have to learn. Have to take her time. She did, of course, her urge to cook and hyperfocus winning over her want to simply use google translate.

He had to remember to talk to Hannibal about discussing her coping mechanisms with her during manic episodes. That was for another time.

He knocked on the frame of the door he had stood in, nervously announcing his presence and startling the girl out of her focus as she whipped her head to face him. Her eyes widened ever so slightly and she bit her lip, signaling that, indeed, she had been avoiding him. Indeed there was no escape from the confrontation they were about to have. The sweat that formed too suddenly on her body proved her knowledge of this and her face, carefully reading his own emotions, burned somewhere in his heart as she put the book down at her side and closed it, using the highlighter to mark her page. 

“I was just...” Xena tried to defend her actions but went silent, unable to.

Will sighed and entered the room fully, sitting down on the couch she was on, only slightly further away.

“You were just avoiding me.” He spoke curtly to her, making her wince and fiddle with her fingers, picking aimlessly at the skin of her hand and avoiding eye contact. She wanted to protest but she could not. 

She knew it was true.

“I... Look,” Will took a deep breath, rubbing his face for a moment as he sighed, “Empathy is... a powerful thing. A scary thing to someone who doesn’t know just how to use it or-”

“You’re saying that,” Xena hoarsely spoke up with a furrow of her brow, “Like you know how to use it.”

“I do. You know I do. I used it to-”

“To solve murders. To fix people’s lives,” Xena huffed in return, facing him fully and frowning at his gaze, “For what, though? For your own PTSD to hit you fully and for your mind to break during all of its use? Yeah, lifelong hallucinations are a great example of using your empathy right, good advice.”

“I never said that I knew how to use it the right way.” Will returned her snap with one of his own, brows creasing as he stared at the surprised look on her face, “I just said I knew how to use it. There’s more than one way to use a tool, Xena.”

Xena curled into a ball then, taking a breath as she rested her head on her knees and thought for a long, quiet moment. She enjoyed quiet as much as he did sometimes. As much as the two of them rarely seemed to spend time in the house together, Will and Aurelian fishing and her and Hannibal cooking, they could always enjoy that point together. Sometimes they reveled in the endless quiet of a room that sat with them as they worked or read or did whatever together.

He understood why they had a lot of problem’s talking now, he supposed.

“I don’t want to use it,” Xena finally admitted as her voice broke slightly, “I don’t want to feel... I don’t want to feel EVERYTHING. I don’t want to have to use it in a right or wrong way! I never asked to FEEL this much. To know every aspect of someone’s emotions even when they don’t! To know the feeling of someone else and relate to it to the point where I can see their point of view. To touch the same thing they did and know what they wanted to do to it and-” 

She was crying now, eyes shut tight as she buried her face in her hands to hide the tears from him. Will felt her emotions from his spot as she likely felt his. Hers were overwhelming. Of fear and worry and disgusted regret. A series of emotions and traumas building up like dams inside of her hart that finally burst. Will gave off emotions of worry. Of concern and light pity as he watched the girl cry before him. Taking a breath, he moved closer to her. He wrapped an arm around her and brought her close to his form.

He hugged Xena like that for a long moment, thumb brushing along her shoulder as she tensed but allowed it, curling into a smaller ball in an effort to pull away from the world. In refusal to accept the statements she had put out for herself. Because she knew, deep down, that she couldn’t stop herself. Her feelings would always be there. Just like his were. Just like they were now.

“You don’t want to,” Will sighed, “But you do. We can’t... change our feelings inside of us anymore than we could change the ones we love. We just simply have to cope. I coped by trying to understand. By using it to my advantage and, well, it didn’t work well. But you? You can learn how to cope a thousand times better...”

“H-How do you figure?” Xena sniffled.

Will smiled at her.

“Because you have me. You have your brother. You have Hannibal. I was alone when I was handling this... You? You aren’t, Xena. We’re family and, no matter what you think or feel or do, we’ll always be there for you. That we can promise.”

It brought a new wave of tears to Xena’s eyes, followed by feelings of regret and profuse apologies spilling messily from her lips as she held Will close, burying her wet face into his chest. He sighed but allowed it, kissing the top of her head and petting the small of her back until her heavy sobs faded into weak whimpers and hiccups of nothing but the excess noises in her throat. Tears stopped soon and her body slumped, exhausted with its emotional outburst as she held her father close to her, curling into him. He held her in return, keeping her safe from the world. The world that hurt him how it did.

A new protectiveness overcame him. A need to make sure that she never let that world near her. That she would be safe from it.

“’M sorry I avoided you,” Xena shakily sighed, “I just... was scared if we were together it’d be too much a-and I’d... just end up being mean or snapping or... Lashing out for whatever r-reason and I didn’t... You don’t deserve that.”

“I understand,” Will sighed as he ruffled her short hair with a soft smile, “We can talk about these things now though, alright? It’ll be hard but...”

“We could schedule a therapy session,” Xena grinned slightly, “I heard we’re near to a renowned professional.”

Will laughed at this, poking at her side before standing up. Wiping his own face and composing himself, Will offered her his hand, which Xena took and stood up on shaky, exhausted legs as her final sigh indicated that she was done crying for now.

“Lunch should be finished,” He decided upon looking at the clock curiously, “What do you say we eat with the others?”

“O-Okay,” Xena smiled, holding her father’s hand and not letting go, not even as they meandered through the halls and back to Aurelian and Hannibal, “You’ll... Like my cake, I think. Father said he made it for you once and you liked it... So I hope you like mine.”

“I’m sure it’s edible.” Will retorted with a hum, making Xena roll her eyes as they re-entered the kitchen.

Seeing his husband and daughter hand in hand made Hannibal smile as he placed plates of food in front of Aurelian and himself. He gestured to the two plates prepared on the kitchen counter, complete with a garnish atop them still steaming as he hummed:

“Good of you two to finally join us, let’s eat together shall we?”

“I’m starving,” Xena bemoaned as she took her plate and sat herself comfortably next to Aurelian, who was already chewing thoughtfully on his own meal as he scrolled through his phone. 

Will smiled at his family one last time before picking up his own plate and joining them, the food warm and the scent of freshly baked cakes still permeating the air as the four of them discussed their day plans, words leaving with comforting familiarity from their lips. Will enjoyed the scene in slow motion for a moment. From Aurelian’s lips moving to ask about a trip to the vet for his girls to Hannibal thoughtfully considering making the appointment and Xena making some sort of joke that ended with both of them groaning, it was a beautiful sight.

Xena turned to Will and smiled, feeling that same emotion roll from her chest in waves of comfort that overwhelmed them both for only a moment before it returned to a steady, sweet cadence of comfort.

A feeling of family. 

[theofficersacademy]

Days grow ever shorter as the cold deepens across Fodlan, sprinkling the first powders of hoarfrost from its icy hand. Roaring fires become the eye of every household, a halo of red to match that which cloaks the silhouettes of wolves under the growing moon, their distant howls striking fear into the hearts of shepherds in the dark.

At Garreg Mach monastery, a request has come in from the Goneril Valkyries for assistance in manning and repairing Fodlan’s Locket. An early snowstorm, coupled with the damage from Gricenchos two months prior, has caused no small trouble for Fodlan’s primary eastern fortress. A call goes out to the Golden Deer House:

Golden Deer Mission: Assist with Protection and Repairs of Fodlan’s Locket!

This season’s rotation belongs to the Golden Deer! As before, threads using tasks from the Golden Deer board must contain a Golden Deer character as a participant, but there are also non-mission tasks available to everyone without restrictions.

GD Mission Task Board

Ever since the incident with Gricenchos, already-fraught tensions between Fodlan and Almyra have run even higher. Captain Irina has seemed more stressed lately whenever Elam, head of Almyra’s border guard and Irina’s ‘friend’, appears at the Locket. It appears that, against her better judgment, he’s adamant about offering his help too, along with a couple of the friendlier Almyrans. Surprisingly though, the most immediate issue seems to be that the Almyrans’ wyverns won’t stop bullying the pegasi! Got any solutions?

Part of the Valkyries’ training is learning to maneuver their pegasi dauntlessly through arrow fire: a pegasus knight’s worst fear. However, with so many of the archers who usually assist them assigned to other duties or relocated throughout the Alliance, they’re short on hands. Anyone who has some experience with a bow and is willing to help with their flight drills or man a mock ballista would be a huge asset. [Grants Bow +1]

Just before the storm that devastated the Locket, a routine patrol came across an odd young man traveling alone in the northern region of the Throat. Something about him seemed strange, and he carried a sinister, bejeweled set of gauntlets made in striking Kupalan style. Even odder, he seemed to completely vanish before the patrol could bring him in. The snowstorm had come in from the north and completely unexpected, and rumors are spreading that he might have been the cause. Likely a snowstorm is just a snowstorm, but with all the unease, Irina is obliged to at least ask you to investigate. [Grants Gauntlet +1]

Distress calls have come in from some of the surrounding settlements as well: destroyed bridges, travel routes covered in snow, people who went missing in the storm. There’s no shortage of work to be done, but everyone is forbidden from going out without at least one partner. The Locket also has a team of search and rescue dogs for occasions like these that are trained to help, so take along one of those big fluffers with you!

Work never ends at the Locket, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t time for enjoyment, too. Late at night, when the howling winds of the Throat are at their loudest, the border guard sets up a bonfire in the fortress courtyard, passing out roast meat and warm drinks and sharing a song or two. The temperatures may be dropping faster in the mountains than almost anywhere else in Fodlan, but the view of the night sky is unimpeded: a moment of peace even in all the tumult.

NEW! As a new day dawns in Fódlan’s Throat, a caravan of supplies arrive in the Locket! Much of it is just what you need, but it seems like an extra treat has snuck its way into this new shipment: Dagdan chocolate! The soldiers stationed here are brimming with excitement: the story goes that hot cocoa warms your bones like nothing else, and given the winter they’ve been having they are all eager to try it. You better go see if it’s worth the buzz before they run out!

NEW! With this new shipment of supplies, it’s time to give them to villages in need! The horses and oxen have all been drafted and assigned to carry the heavy loads to the most remote villages. Where does that leave the closer villages, you ask? Well, surely even *you* know how to pull a sled across the snow, right? No more backtalk! Start hauling! [Grants +1 Heavy Armor]

Non-Mission Task Board

Local villages are sending a plea to the church for help: bolder than ever this year, wolf packs are terrorizing livestock, and one shepherd has already been killed trying to defend his herd at night. People have painted their doors with a bow and arrow: a tradition to invoke the protection of Indech who is said to have once defended villagers from the same threat. But the wolves prowl ever closer...

The annual Faculty and Knights Mixer takes place in the second week of the Red Wolf Moon! Now is the opportunity for students to get to know their teachers and the holy warriors who guard the Seiros faith. Rumor is that the dining hall brings out their best food for the occasion. Share a casual chat, or for the sneakier among us, get into someone’s good graces for those top marks. [Grants Authority +1]

There’s been talk of a particularly enormous canine stalking the outskirts of Garreg Mach, and several reports of this rare monster sighting have led the administration to decide to do something about it. Apparently, there’s someone who also claims that this massive wolf is guarding a collection of highly rare wootz steel in its den. The blacksmiths would love you if you could bring back some of it.

The 21st of the Red Wolf Moon marks the anniversary of the founding of the Kingdom, and the dining hall is serving foods from Faerghus to celebrate. Though not as lavish as the Alliance Founding Day fair, there are a few events going on around town too, among them jousting tournaments, horse races, and horse shows in the spirit of Faerghus’ most well known traditions. [Grants Lance or Riding +1]

A tragedy occurs not even five hours into the new moon. The statues of the blessed saints Macuil, Indech, Cichol, and Cethleann have been ruined! From head to toe they are dressed in the most hideous and gaudiest clothes that Fódlan has to offer. Each one has been found with a piece of parchment pinned onto their chests, bearing a strange symbol. Reports indicate that some of the students, particularly known members of the historical book club Pages of the Incunabula, have been seen wearing this same symbol on their chests. You better not join them! Protect the remaining statues from being defaced, and bring these evildoers to justice!

NEW! Who can concentrate on homework and assignments when the Ethereal Ball is just around the corner? There isn’t much time left before the event, and everyone is working their hardest to make sure this year’s ball lives up to its legacy! Whether it’s decorating the main hall, preparing the food, or cleaning up the rest of the monastery, help out with the preparations! Or grab a dance partner and get to practicing your steps!

NEW! If you thought too many people visited the monastery for the new year, just wait until you see how many people are willing to make the long journey for Garreg Mach’s founding day! While you can help the clergy manage the crowds, some of the priests are more concerned with assembling the perfect choir to sing all five songs for this lengthy service. If you have the pipes of an angel, why not go to tryouts this weekend? [Grants +1 Faith]

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Golden Deer. Therefore, tasks from the ‘GD Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone from the Golden Deer House. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their house. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-GD muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays a GD muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards.

Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person. You are also free to combine tasks in your thread. However, you can only claim any skill points once, and one thread can only count for one skill point.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 5 notes (not counting likes, only reblogs with replies in them) and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point. The mun dropping the thread is not eligible to claim the point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

[jamesgierach]

Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot’s

“State of the City” Address, 2019)

(Excerpt) (Draft prepared by James E. Gierach)

Mayor Lightfoot’s “2019 State of the City” Observations and Aims re Violence, Gangs, Guns, Drugs, Immigration, Healthcare, Policing, Racism and Corruption

[CHICAGO_. Marking her FIRST 100 days in office as Chicago’s mayor, just a few days before Labor Day 2019, the following comments are taken from a SUGGESTED DRAFT of Mayor Lori Lightfoot’s first “STATE OF THE CITY” address.]

‘My fellow Chicagoans —

Though we have made progress in reducing the number of HOMICIDES and SHOOTINGS in Chicago, violent crime remains all too prevalent in too many Chicago neighborhoods, increasingly leeching even onto “the Magnificent Mile,” into our best neighborhoods, and onto Chicago expressways.

VIOLENCE can erupt anywhere in today’s climate.

Though the number of ILLEGAL GUNS recovered by Chicago Police has increased, likely to reach 10,000 illegal guns by year’s end, and despite numerous anti-violence initiatives and strategies put in place over three, Chicago mayoral administrations spanning decades, I am convinced that so long as DRUG PROHIBITION remains “the Law of the Land,” Chicago will continue to be plagued by painful, unrelenting gang and gun violence.

DRUG PROHIBITION PROFITS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF CHICAGO GANGS. And Chicago gangs are the center core of our gun and violence crises.

Under the new leadership of Gov. JB Pritzker, effective January 1st, Illinois has LEGALIZED RECREATIONAL MARIJUANA, and soon will have largely removed marijuana from drug-dealer shelves, the drug substance most commonly used by Chicagoans, Americans and people around the world.

This great accomplishment was achieved by thoughtful LEGISLATIVE ACT and by stoke of the GOVERNOR’S PEN — not by action of a drug task force, paid-informant, or raiding police SWAT team.

I hasten to add: By delivering this “State of the City Address,” I AM NOT RECOMMENDING THAT PEOPLE USE MARIJUANA.

Individual freedom to choose whether or not to use marijuana, because recreational marijuana use has now been legalized in Illinois for persons 21 years-of-age or older, does not mean individuals should choose to use it.

But I do applaud the removal of marijuana from the REVENUE STREAM of Chicago GANGS and UNLICENSED DRUG DEALERS, who use those revenues to buy weapons of mass destruction — ASSAULT WEAPONS and HANDGUNS. Those weapons in the hands of drug gangsters are used to intimidate witnesses, acquire turf, and lure kids with aspirations to succeed in life by passing through a “GOLDEN PROHIBITION GATEWAY” that purportedly offers easy money and the accumulation of great wealth without need of formal education or hard work.

But MARIJUANA LEGALIZATION IS NOT ANSWER ENOUGH to right today’s wrongs, resulting from society’s return to the sorry Al Capone-chapter of Chicago prohibition history.

I say, DRUG PROHIBITION IS WORSE than a hundred alcohol Prohibitions in terms of unintended and unforeseen bad consequences.

AL CAPONE needed to buy trucks and warehouses to move and store bulky liquor, a big capital outlay limiting entry into the business. In contrast, drug prohibition invites every smart, disadvantaged, or aspiring kid into the powdered, drug-concentrate business without need of startup capital. A plastic baggy containing heroin, fentanyl, cocaine or other powdered drug worth $1,000 on the street won’t even bulge a youngster’s bluejeans pocket.

All that is required to go into Chicago’s, drug-prohibition business is a gun to compete and a pair of gym shoes to get away.

The illicit drug business attracts not only the young and ambitious, but also experienced and disparate parolees. For many thousands of “ex-cons” released back into communities on Chicago’s West and South Sides, and elsewhere, drugs are often the EMPLOYER OF LAST RESORT.

These ill-conceived societal rules have instilled in the minds of many people living on the fringe of society the notion that “It’s them or us,” “Kill or be killed,” “I’m not going back to prison.” This desperate and unforgiving thought must end. But how?

Dr. Gary Slutkin, founder of CEASEFIRE, a violence-interrupter nonprofit organization that has received funding from the City of Chicago, among other governments, was nearly correct 30 years ago when he first suggested that we should treat violence as a disease.

More correctly, he should have said, that DRUG PROHIBITION is a disease that causes unending violence, and many other systemic diseases; and that all are without cure or significant remediation, UNLESS WE RETREAT from counterproductive drug-prohibition policy.

I believe that so long as we have drug users unable to access a legal, labeled and reasonably affordable supply of the substances to which many users are addicted, the myriad horrors of drug prohibition will continue to fowl the Chicago landscape. Those DRUG PROHIBITION horrors, implicitly built into all drug prohibition policies, include the following UNENDING and INSURMOUNTABLE CHALLENGES:

• ACCIDENTAL DRUG OVERDOSE DEATHS, caused by users’ voluntary consumption of unlabeled, untested and unregulated illegal drugs;

• drug warriors and innocent crossfire victims left dead or wounded in unending, Chicago TURF WARS, including street-settled drug business disputes and RETALIATORY SHOOTINGS;

• gang members needfully armed with ever more POWERFUL GUNS to meet rival competitors in a free-for-all fight for CONTROL OF DRUG MARKETS, customers and gang members;

• UNAFFORDABLE, BULLET-HOLE HEALTHCARE;

• the need for MORE POLICE, metal detectors, cameras and MORE TECHNOLOGY in the public way;

• the need for MORE SCHOOL SOCIAL WORKERS, counselors and trauma centers;

The list of drug-prohibition horrors is much longer, and without exhaustion includes:

• RACIALLY-DISPARATE and HEAVY-HANDED POLICING;

• MONEY JUDGMENTS in the hundreds of millions of dollars expended to settle ABUSIVE POLICING LAWSUITS and fund DOJ CONSENT DECREE COMPLIANCE;

• CRIMINAL COURT INJUSTICES;

• FAMILY SEPARATION and BREAKDOWN, caused by MASS INCARCERATION of nonviolent (disproportionately Black and Brown) drug users, and dealers-dealers trying to survive and make a living;

• communities filled with unemployed and often UNEMPLOYABLE WORKERS needlessly saddled with drug-conviction backgrounds;

• and TERRORIZED IMMIGRANTS, DRUG-WAR REFUGEES really, flocking to the U.S.-Mexican border, and eventually to friendly cities like Chicago, to escape the violent consequences of UNITED NATIONS-MANDATED and U.S.-SUPPORTED drug prohibition policies adversely impacting many people from Central America and Latin America.

Of course, DRUG POLICY REFORM ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH.

We must continue and accelerate our “WEED AND SEED” INITIATIVES with enhanced job opportunities, infrastructure improvements, and government and private investment and cooperation—all essential ingredients to address these problems, as long-recognized by all.

But what we have all been much slower to recognize or callout is the UNINTENDED DAMAGE caused by DRUG-PROHIBITION POLICIES enacted and enforced at the LOCAL, STATE, NATIONAL and INTERNATIONAL LEVELS.

ZERO TOLERANCE OF DRUGS has been the watchword and commonly-supported public policy endorsed by the masses, political and religious leaders, and honorable members of the press for too long — OVER HALF A CENTURY.

This mainstream intolerance, and implicit and explicit endorsement of drug prohibition governmental polices, has preceded successive Chicago, and American, DRUG CRISES with marijuana, LSD, cocaine, crack cocaine, PCP, heroin, ecstasy, methamphetamines, fentanyl and 803 newly invented synthetic mind-altering substances, the latter over just the past decade.

The “SHADOW REPORT” — prepared by the International Drug Policy Consortium (IDPC), based in the United Kingdom, a collective of over 100 nonprofit organizations — authoritatively documents GLOBAL DRUG POLICY FAILURES, including DRAMATICALLY INCREASED PRODUCTION OF OPIATES, COCAINE and SYNTHETIC DRUGS over the past decade. I refer all Chicagoans to the 138-page IDPC report available in five languages. https://idpc.net/publications/2018/10/taking-stock-a-decade-of-drug-policy-a-civil-society-shadow-report

Finally, I acknowledge that, alone, Chicago cannot untie the DRUG-PROHIBITION GORDIAN KNOT, cinched so tightly to so many of our Chicago problems for so long.

It will require the cooperation of the CHICAGO CITY COUNCIL, COOK COUNTY BOARD, the ILLINOIS GENERAL ASSEMBLY, the u.S. CONGRESS, the UNITED NATIONS COMMISSION ON NARCOTIC DRUGS, the INTERNATIONAL NARCOTICS CONTROL BOARD, ECOSOC, the UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY, the WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION and approximately 186 NATIONS OF THE WORLD who have heretofore agreed to support and execute disastrous, UN drug-prohibition CONVENTIONS and POLICIES.

Alone, no one can solve this gargantuan, monolithic, global and Chicago drug prohibition policy conundrum with poisonous tentacles reaching everywhere.

But I intend to dismantle the illicit drug business in Chicago by fighting for EXPERIMENTAL DRUG POLICY REFORM IDEAS, including programs and initiatives embracing drug decriminalization and drug legalization.

And of course, Chicago will also be supporting drug treatment on demand, clean needles, naloxone for all, methadone, suboxone, buprenorphine clinics, mobile drug dispensaries for on-site consumption, safe injection sites, and other HARM-REDUCTION INITIATIVES.

TOGETHER, WE CAN DO THIS. WE CAN AGAIN MAKES DRUG POLICY A MEDICAL PROBLEM, NOT A RAINFALL OF SOCIETAL PROHIBITION CRISES.

We can do it by supporting drug-tolerant ideas aimed to eliminate prohibition drug markets and undercut gang revenues, ideas that simply “TAKE THE PROFIT OUT OF DRUGS.” Because armed gangs will not give up their core, addicted user-base without a fight, I will deploy Chicago police to protect drug users and drug dispensaries at every location and in every legal drug venue.

Now, I’d like to turn to Chicago’s financial problems, including our billion dollar budget shortfall, our budget-busting contractual pension obligations, school contract negotiations and the failed soda tax….’

[Draft prepared for the Honorable Mayor Lori Lightfoot by James E. Gierach, a supporter and admirer of Mayor Lightfoot.]

James E. Gierach

Palos Park, Illinois

Originally drafted, Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Edited, Friday, March 5, 2021

[Mayor Lightfoot’s Thursday address now about 48 hours out.]

[ravenhunt-blog]

By the Light of the Harvest Moon

Kravitz’s work was always at least a little dangerous- it was impossible to hold the title Reaper of Death without acknowledging the risks Death provided. After all, so many people would do anything to avoid drifting into the peace of the Endless Lake.

Some just chose much nastier routes than others.

The face that met his eye in the mirror was unfamiliar- not the usual human facade he put on, but a nondescript new one. Something unrecognizable, the kind of face no one would look at twice on the street. Maybe not his most attractive work when it came to a disguise, but effective- he didn’t want attention today. He wanted to get in, get this over with, and get out.

Rotten luck that the full moon happened to fall on Harvest.

He spared one final look towards the living room- he’d said his goodbyes to Taako before changing his face. Faint laughter could be heard- Lup giggling over something Barold had said in an accent no one could understand three drinks in.

They’d be fine for the rest of the evening. And he’d be back long before sunrise.

Grabbing his cloak off the coat rack, he wrapped it around himself, the raven feathers and velvet transforming into something nondescript and black. Just a woolen traveling cloak. Hand outstretched, his scythe materialized and in one smooth motion he cut a portal through the Astral Plane, stepping out.

His boot connected with cobblestone street, the only sound the wind whispering in the shutters of closed windows- every shop was closed for the holiday, and no one wanted to be outside to face the beginnings of winter’s chill.

Kravitz pulled his hood up over his head, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself as he made his way down the street, head down.

Here and there windows were lit, figures vaguely visible through the frosted glass, and he smiled at the image as he passed- the past six months had really endeared him to the value of time spent with the living, time spent with others.

But behind one set of lit windows, his work awaited him. And he doubted very much that would be an endearing sight.

Pausing outside the door down to the basement, Kravitz took a deep, unnecessary breath, letting his physical form fall away for a moment so he could ghost through the cracks in the door, nothing more than a particularly chilling breeze drafting through the hallways of the dimly lit cellar.

He could hear the muttering of voices and the soft scrape of cloth on dirt and stone floor as he navigated the basement. He stopped once the firelit chamber was in sight, the hooded figures meandering the room. Some were already falling into their placed in the circle, others were making last minute preparations- opening the slits in the ceiling, straightening the cloth across the altar.

The empty altar- they hadn’t brought in the sacrifice yet.

Resolidifying into his cloaked form, Kravitz slipped into the room, an illusion over himself so that eyes slid away from him like water on wax. He was here, but no one would truly notice. At least, not until it was too late.

As the minutes ticked closer to the moon’s peak, the tension in the room became palpable. The hooded figures clustered around the altar, all of the muttering in the room quieted to a silence so profound Kravitz could hear every individual heartbeat.

And down the hall, he could hear two more. One slow and one fluttering and fast- faster than any heart he’d ever heard. And louder, footsteps.

Whoever they’d taken for the sacrifice must be terrified.

The door to the cellar opened and the crowd around the altar parted, kneeling for the high priest’s entrance. Loath as he was to do it, Kravitz followed suit, biting his tongue against the bile rising in his throat. There were few things he hated more than cults like this- cults that twisted Her Majesty into a bloodthirsty demoness.

But there was no second figure bound and being dragged in with him, no The high priest raised a bundle of cloth in his arms to murmured wonder and appreciation.

“At long last, my fellows… We will taste true innocence.”

As he unwrapped the bundle on the altar, a piercing cry split the tension, followed by gurgles and whines, the sounds of a creature too small to even understand what was happening, upset only by the cold surface it was now laying on.

Something visceral twisted in Kravitz’s stomach, an instinct he was certain had never even developed, and had been long since lost with centuries of undeath.

The sacrifice on the table was an infant.

Slowly, all of the cloaked figures rose from their kneeling positions and began to chant in an old tongue- one that Kravitz knew to his bones. It was the tongue Her Majesty had spoken to him in all those centuries ago, coaxing him back together from the pieces he’d been torn into. A powerful language that sounded out of place and jilted in the mouths of mortals.

The words themselves held power, but it was sickened and weak compared to the Raven Queen’s true majesty.

Kravitz glanced up at the slits in the ceiling from under his cloak- the moon was beginning to peek through, light pouring across the altar closer and closer to the wriggling bundle of cloth and the high priest.

As the moon reached its height, pure white light filtering down onto the altar, the high priest raised a wickedly sharp blade, the chanting rising to a height of volume and power to complete the ritual.

For a single second the moon was in perfect alignment, and a blade cut through the night air, light reflecting off of silver.

Pure, unadulterated terror and pain shone in the man’s eyes as the scythe slid clean through him, body and soul. Even the slightest nick from Kravitz’s blade was enough to send a mortal soul packing to the Astral Plane, but this demanded a special sort of punishment.

Screams and shouts sounded as the other members of the cult realized the truth of their fate, and Kravitz stretched out his free skeletal hand, purple fire sealing off all of the exits. His cloak shifted back into it’s regal raven’s feather shape, hood falling back to reveal a skull with eyes glowing red. And when he spoke, it was with a chilling deep voice, not his natural voice or the accent he pulled for work, but a guttural, heart-stopping timbre.

“By the decree of Her Majesty the Raven Queen, you have all been found guilty of punishable necromancy in an attempt to cheat death through the consumption of innocent flesh and life force. Your case has been plead, tried, and decided. For your crimes and gross disrespect for the cycle of life and death, Her Majesty sentences you all to serve one hundred lifetimes before you may be considered for rehabilitation.”

By nature, skulls were expressionless. But if Kravitz’s expression at the shrieks of horror and anguish could be described, it would be a concrete and devilish grin, scythe cutting through body after body, each soul dragged sobbing to the Astral Plane to be sorted into their cells.

The Reaper was nothing if not efficient, spinning his scythe as the last body melted into ash and dust. The cellar was an awful mess, blood and ash and spilled candlewax covering the floor, but the deed was done.

With the sounds of battle and death extinguished, the silence settled in again- or it should have, anyway.

A gurgling breath broke it almost immediately, soft sobbed crying, and Kravitz instantly sheathed his scythe, the blade disappearing from his hands as skin covered his bones again.

“Shh, shh. Come here, little one. I know- I’m cold too. Let’s… let’s get you out of here. I know somewhere you can be warm and safe. At least until we figure out who you belong to.”

He was speaking mostly to himself- the baby was certainly too young to understand him- but he kept muttering under his breath all the same, scooping the child up before cutting open that portal again, hurrying home.

[malltales]

Queen of Nothing; A Story of Redemption

(This story is based on real events. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and ridiculous.)

By April of 2020 I broke up with my partner of 5 years, lost my best friend; 13 year old dog, Jasper. All within the context of the global pandemic.

Bike touring was something I've always wanted to do but scared to attempt alone. I managed to talk my old friend, Kevin and his girlfriend, Ava, into a 5 day bike tour from Pittsburgh to Washington, DC on the GAP and C&O trails.

It’s important to know that Kevin and I had been friends for almost a decade, and I had yet to meet Ava in person. Kevin and I had been roommates for several years, on and off. We also suffered a dramatic falling out that resulted in us not speaking for almost 3. I assumed since we reconnected, he had grown.

Day 1: Pittsburgh to Ohiopyle

The first day of the ride was the last day the three of us were together. Kevin and Ava were packed to the gills with panniers and rode fast at the start. I hung back, averaging 11 mph. Ava circled back several times to check in. We talked the whole way and made fast friends.

Kevin stayed far ahead until we reached our lunch stop. After which, he lost steam quickly. He'd only done one long ride to prepare and never ridden with fully loaded panniers. Which is like saying you trained for a 5k and then decided the day of the race to strap a 40 lb bag to your body.

I tried to hang back and ride alongside Kevin for a bit. I offered a draft he could pull from because I was still feeling strong. “Just go ahead.” He said. “I just need to be at my own pace."

Here's the thing, everyone hits a point in a long bike ride where they start to ache and fatigue, especially if you aren’t used to riding for a long time. I was fully expecting some super cranky moments from all of us, including myself, but I was not prepared for it to happen this early.

Ava and I stopped a few times for snacks and to shake the ache out of our hands and butts. We took a detour to spelunk our way through a crumbling, abandoned warehouse, filled with graffiti and paraphernalia of angsty teens’ hideaway. Kevin passed and said nothing. Twice, we found him lying flat on his back in a field, smoking a cigarette, complaining that something hurt and he needed a break. Every time we found him, we stopped, asked if he needed anything, asked if he wanted us to wait and every time he said no. So, we soldiered on. Although Ava and I worried about Kevin, we heeded his words and assumed he just needed to power through and be left alone. AVa and I kept each other motivated and the mood light. We sailed through burnt umber rock formations. Gentle streams coursed through them like veins.

87 miles into our longest day, we reached the town of Ohiopyle. The last glimmer of sunset was fading quickly. Ava and I arrived first. We had a daunting 3 mile, 3,000 ft climb yet to go. Kevin arrived shortly after, hopped off his bike and ran into an ice cream shop. He walked across the street and began whispering to Ava, while I glared at the map. I could tell by the body language he was not happy. Ava started to cry. I called out: "Listen, we are all tired and starving. Whatever it is you guys are debating should wait till we climb this."

Kevin scoffed and walked away. I waited a few minutes and asked Ava how I could help. She was crying and explained he was upset that we "left him behind." He said she "abandoned him.”

I was instantly furious. This rhetoric was painfully familiar. Flashbacks of past arguments flashed through my brain. I did not take deep breaths, I did not pause; I marched over to Kevin. (If you have never seen an adult angrily eat an ice cream cone, I would highly recommend it.) Standing by a river, licking his moose tracks he yelled at me. He tells me that I also abandoned him and left him out of the group that he was "working so hard at keeping together." I laughed, I couldn't help it. I figured if I laughed, Kevin would realize how utterly absurd this was. All I could think of was a hot shower, food and bed. He got angrier. I understood that nothing in this moment would get through to him, so I threw my hands in the air and said "The reality is, you got smoked by two chicks because you didn't train. I'm sorry your ego is bruised. I'm going ahead."

I walked back to Ava, apologized for making things worse and asked her if she preferred to bike with me to the house or stay with Kevin. She opted for the latter and I forged ahead.

It was 8:30pm. The way ahead was pitch black, up an incredibly steep switchback. It was a two lane, country road with no shoulder. I tried my best to stay on the bike, but after half a mile, I gave up. I started walking. My legs could barely take the climb on foot, my calves were cramping, my thighs were shaking. Every time a car whooshed by; I froze against the guard rail. I only had two small lights and was unsure if I could be seen at all. I begged the universe to send someone to offer me a ride. I pleaded with the coyotes howling in the distance not to come nearer. I shrunk at the Trump signs on the rolling, rural properties. After an hour and a half of walking, one foot in front of the other, with a small blinking light on my back. I finally made it to the Aribnb. I immediately hopped in the shower, ready to be greeted with luxurious, warm water. NOPE. Ice cold. I got clean quickly, started the food and cursed the fact that I let Ava carry the whiskey. Kevin and Ava arrived shortly after and we all went to bed without saying much at all.

Day Two: Ohiopyle to Frostburg

The next morning, I woke up energized. The house was quiet and no one was awake. I had time to slip out. A wave of relief ran through me. I began packing my bike, made coffee and realized there was only one bike: Ava’s.

All Kevin’s stuff was gone and so was he. I contemplated my choices: sneak into Ava’s bag, find my extras in her panniers and tip toe out before she woke up OR wait for her. I didn’t know Ava well, but I didn’t feel right leaving my new friend in the mountains alone.

Ava woke up and described the fighting and frustration that ended with Kevin packing his stuff and heading out on his own at 4am. I was well-acquainted with this kind of performance and lacked the fortitude to deal with it. Ava asked if we could ride together. I agreed, with a condition: we would not spend time discussing Kevin.

By the time we stopped for lunch, Kevin had sent scores of texts. Ava read them to me. I lifted the embargo for lunch because I knew she was feeling anxious. The tone of Kevin’s texts were hostile and accusatory. Ava listed things she could have done differently. I assured her she did nothing wrong. We cried. I shared my experiences from the past few years, which were mirroring hers. After leaving this kind of maltreatment in my past, I would not tolerate it from anyone else.

The 67 mile ride we completed that day was difficult and long. We were slow and sore. The gradual and consistent uphill of the pavement pummeled our strength. In the end, I’m glad Ava and I rode together, even though we started late. She helped me keep a much better pace than I would have on my own. Our pleasant conversation ended abruptly when we arrived in Frostburg. Kevin was texting; demanding to know where we were. He had been there for hours and wanted to check in. The hotel reservation was a tiny room with side by side beds. Ava told me she didn’t have the money to book another room. There was no way I was about to share a room with this dude who left his girlfriend with a literal stranger in the middle of nowhere. So, I bought them their own room. I threw the keys at Kevin on my way out and biked an extra two miles, uphill, to get Epsom salts. It was 9 pm when I finally unloaded everything in my room. I was elated when I got in the shower and felt hot water. I was so tired I could barely think, but I was so happy with my decision. $200 for peace was a small price. I reviewed the day in my head and was proud. When you’re demanding so much of your body, you must ask yourself every step of the way: what do I need right now? Most of the time the answer is simple: food, a break from the saddle, water, a quick stretch. But sometimes it’s hard to parse out which of those comes first. I congratulated myself for surviving the emotional cyclone going on around me. I was asking myself what boundaries I needed to finish this trek and make the most of it. I went to bed that night, again, with the intention of leaving in the morning on my own.

Day 3: Frostburg to Hancock

The following morning, I woke up to a text from Ava that read: “he broke up with me.”

On a bench, in the cold, we drank coffee and between sobs, she filled me in. He left early in the morning without a word. With 71 miles in front of us, I was nervous. Ava was exhausted. She could barely string a sentence together. I offered to pay for another night at the hotel for her to rest until she figured something out. She said: “I feel like I have to get to Hancock tonight to work things out. If I don’t, that will be the end of us.”

I was heartbroken, but I knew this feeling too well. When the misery you know seems better than the unknown. I saw myself reflected in Ava’s tear streaked face. I sat exactly where she was 3 years ago. I knew the terror. I wanted to tell her everything I knew from the other side, but I knew she couldn’t hear it. So, I nodded my head and said we needed to get on the road.

We left behind the mostly paved GAP trail and continued on the dirt C&O. It was gorgeous. Ava helped me let out air from my tires for the new terrain and gave me pointers for dirt riding. I was grateful for her presence, but I knew her head was spinning. It was not as grueling as the previous day, but we were both dragging. We made a lot of stops to rest. 50 miles in we realized we missed the town we had planned to stop for lunch. We were running out of fuel to pedal. We ended up at a trailer-turned biker-bar, covered in Trump flags. It was our only option. Biker dudes on the porch were laughing and pointing. Calling us “monkey masks.” Inside was a totally different story. Everyone was friendly. We ate and drank and left remarkably unscathed. We only endured a few rape jokes from drunk townies on our way out.

The last 20 miles were brutal. I was struggling to stay in the seat. It was dark and my light ran out of battery. We put our phone flashlights on and stuffed them into our bras to light the way. Deer skittered across the path a few feet in front of us and we leapt every time. Ava told me Kevin got them their own room and I sighed with relief. She asked how we would approach the following day. I told her she didn’t need to worry. They would go their way and I would go mine.

Inside my comfy, roadside motel room I was faced with yet another challenge. The three of us were supposed to end our ride in DC and train to Baltimore where I would stay with Kevin and Ava for two days. This, obviously, was not going to happen. I quickly had to figure out where I was going to stay, with barely any internet, no motivation and about an hour before I succumbed to sleep. I text Darren, a mutual friend, who lived in DC. I explained I needed a place to crash, even if it was just one night. He agreed and I fell asleep in ten minutes. I had one more hurdle to deal with: find a shop to ship my bike from DC to Chicago. Darren came to my aid again and offered to take my bike apart and ship it from his place.

Day 4: Hancock to Harper’s Ferry

Being on my own felt like pure freedom. I was on pavement for the first 10 miles. It was bliss.

I set off slowly and adopted a new mantra: hustle hard when you can, rest when you can. My legs were tired but knees weren't aching as much and my hands were going numb less.

In Williamsport I found stairs leading down to a long, concrete dam that extended far out into the Potomac. The sides were slanted toward the water. It was the perfect height to dangle sore feet in the cold water. I sat, legs outstretched at the top of the dam. As far as I could see from left to right was water. The Potamac seemed never-ending. This was an expansive feeling to digest with my newly thawed breakfast burrito. I felt sluggish and heavy after my peaceful lunch views. The day before, Ava kept me at a steady pace and I missed her company.

Then came a long stretch of trail that rode along the very edge of the water. I ambled slowly upward then back down. I felt lighter and my ride smoothed up. The trail trickled back into the woods. I clipped my way along loping curves. The Potamac peeked from behind trees just beginning their transformation toward fall colors. I had to talk myself out of stopping every mile for a picture.

Toward the end of this 6 hour day I was rewarded with longer glimpses of the Potomac through the trees. Vignettes of the river were dotted with burning red leaves and outlined in ochre shadows. The large juts of slate erupted from the middle of the rapid, splitting the river. The river deepened and I knew I was close to Harpers Ferry.

I approached a 5 story, winding staircase, directly in front of the sunset, hoisted my bike onto my shoulder and climbed. Huffing and puffing, I nearly doubled over at the top, but the view snapped me out of it. The Shenandoah and Potomac rivers were merging beneath my feet. Civil War ruins dangled on two slate islands to my left. I felt like I was standing in the middle of the world, alone with this gorgeous vista. And I arrived powered by my own two legs.

Pulling off the bridge I pedaled through the cobblestone streets. I was pleasantly surprised that the inn I was staying at was not far and not up a hill. I decided to forgo a shower, change my clothes and head straight over to a restaurant. After a glass of wine and a plate of pierogies, I watched the sun set over the town with the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers roaring beneath it. I felt so thankful; I arrived in time for dinner and a sunset.

Day 5: Harper’s Ferry to Washington, DC; The Final Leg

Alright so here’s where everything gets wrapped up with a neat, little bow, right? Almost.

It was the last day. Only 63 miles; the shortest ride yet. I wanted to savor it. This was the only part that felt like a vacation. I used the heavy fog covering the town as an excuse to walk around and explore.

Harper’s Ferry is the most charming town. Thomas Jefferson described the scene as "worth a voyage across the Atlantic" in his Notes on the State of Virginia. It’s also the mid-point of the Appalachian trail, which I stumbled onto while climbing the steps of a church. I was stunned, breathing in the moment. I thought of everyone who trekked this way before me, when our country was so young.

At about 9am, the fog was rolling out and so was I. I was on top of the world. Nothing hurt, I was cruising at a good speed. I had all the time in the world to get to DC. Darren was going to meet me on the trail at 6pm and ride with me to his place. I was hoping to be done at 4 and happily awaiting his arrival with a beer in my hand. A 10 degree drop in temperature and rain didn’t dampen my mood. I felt free as fuck.

After an hour of solid rain, the sun shone through and warmed everything up. I sloughed off my raincoat and started my Spotify. I was laughing at my luck and singing along with First Aid Kit’s “King of The World.”

And then….POP. Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.

I skidded to a stop. A giant nail was right through the middle of my tire. Deep breaths. Ok. I can do this.

I sat down on the ruin of a guesthouse by the side of the trail and started working. If you’ve ever changed a brand-new bike tire you will understand what I was up against. It’s not ideal when the rubber is new and unworkable. A white-haired man in a yellow safety vest wandered over to inspect my predicament. He introduced himself as Don. Don was my grandfather’s name. When Trail Don shared that he was also a retired veteran, I thought for sure my grandfather sent him. Don “helped” me get the tube in with a screwdriver and promptly popped it. I only had one tube left. There wasn’t a bike shop for 40 miles.

“I live about 20 minutes down the road and I got all the tools in my garage. I’ll take ya back there and get ya fixed up and back on your way.”

On the road to Don’s house, in the middle of Trump country, my thoughts were racing. When we pulled up, a welcome sight greeted us: a giant rainbow flag and a lawn littered with human rights signs. Ok, I thought, I think I’m in the right place. Relief swept over me. We changed the tire and I met his kind wife, who offered me a sandwich. We loaded up and drove back to the trail. I thanked him profusely and began my last 30 miles.

The day was replaying in my mind and I felt my heart overflowing. This was indeed the culmination of my independence. Even if I did need a little help from friends and a few strangers. I was relishing the solitude, but it was a huge comfort to know there was a friend on the other side of this journey with whom I could share my triumph.

The sun sank slowly in the orange sky over Rock Creek Park. The frogs started chirping as the stars steadily emerged. The clouds unleashed a downpour. I saw a bright headlamp and familiar face coming toward me.

I made it.

[jaeminlore]

two hours until dawn εïз nct

                group: nct hyung line category: thriller warnings: death, blood, gore

Yuta found himself back in the familiarity of the sanatorium's chapel. He made his way back to the cages he found a pistol in, and searched for another weapon to use after he had impulsively left his gun with Jaehyun and the others.

Something like footfalls appeared at his side, and Yuta turned in fright, expecting whatever monster Taeyong had rambled about to be upon him. Instead, he was pleasantly found by the old wolf he had given a bone to. His heart swelled at the familiar creature, and he bent down to pet the wolf's head. "Hello, there, Wolfie. How are you? Do you wanna come along with me?"

Wolfie followed him measly as he searched the place. In the end, he found a proper gun and a torch that he could easily light up with his lighter. He looked at Wolfie, "Now I've got a plan, see. I saw a map of this place, and there's a door in the psychiatric ward that leads to the mines. That's where we've got to head.

Yuta let the wolf take the lead towards the other part of the building, which seemed to be separated by a caged tunnel out in the snow. Yuta shivered against the draft and walked a bit faster.

He entered what must've been the top floor of the ward. The ward was set up in a strange circle shape, surrounded by cages, two floors in total. Yuta was on the top, and he knew he needed to get down to the bottom if he wanted to arrive at the mines. He'd have to get around all of the caged in walls, though, which creeped him out to say the least.

He followed through the cages, stopping only once when he spotted the other wolf, torn in half. It's innards gushed across the floor, and Wolfie whimpered to see his friend so torn up. "I really should've have come here," Yuta muttered to himself, holding the gun up a bit more protectively in front of his chest.

He walked through the caged walkway, jumping at every little sound he heard. Something in the distance kept making strange shrieking noises, and Yuta bit his lip to keep profanities from spilling forth.

He made it to the lower wing after an ominous staircase and Wolfie's protective growls at his expense. He turned a corner, where the caged wall was broken, and there was a clear entryway toward the staircase that would lead to the outside.

Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to see jumped out in front of him. Still partially clothed, the Wendigo stared at Yuta and screamed. It's skin was still partially human, with blood and flesh attached. Hair was still on it's skull, but it's eyes seemed to be nearly pure black, as if it had lost its eyeballs.

Yuta shot it in the face. "Holy..." he began to run, the wolf not far behind, "That scared the blue outta my jeans."

The Wendigo shrieked behind him and chased him all the way to down the hall. Yuta turned momentarily to shoot it once again, this time in the chest. "You like that, Smeagol?"

He darted up the staircase and shut the door behind him, barricading it with an old storage locker. The Wendigo shrieked again, and Yuta knew it wouldn't be the last he'd see of that bloody creature. He kept going at a steady pace, Wolfie at his heels. It seemed he was in the place where the inmates would stay, considering the cell walls with beds behind them.

Yuta nearly peed his pants when a Wendigo jumped at him from inside one of the cells, its hand reaching for Yuta's throat. Yuta shot it once for luck, and ran for the door. He didn't know how many Wendigo's had been captured and kept in this place, and he had no intention of finding out. He also had no idea how well prison bars could hold a cannibalistic spirit. University definitely didn't prepare him for any of this.

He managed to get through the hallways. Wolfie began to bark at the ceiling, so Yuta knew he could sense yet another Wendigo coming. He wondered if it was the same one, or if there were just a bunch of Lord-of-The-Rings-meets-Walking-Dead creatures who hung around this joint.

One of the Wendigos answered his question by appearing behind him, only a few feet away. Yuta looked around, desperate for some kind of help so he could make it, just the last few feet toward out the door. Then he spotted barrels, oh his trusty barrels. One shot at them and this entire place would blow up. He shot at the Wendigo first, backing up quickly to check the lock on the door. With the surety of it being open, he looked back and shot at the barrels, creating a chain reaction that blasted both him and Wolfie out the open door, into the snow.

Shrieks could be heard from inside, and fiery faces spirited out of the flames with banshee-like screams, losing themselves in the snow storm.

Yuta ran away, not daring to look behind him.

-

Ten followed Jaehyun and Taeyong down the basement, the two of them looking for some kind of door with their flashlights. Jaehyun had found a headband light in the flamethrower dude's bag, and had promptly claimed it as his.

Ten sniffed, uncomfortable with both everything and nothing at all. Having seen so many people die took a gradual toll on him, and he felt like, if they ever did get off this cursed mountain, he would never be able to live the same life again.

Jaehyun tried yet another door, and found it jammed. "Well how are we supposed to get across if we can't find the way?"

Ten peered down at a manhole, used for the sewer. "Do you think this is the tunnel Yuta was talking about?"

"Maybe," Taeyong said. He grunted as he helped Ten pull it open.

Ten was the last to climb down the ladder. "Hey, guys? Do you think we should close this? Just in case something is following us?"

Jaehyun sighed, "Yeah, whatever, just... we have to keep moving, so try to catch up."

Ten nodded and pulled the lid closed. He took his time climbing down the ladder, feeling sore from the events of the night. Perhaps it was simply fatigue. Either way, he managed to get far behind his group, even walking until he met a fork in the road.

He was about to rejoin the others when he heard a shout for help down the other way. The voice sounded exactly like... "Sicheng! Sicheng, is that you?"

Ten darted down the other tunnel, following the voice until it led him to a locked trap door. The thumping against it sounded urgent. Ten bent down and unlocked the door, excited to see a friend he thought he had lost.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that Wendigos can mimic human voices. The creature pounced out of the trap door and grabbed Ten's head, ripping it clean off of his body. Ten didn't have a moment to scream; his face was simply frozen in pure and utter terror.

The Wendigo grabbed Ten's head dragged his limp body back down the trap door.

-

Jaehyun worried his bottom lip, wondering if Ten would ever regroup with them. Or, if he had been taken away. "We should hurry," he advised Taeyong.

"How do we get up there?" Taeyong asked, his eyes trailing the side of the muddy cave, where the remnants of a ladder seemed to remain.

Jaehyun braced his hand against a crevice in the rock. "I'll climb up and find Yuta. You go back to the lode and wait for us. Keep the gun with you."

"Alright," Taeyong agreed quietly. "Be careful."

"Same to you," Jaehyun called, already halfway up the cliff side.

When he made it to the top, his chest heaved from the effort and he eyed what looked to be the very pits of a mine. It was so deep into the mountain that stalagmites were rising up the floor. Jaehyun wasn't sure if he was shivering from fear or simply the cold and damp air the cave had about it.

The mine remained down a tunnel, and Jaehyun glared at the door he ran into. It was caged and locked and all together just downright annoying. Jaehyun grabbed a nearby mining shovel and pushing it open.

He kept the shovel in his hand as he walked, aware that he might have to start using it soon. Making it to the far side of the mine, he noticed a large door and went to open it.

It burst open from the other side, and Yuta ran through, a Wendigo chasing him down. Yuta tripped over a rock and fell on his back, the Wendigo jumping atop him to try and kill him.

Jaehyun grimaced at its charred skin — perhaps it had just been in some kind of fire? — and swung his shovel down, bashing the thing in the head and ultimately killing it.

Yuta stood up quickly and stuck his gun through the door handles, locking it. "Why are you here?" he gasped for air, leaning his palms on his thighs.

"I came to warn you about the Wendigos," Jaehyun said, eyeing the limp body on the ground.

Yuta followed his gaze with a smirk. "I think I've figured it out."

-

Sicheng opened his eyes and felt an amplitude of pain shoot through his body. He winced and got up, a whimper escaping his dry lips as he stood.

Blood covered his body; dried, from the amount of hours he must've laid there. His hair was messy and matted, and his clothes were torn and dirty, cold from the snow that had gotten caught in them on the way.

Someone, perhaps a miner, had left his jacket and boots down in the mines. Sicheng walked out of the elevator shaft and grabbed the articles of clothing, covering himself as best as he could, despite the pain and dizziness he felt.

Fear was more terrifying, and he shivered, eyes darting every which way when he heard that familiar sound of the monster who had dragged him down there in the first place.

[...]

[fineaufanficnmore]

All For the Boys - Szel, Part 1

Upon seeing the small band of fae barreling down the dirt road, I have just enough time to push my two boys behind an old abandoned barn as the leader’s keen eyes catch sight of me before I round the corner myself. Holding a finger to my lips and silently begging the twins to stay put and quiet, I back slowly away to the edge of the road.

“Oy, you there. What are you doing out here all alone?” The sentry asks, licking his lips. “Collecting herbs for the and mushrooms for the young master. I work in the infirmary and kitchens for Lord Nivalis just over the hill. He’ll be expecting me back.” I respond hoping he doesn't notice the absence of a basket for gathering and that he might not want to take the trouble for someone who will be missed. Fortunately, fae are spoiled puss wads and have no concept of how to gather anything. Unfortunately, it seems he can’t care less why I’m out on my own, or that I ‘belong’ to someone. I’m easy pickings for abduction, it’s all too common these days.

I’m shoved to the floor of a filthy prison carriage by rough, strong hands that bite into my flesh. Trying not to look back to where my boys are hiding, I do my best to seem calm. My fear will only encourage them to try to “save” me. 

In fact my terror is overwhelming. Idiot! It was witless to wander so far from the manor, but the thought of showing my sons some small aspect of my life before I came to work for Nivalis has been on my mind for months. I had such a fun outing planned for my day off, and they were excited to do something new. The little village where I had lived with my father was quaint and picturesque. The mill was home for me as a girl and became my livelihood as a woman. The boys would have loved it, but I was reckless leaving the lord’s property and now I was paying for it.

Shem and Jerah are smart, they know about the fae’s propensity for stealing humans, for what purpose we didn’t know. They’ll go back to their aunt at the manor and explain what had happened. But, how would I escape these fae? Their senses are too sharp and their disregard for human life is legendary, as my father always warned me. I’m stuck and on my way to who knows where.

Once the jail carriage is out of earshot, I plead, “I’m of no use to you, just a weak human.” Another toad-like member of the crew laughs hoarsely, “You don’t need to be strong to serve in Amarantha’s domain. And we’ll have sport with any human rat.” Then, another shove, and sudden darkness.

✾

I awake in a different cage surrounded by about ten human women of various ages, shapes and sizes. I rub my eyes, sit up as best I can and peer through the bars. 

An almost human looking guard passes by. The fae sentinel catches my eye, tips his head, offers a cruel smile but keeps walking as a few women press to the bars begging to be set free or for food and water. I look to the woman who looks least threatening, “How long have you been here?” I ask, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“I’ve only been here a few days, but those lasses… I think they’ve been here so long they’ve given up.” She points to the back of the cell, where indeed there are three emaciated prisoners slumped against the wall with their heads lolling onto their chests. My fear threatens to bury any sense of reason. I’m never getting out. My children will forget me, I’ll be tortured, a plaything, my life will belong to someone else, if I get to live at all. 

I barely have time to register the scene when the same guard is suddenly standing just outside the bars unlocking the door. Apparently, there is a stark difference between passing by and opening the cell. I watch the women crowd to the farthest corner. Following their lead not daring to give him my back, he stares into my eyes as he approaches. Not the other women, but me. 

Grabbing me by the back of my neck he tugs me out of the door and down the dank hallway. I am just able to keep my feet under me. Tears blur my vision as I do my best not to think of what awaits me. He has shoulder length brown hair that shimmers red in the light, eyes a similar burnt orange and a strong build. “Tears will do you no good, in fact they may spur some fun. Welcome to Under the Mountain.” Then he whispers, “They can’t take away anything from you if you don’t show you have anything to give.”

Blinking tears away we reach a room that’s hotter than a blacksmith's forge, and I am AGAIN thrown to the floor. “Your new girl! Said she worked in the kitchens where she was.”

✾

“Bout time! Been hard keeping up with the work.” I look up to see who was calling after the departing guard in the most melodious voice I’d ever heard.  She is yellow skinned with short horns, about as tall as my youngest son and as round as an ale barrel. Wondering how she can move without rolling, I get to my feet and wipe the wetness from my face. My gaze catches the  guard. He seems to stare with a lingering concern, but I must be imagining it. Fae care nothing for humans. 

“Hope you’re tougher than the last girl. What’s your name? Can’t keep calling you girl.” So strange to see such a lovely sound coming from a being like that. “No need to hope, I am. And I’m Szel.” With a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, the ale barrel huffs and starts to walk toward the ovens and mutters, “Come on then, Szel.” 

There are numerous other fairies and a couple humans bustling through the kitchen each seeming to know exactly what their job is and that if it’s not done correctly the consequences are dire. If I have any hope of getting back to my own life, I need to play along. I follow Ale Barrel until she stops so suddenly near a counter covered in flour I nearly trip over her. She points to the counter which I now notice has all the ingredients I’d need for...  “You’ll be making the bread. Make sweet and savory types, she likes a variety.” She directs, cutting off my thoughts and walks away. Oh good “variety.” That’s specific, maybe I’ll be especially heavy on the pepper. I delve into my work, more to keep my mind from spiralling into misery and fear of whoever this “she” is. 

At the end of the day, exhausted and covered in flour, the same guard who dragged me away arrives. He stares at me for a few moments. “Is this better? Better than endlessly sitting in the jail.” He asks. I then realize he actually expects an answer, but I find my tongue to be unresponsive. He looks at me like I’m daft then takes me to a different set of cells. “Servant’s cells. Yours is third on the left.” Is all the explanation I get as I walk into the hall. “Why?” is all I can think to say, and only receive a sad eyed glance in return. The barred door behind me clangs shut and I am again locked in. The cell doors down the hall are open and I can hear muffled sounds coming from some of them. 

My cell is as I would think; dank, dark, cold and glum. About to fall down from fatigue I sit on the thin mattress. Looking around I see nowhere to relieve myself or wash, so I wander out and start down the corridor. People and all kinds of fae look up as I pass, but immediately go back to whatever it was they were doing before. There is a small washroom at the very end of the passage. A bowl of murky water sits on a table, a tin tub sits next to it full of filthy water, and a hole in the floor has been carved in the far corner with the most putrid smell wafting out. I suppose it’s whoever is the meanest gets to clean first, so I decide right then to wait for last. It  seems to be in my best interest.

I quickly take care of my business, go back to my pitiful bed and promptly fall asleep. 

The days follow in a similar manner aside from the requirement to wash properly in a separate washroom before going into the kitchens. Lucky for me, nobody wants their food prepared by grungy servants. The same guard, who finally reveals his name, Ruah, retrieves me each day with a word of greeting. I finally thank him for changing my circumstance, as it is an improvement from the prison. 

When I begin to miss my sons, I force myself to think of something else… bread recipes, soup recipes, healing drafts, escape plans, setting “her” on  fire. I keep to myself, remain unremarkable, do my best to keep from going mad, become acquainted with no one and constantly look for a way out. Until one day I get noticed.

✾

A different sentinel comes into the kitchens asking after some dessert “she” is particularly fond of. He’s painfully good-looking, scary and clearly important considering his uniform is crimson and gilded in gold. Not to mention the other kitchen help begin to cower, and I’m too late to blend in with them.  “You’re a pretty one, why are you stuck in the kitchens? You should be on the main floors for maid duty.”

“I’m sure I’m very plain next to your kind. And it seems my bread is well liked.” I can’t be moved, I can’t be seen, I’ll be “toyed with”, I’ll never get out.  

A vicious grin is the only reply.

I’m hauled away and find myself in a room with two cots this time, and what the fuck, I’m surprisingly thrown to the floor. “Wash yourself, bathe yourself and dress. The closet is over there, it all should fit.” I’ll retrieve you in twenty minutes. Be ready, or be skinned.” FIFTEEN minutes later I’m ready.

A rapid knock on the door, and not waiting for me to answer, it opens to reveal the crimson garbed guard. “Come with me and keep your mouth shut.” As if that’s not what I've been doing for two weeks. 

I receive a bucket, broom and feather duster. “Start with this room, mop, dust and move to the next. Ignore the rooms across the hall.” which is exactly what I do. Those who occupy the rooms seem to spend little time in them as they have few belongings and don’t seem to worry that anything will be amiss. Then again it would be suicide to take anything here. 

I don’t come across anyone for awhile. After five rooms I’m passing to the next when Ruah is walking past. He stops short with a look of utter terror, pulls me into the next room and roughly whispers, “What are you doing up here?”

“I was reassigned, evidently. Why, why do you care?” At first I don’t think he’s going to answer. He rubs a hand over his face and sits on the settee situated across from the fireplace. 

“You look just like my sister. In fact when I first passed by your cell, I thought you were her. The resemblance is uncanny. You were supposed to stay unnoticed!” 

“I tried!! I’m not an idiot, and where is everyone?”

“Everyone who resides in these rooms are attending Amarantha in the throne room. You won’t see anyone back here until daybreak.”

“DAYBREAK?” Shit, I’ve been here long enough where I can’t tell day from night. What I thought was morning must be the middle of the night.

“Yes, try to keep up. I can’t do anything more for you. But, just TRY to stay out of sight. If you give any indication of fear they’ll use you for sport. It’s hard to explain but you almost look fae, so you might be able to blend in more easily than the other humans.” With that he gets up, and leaves me to continue cleaning. 

Hours go by and the crimson guard finds me. “Follow me.” Without comment, I follow down the hall, another hall, down a set of stairs and enter a chamber that is not as ornate as the rooms I was just cleaning, but definitely not a servant’s room. It has a large bed in one corner, a few chairs, a settee, a desk, and a bathing room. He shuts the door behind him, as I swirl at the reverberation I find his fist around my neck. Bringing me close to his savage, handsome visage his hot breath skims my face. “Did you think I wouldn’t have some fun with you? You’ll be mine while you’re not serving your purpose. Now, what shall we do?”

✾

I go between back-breaking work, eating wherever scraps he gives me, sleeping on the floor and terror. He’s careful, the bruises are in easily hidden places. I block out much of it. I've been through this before, my mind seems to know how to cope. I work myself hard so I will be too exhausted to think of my boys, or think about anything during the day. Then after my time with the crimson guard, I lie down on the floor and keep my sanity by thinking of new and varied ways to end him. I get very creative. 

There is seldom anyone in the hallways as I work, but the folk I do see are usually achingly stunning. Some have red hair, some white. Others have scowls or arrogant smirks. One has a face that’s almost impossibly beautiful with purple eyes, PURPLE eyes, sometimes looks at me with what seems like sadness then apathy. Most often they pretend I’m invisible which suits me just fine. 

Days later I’m dusting a table strewn with undoubtedly priceless vases filled with undying blossoms when my crimson guard comes and takes me by the arm. Dragging me as I stumble behind him my stomach is in my mouth, my eyes wide, But, It’s not time yet. I usually can steel myself for the onslaught, I can prepare and go somewhere else in my head. Frantic, even though I have no allies, I look around hoping to see Ruah. Instead I see the purple eyed fae round the corner and catch my gaze. I must look pathetic. 

“Hmmm, what’s this little rabbit you caught, Szamar?” 

My crimson guard turns to him with a sneer, but his voice shakes just a bit, “High Lord, I’ve decided she’s done for the day.”

This High Lord’s curious and strange eyes delve into mine, “Delightful, I’ll take it from here. I’m sure you’ll be relieved you don’t have to deal with the riff-raff today. Come on then, rabbit.”

“Of course, Rhysand.” That’s it. That’s all ‘Szamar’ says as a glazed look comes over him and he just walks away.

Alarm wars with satisfaction watching Szamar’s back. But, the panic still crawls over me as I follow this new threat. Am I going from bad to worse? 

“Calm yourself. It’s not as bad as all that.” 

I walk stiffly through the door he holds open for me and stand in the middle of one of the rooms I’ve cleaned many times now. It’s a very large room with an enormous covered in black silk. The fireplace looks as though it has never been lit, and the rest is finely outfitted, but sparse. 

“You’re lucky, you know. Looks like you’ve only been here a couple of months, so you haven’t wasted away to nothing quite yet.”

It would be unwise to say anything, I’d like to keep my bruises to twenty-three. Wait, How does he know how long I’ve been here?

“You’re asking the wrong questions, Rabbit. And, I’m not going to add to your bruise collection. Ask a better question.”

“Can I go back to making bread?” And staying in a prison with the rats.

“Bread? Ah, yes. It was delicious. You’re very talented, so yes you can go back to making bread. However, you’ll stay in the servant’s room reserved for our personal attendants right across the hall. I think you’ll be of more use there. For now, do you think you can make your way back to the kitchens? Good, return to your room at the end of your shift.”

“You realize you just had a conversation with yourself?”

Tapping my temple as he walked by with a wink, “No, I didn’t”

I don't see him for the rest of the day. Everyone in the kitchens acts as though I had never disappeared, and they go about their business. I have never been more relieved to see flour in all my life. Daybreak, I guess, comes and I make my way back to the room the High Lord had indicated.

In my new room, I inspect every inch. It doesn’t take long, there’s a small bed, a chair and a small cramped washroom, a wardrobe with eight of the same dress I’m currently wearing, simple but well made sleep clothes and undergarments. It’s paradise! Not knowing what to expect and with no small amount of apprehension, I wash and change for sleep, then stand in the middle of the room, looking aimlessly at the walls. The door opens and in walks the High Lord. Shit! Shit! I knew it!

“Relax, Rabbit. Just checking to see how you’re settling into your posh accommodations. And before you damage your brain, yes, I know what you’re thinking and I’ve seen what you’ve been through. I find it refreshing to have someone who isn’t a sycophant for anyone. Nothing is going to happen to you from here on out, as long as you do just as you did today. Go make bread, come back here. Simple isn’t it?” I merely nod. “Good, Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night’s sleep for a change.” With that, he leaves,

I curl up on the bed and weep.

✾

Over the week, unlike before, I’m sure to keep my senses sharp. In the mortal lands, servants are ignored, thought to have no ears, eyes or brain. Here, it is much the same, to them I’m deaf, blind and dumb. There is tension, an air of urgency despite the seemingly festive days above, nobody really wants to be here. They’ll do anything they can to earn favor with the guards. I learn names and personalities. Apparently, my savior is the worst of them. which is at odds with what I know. Each day after my shift he has “checked in” and never once threatened me. I have kept my peace because it’s still too good to be true and one slip up could cause it all to come crashing down. Still, I can’t explain why I’m not afraid of him, and I trust him. This trust doesn’t seem to be common among the fae. One day I decide to ask him about it. 

I wait for his arrival. Like clockwork, he opens the door, strides to the chair, props a foot on a knee and rests his head in his hand. “And, how was your day with flour and yeast, Rabbit?”

“Why does everyone think you’re a monster, and why aren’t you one to me? I know I’m not getting out of here and in a few months it seems everything is going to come to an end. They’ll never let a human go back to her life. I don’t expect you can save me. I just don’t understand why you’ve been trying. It’s futile.” My questions come out in a rush, as if I don’t ask them quickly I’ll lose my nerve, which is true. 

“So, you’ve decided to open your ears, have you? I’ll tell you what, you tell me your story, and I’ll tell you some of mine. Deal? Good.” He comments with a twinkle in his purple eyes.

“Stop doing that! And, why do I have to tell you when you can just read my mind? And ‘Some?’” He just stares back at me expectantly. Really, if I want answers, I don’t have a choice. With a sigh...

“There’s not a whole lot to tell, so I’ll make it brief. I’m an only child born to a miller in a small village. I was bullied my whole life for having a mother who left, for wanting to take over for my father and not being interested in finding a husband. My father passed, so I ended up running the mill, but I was a spinster at thirty, nobody would even come close to me other than for something unmeaningful and temporary, which was honestly all I wanted. My aunt, who worked for a lord near our village tried to lure me into working for him, but I wasn’t interested. I liked the peace of milling, baking and occasionally healing those brave enough to ask.

“Then one day a man who named himself Kutya was in the market where I was selling my goods. He charmed me, nine months later came my twins, Jerah and Shem. I told myself I let it happen because he was different, but I knew better. I think I was tired of being on my own, I just wanted them. My children are everything to me. After that, nobody wanted anything I had to sell.  I wound up begging my aunt for that position she offered.

“Lord Nivalis was cruel to me but tolerated my boys, and he gave us a place to live. He wants to take them on as wards, maybe to ensure he has some heirs nearby in case he doesn’t marry. 

“Then, a few months ago I was taking Jerah and Shem to see the mill where I grew up and was abducted, and now I’m here.” As I finish my story, tears well and I try to keep my mind off my sons. 

“You miss them.” His eyes are soft and searching.

“If I think about them too much, I can’t breath. They’re my world, and I left them. Not by choice, but the outcome is the same.” Not wanting to see the pity in his eyes,  “Ok, your turn, and my name is Szel by the way, not rabbit.” For a long while he just watches me. Finally…

“Rhysand, Rhys. Call me Rhys when it’s just us. High Lord when anyone else is around.

And with a sparkle in his perfect eyes, “For me there is too much to tell, so I’ll make it brief.

“Humans fascinate me, their resilience despite their short lives is unparalleled. I fought in the war side-by-side the humans, you know. Anyhow, most of us are trapped down here by Amarantha, same as you. There are some exceptions, of course. Szamar, for one, is a lackey for the sick fuck who sent Amarantha here in the first place. I suppose he quite enjoys it along with some others. 

“Although the rest of us were tricked and bound by a curse, I imagine you were simply captured. I’ve been down here fifty years, aside from an excursion or two. In about a week it becomes permanent, unless a human claims to love an old enemy of mine. I know, I know it’s all so very fairy. So I’m doing what I can to keep going, and helping you is least I can do to make up for, well, everything. And if I tell you any more, I’ll have to wipe your mind, so you’ll have to make do with that.”

He sits gazing across the room, I know he has more, much more to his story. But, he’s right, I don’t need to know why he is how he is. I’m just thankful he’s not a monster, and I actually feel sorry for him. Wait... “Permanent??”

“I’m so sorry, Szel. You’re acute hearing didn’t catch onto that tid-bit?”

I crumple to the floor, but really, I knew I was never getting out, I just hadn’t had anyone else say it. “I already told you I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, but it’s different when you hear it out loud.”

“That it is.” Then, we just stare at nothing for a long while. And it actually feels good to have a comfortable commiserating silence. 

And so it goes for another few days. He checks on me, although not as regularly as that first week and at times he is sad, and so am I. We still chat, about nothing, about my life prior to all this. He asks about my boys and smiles. He divulges some of how he’s survived, and it’s chilling. He’s kind and good, and I think he may be in just as much pain as I am, and I want to help him. But, what can I do?

A week later, I enter Rhysand’s room to clean it, and he’s there sitting on the bed with his head in his hands looking down at the floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here, I’ll come back later.”

“NO!” He almost yells it, and I startle. “Sorry, rabbit, I mean to say it’s fine, carry on.”

“Is everything ok, that is, as ok as it can be?” He takes a long moment before answering, as though he’s frightened of what will come out, then it’s like flood gates open.”

“Truth? No, yes, maybe, but most likely not. There’s a human here, Feyre, I know her… of a sort. She hates me, I mean really hates me, she needs to hate me, I need to keep her hating me. She can break this curse, but she might die trying, and I have to try to keep her alive, I need to keep her alive.”

Gaping at him with a stupid open mouthed expression, I gather my wits and simply say, “What can I do?”

✾

This poor girl. She can’t be more than twenty years old and she’s bruised, beaten and heartbroken. Rhys asked me to stay out of the dungeons, “Just keep going the way you have been, I’ve got this.”

But, I can’t stay away. She must be only a handful of years older than my boys. Even with all the chatter and excitement about the girl’s arrival, it takes me the majority of an hour to ferret out where she’s being held. When I peer into her filthy cell, she’s curled up on the cot, bleeding. I gently rap on the window bars.

“Hello, I can’t stay, but I’ve brought some water and bread.” I whisper as I pass a canteen of water and the small loaf I managed to bake alongside the much larger ones from the morning. She gets up on unsteady legs and slowly walks to the door. Her nose is at a strange angle and I can barely tell the shade of her skin from the bruising.

“Thank you. You’re human? I thought I was the only one.” Her answer is hoarse and strained, but she greedily drains the canteen. 

“Yes, I’m human. I’ll try to get food and water to you as often as I can. I have some skill as a healer too, so I’ll try to bring a poultice as well.” I turn to leave, I’ve been missing too long already. But…

“Wait! What is your name?” Pleading gray eyes peer at me.

“Szel.”

✾

I am able to sneak my small bread loaves and water the next day as well along with a poultice made from herbs and vinegar. Each of these nights Rhys asks me how she’s doing, what she looks like, what we talk about. 

“We don’t discuss much, I just don’t have time. She said a spring court member named Lucien helped her with her injuries.”

“Ah, little Lucien, If he gets caught there’ll be Hell to pay. Thank you Szel.” He says softly when he exits. And I realize that he called me by my name.

I can’t manage to see Feyre, nor do I see Rhys for days. When I finally manage to dodge prying eyes long enough to bring her water, she’s sitting on her cot and mad as a badger, staring at her arm covered with black swirling marks. 

“Feyre, What's that!?!?”

“Mark of a bargain. Courtesy of that prick, Rhysand. I’m to spend a week per month in the Night Court IF I get out of here.”

“Ah, yes… I’ve heard he can be... difficult?” To hide what I know to be true about Rhys I rush to ask, “What will you do when we get out?” From there our conversation turns to hopeful dreams and fantasies. Of course, it’s brief as it always must be, but I do hope that I bring Feyre some hope or peace.

This particular night Rhys enters my room with a bit of a smirk. “So, I imagine you’ve been to see Feyre by now? What fascinating things did you discuss.”

“Oh, you know, she mentioned a high lord prick who tattooed her, which I doubt you’re going to elaborate on, then we swapped brief visions of what we’re going to do when we get out of here. She seems to really love this Spring Court Lord.” I give him a pointed look with that last sentence.

“Yes, it does seem so. And that bargain… I suppose I like the idea of seeing her again.” His smile transforms to one so sad and his eyes are just on the verge of spilling over when I realize… “You’re... you love her!”

His eyes snap to mine and are suddenly dry. “I wouldn’t repeat that again if I were you.” His words seem ominous, but his gaze is understanding and soft while he stands and leaves.

✾

I know it’s stupid to go there again, but I just want to check on her. She’s sleeping when I peek in, so it’s a very quick visit. I’m turning the last corner before ascending the steps and run straight into the crimson guard. My stomach drops to my feet while I try to come up with a plausible explanation for why I’m leaving the dungeons. 

“Well, hello. I suppose you’re cleaning the dungeon cells now? No, no, I know exactly what you’ve been about these past weeks. I've been waiting for this.” His mocking glare sends icy dread down my spine as I’m taken by the neck and dragged up, up, up and into a huge room. The throne room, I realize, with a few fae milling about. It must be before they congregate, but I can tell who is up on the dais. Her bored look still doesn’t wipe the cruelty from her face, with her red hair, nails and lips. The red I see at times on Rhys’ shirts. And I glimpse one of those stains as he takes a step from behind her throne. The wide-eyed look he wears disappears as quickly as it came. 

Her voice is deceptively sweet, “Szamar? What do you have? Another one of those creatures? Why? I’m bored of them.” 

“Found her helping the one in the dungeons. If I may, I want to keep it. I’m in need of a pet.” 

And suddenly, Rhys is in my head. “Szel. Don’t react. Tell them you were just curious, nothing more. You took a look, was disgusted and left.”

“I was only curious. But when I looked in she was so wretched, that I just left her there.” I claim, knowing full well that it’s never going to work. Amarantha gives a lazy wave of her hand, “Go ahead Szamar, have fun if you want to keep it, but first I want to know what it did for Feyre. Rhysand?”

Rhys looks at me with a bored mask on his lovely face. “I’m not going to hurt you, you’ll be fine. Just put a blank stare on your face.” His voice reverberates through my mind, but I know what will happen to me when Szamar takes me away. I was taken from him once, he won’t stop hurting me until I’m dead. For now, I do as Rhys asks and let my features go slack.

“She’s rather spineless, just wanted to see the girl out of some morbid curiosity. This is also the one that makes that sweet bread you like.” I know he’s trying to help. I also know it won’t work.

Szamar is getting restless. “Let me take her now. Please? I have such lovely plans.”

We’re dismissed with another wave of her hand, and Szamar picks me up like a sack and starts to walk toward the corridor to his room. 

“Please, please.” I beg through my tears. “Please Rhys, end it. He’ll kill me slowly, painfully.”

“No, there’s still time, Feyre can do this. And your boys need you.”

“PLEASE!” I scream, “I'LL BE DEAD ALREADY!” 

On the floor of Szamar’s room through the pain I know that I’m dying, and I can only think of my Jerah and Shem. Their faces laugh while they run through the fields behind the manor, saying my name, “Momma, Momma!” I know they’ll be ok, their aunt will take care of them. And, I’m so tired of feeling scared and weak.

Then I can feel Rhys’ sorrow in my head, and I feel almost honored that he feels grief for me, that someone down here is good. So I ask him again to please end it, and I tell him that it’s not his fault. I hear him say, “I’m sorry, so sorry.” 

Then nothing more.

[apaappendix104]

samedayessay

About me

How Long Does It Take To Write 1,500 Words?

How Long Does It Take To Write 1,500 Words? I informed myself that I was taking two steps forward and one step back. he problems with endeavor Mitchell’s rest treatment in 2018 are apparent – apart from the misogyny, who pays for six weeks of recumbent milk-guzzling? The Áñez government ignored the warning, and the blockades of the nation’s primary roads started the next week, on August 3. Provocatively, on the same day, the TSE signed a invoice setting the elections for October 18. After more than 10 days of blockades and protests by Bolivian workers and peasants, the Movimiento al Socialismo , reached a pact with the coup regime of Jeanine Áñez. “This is the model that our teachers were most snug instructing in. Sure I know everybody would like to be educating from residence, however if you had to be educating at schools our teachers’ input was most essential here. Perhaps one of the most widespread and controversial makes use of of the jail system through the antebellum period was the detention of enslaved people who had run away. Particularly after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Acts of 1793 and 1850, formerly enslaved people have been detained until their enslaver was recognized and contacted. Historians additionally suggest that image-conscious slaveholders used incarceration as a means of keeping their own palms “clean” while guaranteeing punishment was nonetheless inflicted on enslaved people. Particularly in city areas where whippings or different forms of violence had been extra taboo, jails served as areas the place enslaved individuals might be subjected to physical and psychological hurt exterior of public purview. For example, between 1837 and 1857 alone, practically 500 slaves were imprisoned in Baltimore jails. Jail conditions had been harsh, including poor air flow, vermin, insufficient meals, and unsanitary situations. Effectively functioning as a form of torture, the situations have been exploited by jailers to incentivize previously enslaved folks to determine their enslavers just to be able to be released. Mitchell’s sufferers weren’t all rich; some, like Miss C, were downwardly mobile and had already lost wages from sickness. How did they cover room, board and individualised remedy? The value of healthcare generally was decrease within the 19th century – tubs of chilly water were a leading therapeutic technology. Still, the proper rest treatment was a center- and upper-class area. For the sick poor, whose sickness was blamed on their bad habits, philanthropy and public spending supported a patchwork of sanitariums and visiting nurse services. We’ve listened to that and respected that, and I commend our administration with arising with changes that seem more viable,” Ferro mentioned last week. Grishman stated Jericho administration acquired 218 teacher responses out of a potential 350. I was arrange for a center-class life however have didn't safe a lot of the requisite infrastructure. In the hole between school sessions when I ought to have been freelancing, I would try to remedy myself at residence, dwelling on the emergency savings that double as a retirement fund . I even have a strong aversion to mendacity still in a silent room, the remaining treatment’s major component. Though I declared a relaxation treatment, I kept making an attempt to work after I felt slightly bit better, until I felt bad once more. Newspaper advertisements in each the North and South that called for the return of runaway slaves frequently requested that anyone who found the enslaved person detain them in a nearby jail till they could be retrieved. By the turn of the 19th century in Savannah, Georgia, twice-widowed plantation proprietor Mary Wylly was in financial distress. Despite her ties to wealthy slaveholding households, Wylly found herself in steep debt and was forced to slowly dump property, together with her former husband's land and a number of the enslaved individuals they had owned. Even with out the bells and whistles of a dedicated nineteenth-century medical facility, the rest cure, I determined, is a state of mind. With all different prospects exhausted, the patient accepts the thought of resting as the one path again to a traditional life. I was not a good affected person, even of my very own retrograde therapeutics. At the identical time, Morales and Luis Arce, the presidential candidate for the MAS, publicly attacked the popular demand for the autumn of Áñez as a policy that may benefit the proper wing. The second week of blockades witnessed an escalation of the social and political disaster. The state militarized the principle Bolivian cities, arrested demonstrators and gave criminal cowl to the violent attacks by fascist gangs in opposition to the protesters. At the same time, new social sectors have been entering the struggle, and the demand for the instant downfall of the regime gained increasing recognition. Twenty-three individuals arrested through the protests are being held in pre-trial detention, being investigated for sedition, armed rebellion and terrorism. According to vice minister of the Interior, Javier Issa, the public prosecutor will summon many extra individuals and the ranks of prisoners will swell. The ruling class isn't preparing amnesty, but an escalation of repression. The elections legislation drafted within the Legislative Assembly by the MAS, Unidad Demócrata and Partido Demócrata Cristiano, and signed the next day by Áñez, was seen by Bolivian staff and peasants as a grimy deal. This was clearly expressed within the desperate response of the unions and social organizations, which tried to hide their complicity in betraying the mass protests.