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pedro-pascal-love · 4 years

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The Ex

Chapter Six of Well, This is Awkward

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Rating: 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: An old flame reappears and some things start to come to light about Dave.

Warnings: Language, angst, *SMUT*, daddy kink, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, light choking, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), cheating/infidelity, abuse, violence, forced abortion/miscarriage, MAJOR TRAUMA

A/N: I’m putting a trigger warning for the second flashback. If you’d like to skip it you can, the end of the second flashback is the end of that scene.

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Ever since you and Dave had found out about Carol’s extramarital activities, you both had jumped headfirst into whatever it was that this was. You’d spent nearly every night in his bed with him once the girls were asleep, not to mention your shared activities throughout the day while the girls were away. The first night you’d spent in Dave’s bed with phenomenal, to say the least.

—FLASHBACK—

"I expect you to be naked and waiting,” Dave instructed sternly. You’d clenched your thighs together in anticipation as you nodded and made your way to his bedroom. Once there, you stripped all your clothes off and crawled up onto the bed and laid down, back against the headboard, and waited. You grew anxious at Dave took his sweet time coming in, so you began to touch yourself while you waited. You trailed your fingers down your torso and between your thighs, dipping them into your heat. You were slick with want for Dave, mixed with your combined juices from earlier. You began to pump your fingers into your soaked cunt and moaned out, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Now what do we have here?” you heard a voice, opening your eyes and smiling at Dave as you saw him with his pants already undone and his cock in his hand. “Did I say you could start playing with yourself?” You gulped, shaking your head no as you took your fingers out.

Busted.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you innocently said as you crawled over to the foot of the bed to grasp his hard cock in your hand and lick it. Dave threw his head back as he felt your tongue lap on the underside of his cock. Groaning as you fully enveloped him in your mouth with a slurp.

“Oh fuck, baby girl, you keep that up, and you’ll be forgiven,” he managed to croak out as you worked your way up and down his length, taking his balls into your hand that wasn’t wrapped around his cock. You felt him stop you partway through and turn you around.

“Get on all fours for me, sweetheart,” Dave said as he parted your legs. “Yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl.” His praises went straight to your pussy, and you felt yourself leaking out onto the bed. Dave groaned as he watched a droplet of your juices drip out of you, and he took the opportunity to lunge forward and devour you. He uses two fingers to spread your lips apart so he can quickly flick his tongue against your clit while his other hand is on your ass, holding you steady. You whimper with want at the feel of his tongue against your clit and then move down to your folds.

“Oh fuck, Daddy, please,” you whine out, rocking back against his tongue as it dips into your folds. You hear Dave groan out at the taste of your combined juices from earlier in the evening, and he laps at you more. He flattens his tongue as he licks from your entrance to your clit and then takes your clit into his mouth and sucks. You have to bury your face into the bed to stifle your moans as he assaults your pussy like a man starved. You feel your legs start to quiver as you grow closer to the brink. Dave takes the opportunity to plunge three fingers straight into your cunt, and you feel him hit your g-spot. You explode with a loud moan of ecstasy, feeling your walls clench around his fingers and your cum drip out as he laps it all up.

“You taste so good, baby girl,” Dave praises as he turns you over onto your back and brings his lips to meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips and moan as your tongue battles him for dominance. You feel him slide into your drenched pussy and wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him right where you wanted him.

“Ohhh Dave,” you moaned out. You felt him grip your neck as he lightly squeezed.

“What was that?” he said, licking up the side of your neck and biting your earlobe. “What’d you call me?”

“Ughh, Daddy. I’m sorry. Daddy, please,” you begged in desperation as you felt Dave slide out of you slowly. Dave smirked against your skin as he bit down hard on your shoulder and slammed himself back into you with so much force that it made the headboard bang against the wall.

“So fucking tight and wet for me,” he said as he plowed himself into you with more enthusiasm. “Such a good girl, taking my cock so fucking well.” The more Dave praised you, the more soaked you got, and the more he pounded into you. You felt his thrusts start to get a little more off rhythm and suddenly felt him slam into you and shoot hot beads of his cum into your walls. This triggered your orgasm, and you felt yourself cry out as he covered your mouth with his in a passionate kiss.

“You’re not going to be sleeping tonight, baby girl,” Dave said as he started pumping into yet again, still hard as a rock.

Well, fuck me.

—END FLASHBACK—

The two weeks had been pure bliss, and you were not looking forward to Carol’s inevitable return in a few days. The girls had been pretty sullen since finding out their mother would be gone longer, and you could tell that it was taking a toll on them. Alice had even asked if you could stay and be their new mom two days ago since she doubted that Carol would come home.

“Does this happen often?” you’d asked Alice on your way to drop them off for school that morning.

“Yeah, last time she was gone for three weeks,” Alice said with a sigh as she looked out the window.

“Oh wow,” you breathed out in disbelief. You thought that Carol didn’t make a habit of doing this, but you were proven wrong. Now you understood more about Dave’s anger at Carol. You understood how much more work Dave had to fill the void that Carol left with their daughters. Your thoughts were further soured when you thought about how Carol had only hired you for her to go on vacation with her assistant.

Fucking bitch, you thought. You proceeded to drop off the girls and head to your apartment. You needed to water your plants and get more clothes. You hadn’t foreseen not going home for nearly a month and especially hadn’t expected Dave to rip early half your wardrobe that you’d brought over the first day. He’d told you to go out and buy more with the black card you’d gotten, but you said to him that you felt dirty using the money that Carol was giving you.

“Technically, I’m the one giving you the money,” he’d retorted back with a snort as he’d slid a finger into you three days ago in the living room while the girls were at school. Your heart raced, thinking back to that day and how hot it had been to have sex in the backyard where the neighbors could’ve seen and heard. You shook your head with a smile as you neared your apartment and made your way inside. You gathered up some more of your belongings, making sure to grab extra underwear before watering your orchids and succulents. Suddenly you heard a knock at the door. You grew uneasy because you weren’t expecting anyone, and your senses were swiftly on overdrive. You made your way to the door and looked through the peephole. Your unease grew as you saw a figure with their back turned to the door. You recognized that stance anywhere. Tom.

“Knock knock,” You heard him say. “I know you’re in there, baby.” Your throat grew tight with fear.

“Tom, what the fuck are you doing here?!” you managed to squeeze out, making sure to sound as tough as possible while nearly shaking on the other side of the door.

“I came back for you, babe. They let me out early on good behavior. Can you believe that?” Tom taunted. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and open the door.” You looked at the locks and were relieved to see that they were indeed still secure, with the chain also locked in place. Tom knocked again, harder than before.

“Open the door right now,” he shouted, pounding his fist against it. You ran back to the kitchen and grabbed your phone, sending off a text to your friends Mel and Jesse.

You: Guys, Tom is here.

Mel: Where?!

You: Here outside my apartment! He said they let him out early for good behavior!

Your phone began to ring. Mel was calling you.

“Fuck dude, barricade the door and call 911,” she calmly said as you began to hyperventilate.

This was not happening.

“Listen to me! Call 911!” Mel shouted into the phone, and you nodded.

“Ok, I’m calling them right now. Can you please drive this way?” You asked, panicking as your hands shook, trying to unlock your phone.

“Yeah, I’m already on the way, and so is Jesse. Hang in there, sweetie,” Mel said as you ended the call. You quickly dialed 911 and waited.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher said into the phone. You struggled to breathe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“…H...Hello. Um…My ex-boyfriend is outside my apartment trying to get in,” you managed to say, tears forming in your eyes.

“Ma’am, are you in a safe place? We can dispatch someone out momentarily,” she said. You nodded and then realized she couldn’t see you.

“Ye – yes, I’m hiding in my bedroom now,” you replied.

“Ok, good. Can you give me your address, please, and we’ll get a squad car out.” You rattled off your address to her, and she replied, saying that someone would be there in a few minutes.

“Please hurry,” you pleaded, as you could hear Tom pounding harder on the front door and him jiggle the knob. In your fear, you hit END on the call, and you looked at the door in horror, listening to any sign that he may have left.

“FUCKING BITCH!!!! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!” Tom shouted again as the banging continued. You decided to shoot Dave a quick text to let him know why you weren’t back at the house yet.

You: Dave, please help me. My ex is at my apartment.

Dave: I’m on my way.

You gripped the phone tightly as you closed your eyes, and tears dripped out. You were sure that he’d be locked up for a long time after what happened. More tears streamed down your face as you recalled the events of that fateful night.

—FLASHBACK—

❗️TRIGGER WARNING❗

“You whore, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tom shouted as he grabbed your arm forcefully. You knew a bruise would be there tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry,” you pleaded, tears running down your face as he slapped you.

“Sorry, isn’t good enough, goddammit! I told you I wanted dinner ready as soon as I got home! Not fifteen minutes after. Not fucking thirty minutes after!” he yelled over you. You recoiled in fear as Tom cocked his fist back to hit you again. Instead, he threw you onto the ground and proceeded to kick you in the stomach.

“No, Tom! Please stop!” you begged, trying to protect your middle. He kicked you again, and you cried out.

“Shut the fuck up!” He yelled as he grabbed your hair and lifted your head.

“Please, Tom. Please stop. Don’t hurt the baby,” you implored. Tom stopped his actions and looked at you in anger.

“Are you fucking serious right now?!” he raged, rearing back as he slammed your head down onto the floor. “You got fucking knocked up, you whore!?” You cried even more as you watched him walk away from you and into the kitchen.

“Please, Tom. You’re drunk, baby. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You watched as Tom came back into the kitchen and your body froze in fear at the glistening blade in his hand.

“You fucking bitch. I’m going to cut that baby right out of you,” Tom said as he drew closer. You crawled backward away from him until your back hit the wall.

Oh god, please no.

You prayed as he crouched down in front of you, and you cowered in fear.

“I’m so sick of your shit. Why I put up with you all this time, I have no idea,” Tom said as he spat into your face and gripped your head. You thought to fight back, claw at his arms, at his face, anything. But you were paralyzed with fear. You watched in slow motion as Tom plunged the blade into your body. You watched as blood began to pool around it and seep into your shirt.

“No,” you managed to breathe out before you lost consciousness.

You’d woken up at the hospital two weeks later, unsure of how you’d gotten there. You were convinced that Tom had killed you, but here you were. Connected to all these machines that beeped and whirred. You sat up in bed and winced as you felt a pain in your abdomen.

The baby!

You looked down at your bandaged middle and instantly knew. Tom had killed your baby and almost killed you. You’d been discharged two days after you woke into your sister’s care, and you felt like a shell of yourself. You’d almost died and had also lost your baby. The night Tom had tried to kill you, a neighbor had decided to call the cops, and they’d arrived shortly after Tom had stabbed you. Tom was convicted for one count of attempted manslaughter, one count of fetal homicide, six counts of domestic violence, one count of assault with a deadly weapon, and two counts of aggravated assault. All counts should have put him away for life, but the judge pitied Tom and had only given him ten years. Thankfully, you’d moved to a different city and even state and had put it all behind you.

—END FLASHBACK—

It turns out that Tom was resourceful and had found you. With tears streaming down your face at the painful memories, you looked down at your phone. Only three minutes had passed since you’d texted Dave and called the police, and there was no sign of either of them yet. You knew that it would take Dave about fifteen minutes to get from his house to your apartment, and you could only guess how long it would take the police. Tom’s constant banging on the door had you quaking, and you sent Dave another text.

You: Please hurry.

As soon as you hadn’t been right after dropping off the girls at school, Dave had checked your location on his phone. He saw that you were at your apartment and let out a sigh. Resnik had alerted him two days ago that Tom had left his home and was headed towards you. The bastard had been resourceful and pulled a piece of mail you’d sent your sister that had your address on it. Dave was angry, to say the least. Not only did he have to deal with Carol and her shit when she got home in a few days, but now he had to deal with your ex potentially being in town. Dave checked the cameras he’d planted in your apartment and clenched his jaw when he saw your ex was already in town—standing outside your apartment door.

“Fuck!” he shouted as he got up and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a Glock and its magazine, inserting the magazine into the base and cocking the pistol. He then grabbed the suppressor and attached it to the muzzle. He tucked it into the waistband on the back of his pants and made his way out the door, shooting the boys a quick text to meet him at your apartment, but stay hidden. As Dave made his way to your apartment, he got your text and seethed. Tom was trying to break in, and from the looks of the camera feed in your room, he was giving you quite a scare. Dave’s anger flared up as he watched the tears streaming down your face.

This bastard was going to pay.

Dave’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down at it.

Resnik: She called the cops a minute ago. They’re on the way.

Dave: Stay out of sight but keep an eye on things. I should beat the cops there.

Resnik: Roger that.

Dave pressed the gas pedal down, speeding up to get to you sooner. Luckily, when you’d texted him, he was already on his way, so he wasn’t far. Dave pulled into the apartment complex and saw Tom at your doorstep howling to let him in. Dave swiftly got out of his SUV and put his hand on the back of his pants, ready to grab his gun should he need to.

Thank god people are at work at this time of day.

I don’t have the patience to try and explain that one, Dave thought.

“Open this fucking door up, you stupid bitch!” Dave heard Tom yell as he kicked the door and jiggled the handle some more. Tom caught Dave’s movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over at Dave, sizing him up.

“What the fuck do you want?” Tom shouted, trying to make himself look intimidating.

“I want you to go,” Dave calmly said, his hand gripping the handle of the gun.

“Fuck you. Who do you think you are? Huh?” Tom yelled as he stepped towards Dave, pulling out a knife.

“That doesn’t concern you,” Dave said as he drew his gun and aimed it at Tom. At the sight of the pistol, Tom halted his steps, weighing his options.

Never bring a knife to a gunfight, Dave thought.

“Fuck this. Fuck you and this bitch,” Tom said as he spat towards Dave. “I’ll be back.” Tom began to walk backward, and Dave watched as he got into a car and drove off, fuming. Dave lowered the gun and walked over to your door, and knocked.

“Hello?” he said. He didn’t hear a sound from inside and opened up his phone to look at the feed. You were still cowering in your room. Dave decided to send you a text that he was outside and Tom was gone, and he watched through the phone screen as you read his text and buried your head in your knees and cried. Dave grabbed the spare key to your apartment and let himself in, making sure to lock the door behind him in case Tom decided to come back. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants again as he neared your room and heard your cries.

“Hey, it’s me. Dave,” he announced as he walked in. You looked up at him, eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down your face, and a little snot coming out of your left nostril. You cried harder as you got up and stumbled over to Dave, into his waiting arms as he shushed you and stroked your hair.

“Shhhh. He’s gone. I got rid of him,” he said into your hair, trying to calm you down. You held onto his shirt and cried some more. You slipped your arms around him and held onto him, and he breathed in your scent, not wanting to let go. Dave continued to stroke your hair as you began to calm down, and your arms slipped from the middle of his back to the bottom and came in contact with the butt of the gun. You both froze as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

Fuck, Dave thought.

“Dave,” you slowly said as you let go of him and took a step back. “Why do you have a gun?” There was a pregnant pause before you spoke again.

“And how did you get into my apartment?

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#dave york x nanny!reader #suburban murder dad #dave york x reader #dave york #Dave York #the equalizer 2 #well this is awkward series #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfic

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Reckless (Bianca & Adore) - Candy Cane

A/N: im living in 2015 right now so like. ignore me fsdfsdf but anyways, here’s 2.8k of more incredibly self-indulgent fanfiction. i wrote this as platonic, but if you wanna see anything in here as romantic be my guest!! id like to thank chaoticnachokitten for supporting me and giving me ideas and beta'ing and i just- GAAAHH THANK YOU!! and thanks to everyone else who had such nice words to say abt my last one, it means soooo much 🥺🥺🥺

Summary: Adore and Bianca hang out, but of course things go wrong.

Adore loves hanging out with Bianca. Not only is she her best friend, but she’s the kind of person Adore thought would’ve hated her. But that’s not the case at all, there’s some sort of weird mutual respect and admiration going on between them, and it is fucking awesome.

The young musician knows she can be… a lot sometimes, what with her natural hyperactive toddler personality type, and it amazes her Bianca puts up with her. Especially in moments where Adore knows she shouldn’t be bothering her friend, but decides to anyways because Bianca can be boring sometimes. Moments like this one.

Adore had a gig at one of the clubs, and it ran much later than she had originally anticipated, but that was mostly due to her wanting to stay for Bianca’s set too. Of course, that led to them sharing a few too many drinks together while they stayed to watch some more performers. So when it came time for them to go home, Adore can’t find her keys.

It’s late. Late enough there’s no guarantee Adore’s roommates will be up to let her back into the apartment. The singer immediately turns to her oldest, nearest, dearest friend.

“Oh my God,” Bianca sighs whilst massaging her temples, seeing the next ten hours play out clear as day in front of her.

“Pleaaase can I stay at your place tonight Bia?” Adore asks, using her most pitiful voice and absolute poutiest facial expression.

They’re sat at a table in the back, Adore’s hands perched on Bianca’s knees as she essentially begs. Adore’s too drunk to care.

“Why don’t you call someone to see if they’ll stay up for you?” Bianca retorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. To be fair, it probably is. Adore’s still too drunk to realize that though.

“Oh yeah,” she says, knowing she sounds like the world’s dumbest bitch. She fumbles with her phone for a few seconds, poking the screen and the on button for an embarrassing amount of time before turning to Bianca with another sad pouty face, “It’s dead.”

“Of course it’s fucking dead,” Bianca groans, playing it up like she really does mind Adore staying with her for the night. She doesn’t, she probably would never. Adore is like the niece she never had, and she wouldn’t trade that girl for the world.

“Why don’t I just call one of them on mine?” Bianca offers.

Adobe frowns, putting on her thinking face, “…I don’t remember their numbers.”

“I can call Courtney,” Bianca reminds her.

“Oh yeah!”

A few minutes later, they discover they cannot call Courtney. They try calling her twice, and both times are a bust.

She glances down at Adore, and chuckles when she sees the “Bambi eyes”. Even if she weren’t planning on letting the kid stay with her, that would’ve done her in. She hasn’t met a single person that can resist those eyes.

“I’ll be quiet! I promise!” the singer whines.

Bianca makes an exaggerated show of sighing and hemming and hawing, just to tease Adore, then cracks open a wide, amused smile, “Of course you can stay at my place, bitch.”

“Party!” Adore cheers, throwing her arms tightly around Bianca’s neck. It’s all the thanks Bianca needs.

They pay their bills, order a Lyft, and in more time than either would’ve preferred, they make it to Bianca’s huge ass apartment. The pair stumbles inside the building, trying to look as Not Drunk as they can, and failing miserably. It doesn’t matter anyways, it’s almost 3 a.m. meaning there’s not a soul alive there to watch them.

Bianca leads Adore to the elevator, even if it’s pointless because Adore randomly shows up at Bianca’s place at least three times a week. The singer grips Bianca’s hand tightly, giggling and stumbling while the comic practically barks at her to be quieter. They’re lucky it’s a Friday. Well, a Saturday now, Bianca supposes.

The pair climbs up the one flight of stairs to Bianca’s apartment, and then into the apartment itself after Bianca spends a couple minutes fumbling with her keys. The door swings open, and they both fall onto the nearest couch.

They’re breathless with laughter, and then it starts up again when Bianca realizes she hasn’t closed her apartment door yet.

After she locks her apartment back up and turns on some lights, the older woman finds she can’t take her eyes off of Adore. The younger is smiling so freely, and it ignites something inside Bianca. She’s not sure what it is, maybe youthfulness, or freedom, but she loves it.

“B! Oh my God! I have an idea!” Adore suddenly says, sitting up way too fast and clearly making herself dizzy.

“Don’t kill yourself, otherwise I’m the one that has to call 911. You think I want paramedics at my house before the sunrises? Fuck no,” Bianca berates her, but she’s quick to recompose herself when Adore goes all pouty again, “What’s your idea? God knows you only come up with a good one every millennium.”

Adore childishly sticks her tongue out at Bianca, “We should make waffles!”

“How the fuck are we supposed to make waffles? I’m not a cook, I don’t keep that shit in my house.”

Adore screws up her face cutely, clearly trying to think of a solution to her waffle problem. She brightens up again after a minute, looking very proud of herself, “Alyssa! I bet Alyssa has it!”

Bianca rolls her eyes, “You really think I wanna speak to her right now? At three in the goddamn morning?”

“But waffles!” Adore insists.

“Tomorrow,” Bianca promises, “Right now I want to get out of this clown costume and into bed.”

Adore sighs, then tries her best puppy eyes again, “Cuddles?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Bianca snorts. Adore smiles as bright as the sun, then at Bianca’s beckoning she follows her best friend down the hall so they can take off their makeup and get ready for bed. When they’re finally able to snuggle up in bed together, Adore in one of Bianca’s old shirts and pair of leggings, the whole apartment pitch black, and the only sound they could hear was the sound of each other’s breathing.

It’s soothing and warm. They sleep like rocks.

The sun wakes Adore up at way too fucking early though. Her head is pounding, her arm has fallen asleep from Bianca laying on it through the night, and she is really fucking hungry. Adore groans and gently pulls her arm out from under Bianca, then stumbles out of the way too big, way too soft bed to go find something to take care of her headache.

She’s quickly able to find where Bianca keeps those things (the mounted cabinet in the bathroom) because Adore used to spend a ridiculous amount of time at this apartment complaining about her ailments to Bianca, which of course lead Bianca to freely helping Adore out whenever. Bianca would act all cold and exasperated over it, but they both knew it was just a show.

Adore downs two of the pills dry and decides nearly immediately she should go find something to drink. In mere minutes she has a pot of coffee brewing, and simultaneously discovers that it’s only around 9 a.m.. Which is just overall… weird. Adore is almost never up this early, especially after the kind of night she had last night. The events of the night are still pretty fuzzy right now, but she still remembers everything. Mostly. She thinks.

One thing she does remember is a promise. A promise for waffles. Adore grins, an idea formulating in her head. Bianca is always so incredibly nice to her, helping her out and giving her whatever she wants. And sure, it’s not Mother’s Day, but that doesn’t mean Adore can’t show her appreciation for Bianca.

Clearly the woman deserves breakfast in bed. Courtesy of a little help from a next door neighbor (hopefully). The singer quickly grabs Bianca’s key off the counter and heads over to the one person she knows will have just what she wants.

Adore knocks on the door, and it’s only a minute later with an accompanied shout of ‘I’m comin’ hon!’ that the heavy white door is thrown open.

“Oh my goodness it’s Adore Delano!” Alyssa Edwards says excitedly, “Hello, doll!”

“Hi, Alyssa!” Adore smiles, “Um, I have a favor to ask of you?”

~*~

Bianca’s favorite way to wake up is slowly, with the sun streaming in through her bedroom window and having absolutely all the time in the world to get up, check her phone, and get ready for work. This morning is the exact fucking opposite.

First thing that wakes her up is the motherfucking fire alarm, causing her to scramble out of bed at a record speed. Second thing, she’s painfully aware that Adore isn’t in the bed with her. Bianca is halfway through screaming Adore’s name when she bursts out into the main room.

The main room is smokey as all hell. Adore is aiming a fire extinguisher at the counter from the other side of the kitchen. The counter is covered in white foam. Her damn fire alarm won’t shut up.

Bianca’s going to have a hard time explaining this one to the neighbors for sure.

The older woman breathes in slowly, but sharply, “Adore, what the fuck did you do?”

Adore doesn’t say anything. She lets go of the fire extinguisher, and they both wince when it crashes against the kitchen tile. Not for the first time, Bianca is glad that she lives on the first floor.

The two stare at each other, Adore resting boneless against the oven, her expression just screaming shock. She lifts her head to meet Bianca’s eyes.

Pounding on the door, someone starts shouting, “BIANCA?! HOLY GOD, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?”

The woman in question is quick to open her apartment door, but instead of accepting the concern, she barks out, “What do you want?”

“The whole damn building knows your alarms are going off, Bianca!” Alyssa says sharply, shoving her way inside the apartment, “My girls are coming over in two hours! I can’t have my house burning down on me.” Bianca and Adore share a twin look of surprise. Alyssa’s always been Bianca’s favorite neighbor, that’s no secret, but this is a tightly concealed side of her that neither of them have ever really seen. It’s concern. Worry. But not for herself, for them. Even if it does come off as something else. This is just something not usually associated with her.

“Okay,” Bianca says carefully, “What the fuck is going on.”

“That’s what I want to know,” Alyssa agrees, lips pursed skeptically, “Adore told me y’all were making waffles.” It’s absurd. The fire alarm is still blaring. Adore has crushed herself into a nook, looking petrified. Bianca is very hungover and her most beloved annoying neighbor is standing in her house at way too early o’clock. Bianca suddenly realizes that even though there’s no fire, there’s still smoke in her apartment, and she really wants that alarm to shut the fuck up. Also, the smoke is going to stain her expensive shit if she doesn’t get it out.

She starts to open all the windows in the main room, and is grateful when Alyssa comes to help her. They make short work of it, and when she turns around to look at her best friend, she feels scared.

She’s scared that Adore might be hurt. She’s scared that she didn’t do anything to prevent this. But mostly she’s scared that something might be broken between them.

For the first time since walking in, Bianca notices bowls spread across her kitchen counter. Bowls and boxes and whisks… It clicks.

“Okay,” Bianca exhales, “Alyssa, what the fuck did you just say about waffles?”

“Adore came to me a little while ago and asked me if I could lend you two some waffle ingredients,” Alyssa starts slowly, “And I think to myself, ‘Now Alyssa Edwards, as a woman of God it is your duty to love your neighbor and let her make some waffles on this beautiful morning-’”

“Alyssa, you let my dumbass kid do WHAT?! You fucking know she can’t cook! We have had this conversation a hundred times!”

“Well, Adore said to me ‘Bianca and I’ not ‘I’m going to’! I thought you were gonna be helping her!”

“WHY WOULD YOU ASSUME THAT? WHEN HAVE I EVER COOKED?!”

“I’m sorry!” Adore snaps, her voice quivering and tears welling up in her eyes, causing Bianca and Alyssa to turn to her, “I’m so, so sorry- I didn’t mean for this to happen! I just- I just wanted-”

Bianca stares at Adore with shock, not fully comprehending everything happening. Between her hangover and the sheer chaos of the first fifteen minutes of being awake, she’s not entirely sure why Adore is so distressed. Adore starts whispering ‘I’m sorry’ over and over to herself, hugging her knees tight to her chest, tears starting to crawl down her face, and it hits Bianca like a train.

“Alyssa…” Bianca says slowly, but she’s unable to tear her eyes away from Adore.

Adore’s blaming herself completely and totally. And it makes sense, she is the one that started the whole mess. But Bianca can’t stand that look on Adore’s face. She’d much rather put the blame on Alyssa (who can more than handle it) instead of Adore (who is currently having a nervous breakdown).

But Adore isn’t having it.

“No, this is my fault. I’m not- I’m not that stupid, Bianca. I’m not that useless, either. I’m not a kid. I’m not someone you should leave supervision for. I’m fucking twenty-four. Stop treating me like I’m not,” Adore’s words are cold, but her face tells Bianca the musician is falling apart, “Look me in the eye, Bianca.”

She does.

“Yell at me,” Adore says.

She can’t. Bianca doesn’t even want to. She feels like she failed here, because Adore isn’t her kid but God does it feel like it sometimes.

“We’ll replace your stuff, Alyssa,” is what Bianca says instead.

Luckily, the woman accepts that as her cue to go. She gives Bianca a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she leaves, and sends air kisses Adore’s way. Adore gives Alyssa a weak smile.

The door closes. Bianca and Adore lock eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bianca says. It’s a tired, worried voice. Not at all what Adore was expecting, or even wanted.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Adore answers simply, arms crossed defensively over her chest, “You do so much for me. For everyone. And I know you said last night we’d do it together but I just… I wanted to do something for you.”

That alone melt’s Bianca’s heart. It’s been getting easier and easier lately for Adore, and by extension the rest of their friends, to do that. For a while she thought moving to this city was stupid, and probably the worst decision of her life. But even now, after such a chaotic fucking twenty-five minutes of being awake, Bianca is so happy she’s here.

“Next time, buy me something online,” Bianca says, warm and forgiving, instead of cold and biting like Adore would’ve expected.

The younger practically runs into Bianca’s open arms. The embrace is full of love, and Adore feels that it’s okay. She still blames herself, she’s still stupidly upset, but Bianca… Bianca makes her feel like everything will be okay.

They sit there hugging for a few minutes, then Bianca mutters, “Good thing you knew how to use that extinguisher, I think that’s been hanging there for ten years.”

Adore chuckles wetly, face buried into Bianca’s shoulder, “Yeah… Hey, shouldn’t have all the other alarms gone off too?”

Bianca freezes. Adore is right, all the other fire alarms in the building should’ve had people evacuating.

“I guess the building needs to get that fixed, huh? Maybe you being a walking disaster is a good thing after all, if that had been real, everyone would’ve been fucked.”

“Wow,” Adore whispers, “Maybe our building should get that checked too…? Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“What?!” Bianca asks, pulling away from Adore to see what’s wrong.

“I never went home last night,” Adore says, “I never charged my phone. I never texted my roommates.”

Bianca suddenly doubles over laughing, fully bellied and absolutely batshit crazy, “Good, Courtney doesn’t get nearly enough stress in her life!”

Adore breaks out into a grin, and feels her worries start to melt away. Somehow, Bianca is really fucking good at doing that.

“Alright,” Bianca sighs, looking at the pure mess that is now her kitchen, “Let’s charge our phones and order breakfast.”

And they do.

Neither would’ve spent the hour following that disaster any other way.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #bianca del rio #alyssa edwards #biadore #gen fic #fluff #angst #fighting #lesbian au #cisgirl au #hurt/comfort #reckless #candy cane #tw fire #concrit welcome

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crestomanci · 3 years

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Chapter 2

For God’s sake, did I behave that badly throughout these fifteen years to deserve this? And what did they expect me to do? Did they expect me to go to a country of which I’ve never even seen a picture, assume the throne that I “gained” just by chance and take care of a child and a baby? And how come they can “take me by force”?

I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts, then got up and took off my clothes. I thought that taking a bath could help me, so I turned on the shower and tried to think of what I should do first. I eventually concluded that I would figure out everything I could about my mom and maybe after that I could untie a lot of tight knots that were tangling my brain.

I got out of the bathroom, wore my most comfortable pajamas, that was one of my dad’s red flannel and blue pajama pants I got as a Christmas gift three years ago. When I left my bedroom, my dad had already left and I took that as an opportunity to sit on his armchair, bringing the box he showed me earlier closer to me. On the box, there were a lot of pictures and newspaper articles about her. And she was pretty! Wavy blond hair and big brown eyes that looked like mine. According to the articles, her name was Caroline Marie Rodriguez DeValence II (well, that sounds like a royal name) and looked happy in most of the pictures. I mean… She was smiling, at least. As far as I knew, there was nothing about me or about her life when I was born, but, in between the pictures, I found something that surprised me.

Inside an old envelope, with only a stamp on, there were a lot of pictures and when I realized what they were all about, I gave up on the rest of the box to focus on that specific envelope. They were pictures of me with her. Pictures of which I could obviously not remember, but now that I saw them, it was as if I could feel the love she felt for me. Among them, one got my attention: we were close to a fireplace, she was sitting on a big and white armchair, wore kind of a navy-blue blanket and I was on her lap, with a little dress with lots of laces and, as I narrowed my eyes to look for the details, I realized the laces were pink and white. In the pictures, the ones she was holding me were different from the others. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t looking at the camera. She was looking at me. Without even bothering if there was a camera. And she smiled differently than in the other pictures I saw on the box. In another one, I was laying down on her lap and she was holding me, facing her, or the camera. There was one in which I was sleeping on a baby crib… Another thing that I noticed was the resemblance. I looked like her in a peculiar way, but I didn’t know how to explain.

I checked the hour on the clock above the TV and it was past midnight. I gathered all of those pictures again and put them on the box, then took a deep breath. What was I supposed to do now? The first option that came into my mind was: go to sleep. Tomorrow I have school, right? Or will they take me tomorrow? By the way, who would take me there?

I got the box again, willing to learn more about the place my mom ruled, but, as I was about to open it, a red light crossed the room and I stopped.

“Dad?” I called and then I saw the light again, crossing the room and disappearing. After that, I heard a gunshot.

I ran to my dad’s room and opened the door, finding him on the floor.

“Nick, get down!” he shouted.

As I looked down, I noticed that the red light was right on my chest, so I got down quickly and right after that a gunshot hit the wall in the corridor.

“What’s this? What’s going on?” I shouted, crawling to my dad.

“I don’t know. They told me they were going to get you peacefully. They said they needed you.” another gunshot. This time, it broke the window and there were pieces of broken glass everywhere. My dad wailed and I noticed he was shot.

“You’re hurt? They shoot you!” I screamed and attempted to look for my dad’s phone.

“I’m alright. You need to get out of here, Nick” he asked, holding his right arm so that I couldn’t see the blood mark.

I shake my head. I wouldn’t leave him there and I didn’t know what to do or what was happening. When I found the phone, I pressed the button to unlock, but when I was almost calling 911, someone broke into the front door.

It was the end. To me and to my dad. I held him in my arms and kept typing, until I saw the shadow of a tall man coming into the dark room with a gun in his hand.

I closed my eyes and waited for death, but it didn’t come. I heard the noise of gunshots and felt as if the man was coming closer, until everything stopped.

“He ran away.” I heard a robotic voice coming from the radio.

I dared to open my eyes and besides seeing that my dad was still alive, I saw the tall man, the same I saw when I came home after work, staring at me.

“Then get here. We need to take the princess.” and, then, he turned off the little device he was using and squatted down. “Everything is fine, Princess Nicolle. You’re safe now”.

***

After being led by counselor Isaac (because I couldn’t move), he started to help my dad and, after that, he introduced himself and told us that we just faced a terrorist attack. Someone followed him and Jean - who was another member of Combellmont royal guard -, discovered where we lived and waited until dawn to attack. They thought it was a kind of “total cleaning service”, in which neither me nor my dad should have survived.

“Princess, do you mind if I start to gather your stuff or would you like to leave them here?” I heard Jean ask and I stared at him.

It took me a while to remember that they needed me to pack my bags to go.

“I’d rather you call the ambulance and let me take my dad to the hospital!” I begged.

“Impossible.” he said and crossed his arms. I kept staring at him.

He wore a black suit and was tall, but he had more muscles than Isaac, which made his suit look tight around his arms. Isaac had brown hair and his eyes were narrow and brown too. As for Jean, he had black hair and dark green eyes that were waiting for me to react.

But I heard a painful muffled moan coming from my dad and noticed that Isaac took the bullet that shot his right arm, closer to his shoulder.

“What the-”

“Nick, everything is fine” I heard my dad saying, as he was holding onto the kitchen balcony.

“He needs to go to the hospital.” I said.

“No. We can’t risk your safety. If, after we leave, he still wants to go, we’ll call an ambulance.”

“What’re you saying’? He’s coming with me! I mean, I’m only leaving if he leaves too!”

“Nick-”

“No. Don’t even bother.” I shouted. “I don’t know where I’m going to, I don’t know what I’ll do, but whatever you expect me to do, I’ll only do it if my dad comes with me.”

Jean and Isaac looked at each other and I didn’t know why it looked like they were having fun. My dad was staring at me, holding his shirt that now was ripped off and had a whole due to the gunshot.

“If I say that he’ll come, will it make you come faster?” Jean asked, coming closer.

If his intention by getting closer to me was to make me frightened, it didn’t work. If he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it when he entered the apartment, but it didn’t happen. He was there to help Isaac to take me, so he wouldn’t hurt me, would he? Testing the courage I’ve never used before, I got up, crossed my arms and walked towards him.

“Yes.” I replied.

After that, Jean smiled as if he was talking to a little kid.

“Pack your bags, princess. We’re taking you both to Combellmont.”

Leaving the apartment was a ridiculous process. As I tried to put everything I didn’t want to leave behind on my bag and helped my dad to do the same, I heard Isaac and Jean calling the police and minutes later two police cars arrived with their lights on, but, thank God, with their sirens off.

“I ask them to come discreetly.” Isaac complained between teeth.

“They are police officers from a small town, Isaac. Whoever attempted this attack will not come back. They probably know they shot someone and, after that, you got in the apartment.”

“For God’s sake, princess! Get out of the window!” Isaac shouted, entering my room and putting me away from the window.

“Hey! No touch, please” I said, trying to get away from him.

Isaac let me go.

“We can leave now, princess.”

He grimaced and rolled his eyes. I took my backpack and purse, but Isaac moved himself and took them away from my hands. After that, I went to my dad’s room to help him out, but he decided to take only a backpack. Beside my stuff, I asked them to take the box that had pictures and articles about my mom, and my dad sealed it with duct tape everywhere he could.

After a while, we were being escorted by Isaac and Jean and all of our neighbors were watching us. As far as I could tell, we would be the subject matter for tomorrow’s gossip in town, and this was confirmed when we got into a black Mercedes and were escorted until the border of the town by two police cars.

“We are flying solo, Charles. We’ll be there in about an hour or so. Everything is clean until now. You know what to do. Reserve the entire floor and prepare the princess’ suite.” Jean ordered his phone and after hearing a short answer he hung up. “Tighten your belts.”

I obeyed and soon I found out the reason for that order. Jean drove at high speed and everything was blurry.

“Hey, I don’t know how y’all drive in your own country, but here we have rules and transit plates” I warned and felt my dad holding my hand.

Jean looked impatient and nervous. He pressed the steering wheel and took a deep breath before telling me: “I’m sorry, princess, but that’s necessary since we’re only two trying to deal with an emergency.” I couldn’t explain why but I got pissed off whenever he called me princess. It didn’t feel like I was a princess at all.

I held my dad’s hand and kept staring at the blurry road.

Even at dawn, New York looked chaotic and its lights were quite hypnotic, but when we stopped by a hotel, I couldn’t control myself and got really euphoric. That is, until Isaac opened the car door and I had to pretend that everything was normal.

“Here you’ll be safe, but I recommend you stay away from the windows and don’t talk to anyone but your dad.”

I arch my eyebrows without answering and followed Isaac, as Jean was behind me and my dad was by his side.

“Just to be clear: we can’t afford this place” I said, looking around.

Everything was golden and white. The reception was huge and, since we passed by the revolving door, I counted five chandeliers until we got to the front desk.

“Yes, you do. Not officially, but you do” I heard Jean saying behind me.

“Good night, gentlemen. Who placed the reservation?” the receptionist asked before I could comprehend what Jean was saying.

“Combellmont’s royal guard” Isaac informed and handed in a card with small and golden letters.

The receptionist opened up her eyes in shock and noticed me for the first time, then kept staring at me for a couple seconds. Then, she typed something really fast and handed in two cards for two different rooms. She wished a good night, took the phone and started talking to someone.

“C’mon” my dad said and I followed them around.

We headed to the elevator and stayed there for an eternity. To my embarrassment, every time we stopped somewhere, Isaac and Jean didn’t let people get in, until we arrived at the floor in which I would stay the night and I counted three more guards waiting for us. One on the left side, one on the right side, one closer to a door. The door to my room.

“Good night, Isaac. Jean.” The one closer to the door greeted the two and looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Step away from the door, Charles.” Jean replied, rolling his eyes.

Charles pretended like he didn’t hear it at all and then bowed at me.

“Good night, princess.”

“Good…?” that was all I could say.

Charles looked a lot like Jean, but had more hair, bigger cheeks and less muscle. He didn’t look like he was a guard, but one of my classmates, maybe one of those that were addicted to sports and that stuff.

“Step away from the door, Charles.” Jean repeated.

Charles moved away and Jean opened the door.

“Your suite, princess. Your father will be in the other room. As I’ve said, please, stay away from the windows. I’ll stay here, watching your door, so if you need anything you can call me.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t say anything. I had nothing to say, actually. So I got inside the room and Jean came after me, putting my backpack in front of the bed while putting the box and my purse on the bed.

“Good night, princess. We’ll head to Combellmont tomorrow” and, after realizing I wouldn’t say anything, he left.

End of the chapter. Let me know if you liked! Don't forget to comment, like and shared with your friends. See y'all soon! 💜

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cpd5021 · 4 years

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Reckoning - Part 9

Part 9....we’re going to take a little turn with this one. (Also, TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of sexual assault.)

As Hailey and Jay arrived on scene they distended into pure chaos. Patrol informed them that three masked men entered the home, immediately shooting the husband fatally in the chest, the wife had taken a brutal beating and was being sent to Med unconscious, and there was a missing eight year old girl, the daughter of the wealthy couple. Hailey and Jay broke apart, going to find out where the team needed help. Hailey met up with Kim in the little girls bedroom, both women silent as they took in the scene. The bedroom, which was decorated with everything pink and unicorns to match, was an absolute disaster. Things had been knocked off shelves, a small table had been flipped over and clothes had been thrown out of the closet.

“It’s like they were looking for something.” Kim stated, continuing to survey the room. The rest of the house had been trashed too but this room was certainly the worst of it. Hailey bent down to pick up a small teddy bear that had been ripped apart.

“Hailey...” Kim’s voiced was lower this time, causing Hailey to glance up at the younger officer.

Hailey stood and followed Kim’s line of sight to see what she was looking at. Both women fell silent as they noticed a blood stain on the girls mattress, a pair of little girls panties laying next to it.

“You don’t think...” Kim couldn’t finish the question, swallowing hard at the thought.

“Let’s hope not.” Hailey took one last look around the room before walking back out, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling she had.

***********

After working the scene as much as they could, everyone except Kevin and Vanessa, who had been sent to the hospital in hopes the mother would wake up, reconvened at the office. They sat around the bulletin board as Adam presented the facts of the case. Neighbor had called 911 stating there had been gunshots and screaming from inside the home, when they looked out their window they saw the girl being carried into a blue suburban before it sped off, no plates and they hadn’t seen any faces.

Kim was working on pulling up traffic cameras in hopes they could identify the vehicle. Jay was running background information on the family, looking for any reason they might have been targeted. Hailey was processing some of the pictures the evidence tech had sent over. Suddenly Kim stood from her desk, grabbing her coat as they all looked up at her.

“Got it! Registered to a Hugo Swarez, priors for home invasion and sexual assault and battery. Patrol spotted it outside a warehouse just a minute ago.” Kim bolted down the stairs with Adam in tow, Jay and Hailey quickly followed.

Pulling up outside the ware house, they spotted the suburban still parked on the side street. They all got out of their vehicles, guns already drawn, as they searched for an entrance to the large building. Finally finding a door, they quickly made entry and filed into the empty room. They noted two doors and a stair well to the left. Adam motioned towards one door, Jay nodded towards the other, leaving the girls to take the stairs. Kim went first, easing her way up the metal steps with Hailey close behind. At the top of the landing, they paused and noted the hall went two separate directions. Kim pointed that she would go left so Hailey started down to the right. The ware house was massive and despite the bottom half being open, the upper level proved to be a maze of doors and hallways. Hailey checked a few of the rooms and found them to be empty. As she entered her fourth room, strong arms suddenly gripped her from behind, a hand clamping over her mouth. She barely processed the cloth being pressed to her face before the room went dark, having inhaled whatever chemical the offender had doused the rag with.

The rest of the team, none the wiser to Hailey’s attack, cleared the rest of the warehouse. Kim heard the metal steps clang and returned to the landing, assuming it was Hailey. Instead she was met with Jay, a worried look on his face.

“Where is Hailey?” He instantly began opening doors, not giving Kim a chance to answer.

“I..she went this way. We had to separate...” Kim struggled to explain and she began to worry over Hailey’s whereabouts.

“Back door!!” They heard Kevin yell from below. Both immediately turned and ran down the stairs, rounding the corner they saw Adam running out the door behind Kevin. As the men disappeared into the outside, gunshots filled the air.

Jay and Kim made their way to the door impossibly fast, weapons up and ready to shoot back. Tires squealed in the distance. Jay noted Adam laying on the ground, holding his shoulder and yelling at Kevin to follow the vehicle. Jay followed close behind Kevin as Kim bent down to check on Adam. Jay barely processed the words as he heard Kevin yelling into his radio with a vehicle description and stating that the offenders had taken an officer. Neither of them stood a chance at catching the car on foot, so they quickly made their way back to Kim and Adam. An ambulance was already en route, though Adam only had a grazed shoulder from the bullet. Jay paced angrily, looking for someone to blame. How had Kim let Hailey go off on her own? How had Kevin and Adam not caught them before they got her out the door and into the vehicle? How had he not been there to save her? His anger and worry boiled over as Voight came up to them asking what happened. Kevin had to explain as Jay was still to upset.

“We shouldn’t be standing here!” He yelled suddenly. “We need to get out there and find her!”

Voight came and gripped Jay on the shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “Jay, we’ll get her back. Every officer out there is on the lookout for that vehicle, they won’t get far.”

“They shouldn’t have even had the chance to get away.” Jay’s voice was finally lower as worry overtook his anger.

“But they did. These are professionals, but so are we.” Voight’s gravely voiced helped to calm Jay enough that they could regroup and figure out what to do next.

*********

Hailey came to in a dark room. She was disoriented and her head was pounding.

“Wakey wakey.” A mans voice in the darkness caused her to jump.

“Who are you?” She asked, voice feeling scratchy and dry.

“Like I’m gonna tell you.” The man scoffed at her.

Hailey noted that she was handcuffed to a pipe and based on the lack of windows, she assumed she was in a basement somewhere. The irony of being restrained with her own handcuffs only added to the fact that she was once again stuck in a basement, waiting for her team to rescue her. Her head rested back against the pipe as the room continued to spin. The small amount of light from a phone screen illuminated the room slightly and she was able to take in her surroundings quickly. To her horror, her eyes fell upon a tiny body, lying curled up in the corner not to far from her, the pink nightgown drenched in blood.

“Is she alive?” Hailey asked, straining against the pipe, trying to reach the girl.

“For now.” The man chuckled. “She’s a fighter.”

Please let him be right, Hailey thought to herself. Try as she might, she couldn’t get any closer to the girl. She silently prayed that her team would find them quickly, if the girl was still alive she wouldn’t be for long. Hailey’s throat burned so she decided to try a different tactic.

“Could I have some water?” She asked with a cough.

“What do I look like, a waiter?” The man spit in her direction.

“Please?” She begged, hoping he would leave the room. With another spit sent her way, this time landing on her face, the man stood and left the room leaving them in pitch blackness. Once she heard the door shut, Hailey strained against the pipe again, trying to stretch her legs out. Pulling hard against her wrists she was able to get her foot close enough to nudge the girl, eliciting a small whimper. Hailey let out a relieved sigh, at least she was alive.

The man returned moments later with a bottle of water. Hailey gasped as his hand came to grip her throat tightly before he poured water onto her face, eventually allowing her a small drink. Hailey wreathed her head and his grip tightened.

“Now now, play nice.” The man whispered close to her ear. His hot breath hit her face and she wreathed again, trying to connect her foot with his body.

“I said,” The man yelled this time, shaking her neck violently. “ Play nice.”

“That’s enough.” Another man’s voice entered the room.

The grip on Hailey’s neck was released and she was able to breath properly again. The first man stood and left the room. The second man had brought a small lantern, illuminating the room. Hailey’s first glance was to the mans face, immediately recognizing him as Hugo. Her second glance went to the girl, who looked even worse in the light but, from what Hailey could see, was still breathing. Hugo knelt close to Hailey, his face right in hers. She squirmed as his fingers traced from her temple to her jaw line, before his thumb brushed over her lips.

“I haven’t had a beautiful woman like you in my presence in far to long.” His voice was sickly sweet and Hailey fought the urge to gag.

“Why are you keeping us here. She needs medical attention, let her go and I promise I can get the charges dropped.” Hailey tried to reason with the man to no avail.

“Charges?” He laughed in her face. “If I leave this house alive, I’ll be in prison until my body rots away. So I don’t plan on leaving alive.” He finished with a chuckle.

Hailey squirmed as his hands were on her again, this time pressing into her thighs. She fought to keep her legs together but her overpowered her greatly.

“Another fighter.” Hugo laughed again as he ripped her legs apart, drawing a yell from her lips. “Oh and a loud one.”

“Let go!” Hailey shouted at him, fighting with all she could to get him away from her.

“Or what?” He yelled angrily inches away from her face.

Hailey had no response because she simply didn’t have an ‘or what’. She had nothing. No weapon, no way to free herself, no team to back her up. She was screwed. That realization must have crossed her face because Hugo was next to her again, this time reaching down to her ankles and forcefully pulling her to lay on her back, arms straining against the handcuffs chained to the pipe. Her legs thrashed as she attempted to at least slow his attack, but this only egged him on more. His hands pressed firmly into her thighs, effectively stopping her movements. Hailey felt tears fill her eyes and she furiously tried to blink them away. One tear fell, trickling slowly down the side of her face. To her disgust, Hugo’s rough finger wiped it away. He shushed her in a mocking way, as if she was a baby needing settling. Hailey fought the mental images playing through her mind, the memories of her attack with Booth flashing before her eyes, fearing this was about to be deja vu...only worse. She silently begged for her team to hurry up and find them, for Jay to find her.

#halstead and upton #jay halstead #hailey upton #halstead #jay x hailey #upstead #upton

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baepsaets · 5 years

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The Call

(a/n: thank you all for 4k, and happy birthday jk! to celebrate, here’s a oneshot i’ve had typed out for a bit but didn’t want to post just yet. i’m working on a collection of oneshots that will all loosely be connected, all of them frat!jungkook related. they are all stand-alone, although they exist in the same universe).

summary: the only time you take the obnoxious frat boy from your chemistry class seriously is when he calls to tell you your close friend is having a bad trip at a party.

warnings: drug use mention (but not jk or the reader - and yes, this drabble is inspired by a true story. party safe lovelies!), enemies to friends to lovers (but just the friends part in this fic) (although jk is jealous lmao)

Frat Drabble: 4.3k

Your bare feet pounded on concrete as you ran down the block, glancing at your phone to check the time. It had been three minutes since Jeon Jungkook had called you from your friend’s phone.

It was a Friday night, which meant you’d had a hot date with your couch and Netflix, enjoying the time you got the spend alone while your roommate went out. When your friend had called you half-past midnight while you were in the middle of your latest binge, you’d been surprised, but answered anyway. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Uh, (Y/N)?”

Your blood went sluggish. The voice on the other end of the phone was male, and definitely didn’t belong to your friend. “Who is this?”

“It’s Jungkook. From Chem 201?”

Jeon Jungkook. The current bane of your existence—or at least, the bane of your chemistry class. He was seated next to you, and with an assigned seating chart, there was no way to avoid him.

The two of you had admittedly started off on the wrong foot. He’d caught you in a bad mood, but then had matched that mood with his own. But it wasn’t your fault that he was completely intolerable. Just a stupid, smug frat guy. He was probably going to school on his dad’s paycheck and didn’t care about failing. He certainly didn’t care about passing, from what you’d seen of his test results before he’d shoved them into his cluttered backpack.

It had all happened because he’d sat in your seat. From then on, it was like the guy had developed a special grudge against you. And you, who was a good student—you, who had to work hard to maintain a scholarship. You—who was sarcastic and could come off as a little bitchy—yes, you—were all too willing to respond in kind.

First, it had been the man-spreading. Jeon Jungkook sat like he had the biggest elephant nuts of the century. He sat with one leg pressed against you, the other stretched out lax in front of him. It was the touching that bothered you. Jungkook created heat like a furnace, and you didn’t like being touching by people you didn’t know or like. So, you scrunched away from him, curling around the other armrest until your other seat neighbor glared at the both of you. Your row already had such limited space. It was a lecture hall, for God’s sake.

Not to mention all the women that flocked to his seat. You’d had to ask more than one girl to move after coming into class and finding them surrounding him, like he was God’s gift to women. As if. Sure, the guy was nice to look at, but he knew it, and his confidence bordered on an arrogance that made your blood boil. It only got worse when he watched you shoo them away—smirking, knowing it annoyed you. A type of smirk that said, “Don’t you wish you were them?”

No, you self-assured motherfucker. Quit looking at me like that.

Then, it had been the pen clicking—fuck, the pen clicking. Murder was imminent. By the second week, Jungkook had figured out that you hated pen clicking, so that’s exactly what he did.

After that came the Hydroflask Incident. Namely, Jungkook had spilled almost his entire hydroflask on your backpack. That was the worst one. All of your surrounding seatmates had gasped in horror and let you used their desks to air out your papers, which were almost soaked. Luckily, you hadn’t had any textbooks in your backpack at the time. Jungkook had apologized for that one, even looked a little guilty, but it didn’t matter—Jeon Jungkook was obviously the scum of the universe, and you would never accept any apology from him even if he begged you on his knees. He was trash, and that was that. You didn’t waste time on trash.

His face flashed in your mind—wide-eyed, soft-lipped. Why was he calling you from your friend’s phone? They weren’t hooking up, were they? The thought filled you with unexpected horror. “Where’s (Y/Fr/N)?”

There was a deep sigh. It really wasn’t fair that he sounded so good over the phone—everyone sounded ugly over the phone. It was the law! “Listen—she’s in pretty bad shape right now. She came to a party at my frat house and she ended up—maybe taking something?”

You sat up straight on the couch. (Y/Fr/N)? Yeah, she did some wild shit, but she’d never been a drug user. Hell, she’d tried pot back in high school and hadn’t even liked it.

“Taking something? Like what?”

“Uh—shrooms?”

You jaw dropped. Whatever Netflix show you’d been watching turned into static background noise. “What?”

“It was an accident! She was drunk and I think some guy offered her some, and she ate them without realizing it. I’ve got her cornered in my bedroom, but she’s having a really bad trip.”

That was all it took to get you scrambling to your feet. You were wearing a loose shirt and panties, but you tugged on a useless pair of sleep shorts while keeping the phone pressed to your ear with your shoulder.

“Do we need to call 911? Does she need a hospital—?”

“It’s not that bad—,”

“Not that bad? How do you know that? What if it was laced with something and she dies?”

This was so fucking typical. Jeon Jungkook, frat guy extraordinaire, not caring about a girl getting drugged in his own house. Why even call if he was going to act like it wasn’t a big deal?

“It’s not—,”

“This is your frat house, Jungkook! You’re responsible for what happens in it!”

“I fucking know that!” he finally snapped. You went silent in shock. “I know that, okay? We’re all freaking out right now and we already shut down the party! Jesus, Jimin broke that guy’s nose once we found out! I’m calling you because while I was looking through her phone to find someone to come help us, your name was the only one I recognized.”

You bit your lip, chastened. “What’s the address?”

“I’ll text it to you right now. Just—get here soon, okay? I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself.”

This was your worst nightmare, you realized. Something bad like this happening to someone you loved. You didn’t open up easy, so the people you did care about, you cared about hard.

“Has she thrown up?”

“I thought about making her, but I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to handle a situation like this. Alcohol and weed are the only stuff we allow on our property, so whoever this guy was, he snuck in.”

You slipped on your flipflops and dashed out the door. You were surprised to see Jungkook’s frat house was only several blocks away. Perfect, because you didn’t want to wait for an Uber, if you were even lucky enough to find one at this hour. You ran a hand through your hair and tried to shape it into something presentable. Had you showered today? No, you hadn’t. But that didn’t matter.

“Just—sit with her until I get there. Please.”

“I already have been,” he said, surprisingly gentle. “I got her some water and tried to get her to eat, but she wouldn’t take anything from me. She can’t recognize any of us, and she’s scared to death. That’s why I decided to call a friend in her phone. I don’t know anything about her family and didn’t want to immediately call the police and get us all busted. The guy swore up and down it was just shrooms before we kicked him out.”

“Maybe the police are what that guy deserves,” you huffed, pressing the button for the elevator. You lived on the seventh floor and planned to sprint the entire way there, so you might as well conserve your energy.

His silence was telling, until, “If she wants to contact the police after this, we’ll help her.”

Your jaw dropped. You knew damn well that half the people that went to his frat’s parties were underaged, drunk and maybe worse. Calling the police would get everyone in a lot of shit. Some of them might even get expelled, arrested.

Frankly, you had expected him to beg you not to let that happen. His easy compliance shocked you.

Along with his easy compliance, his compassion shocked you as well. He said he’d been trying to care for your friend before calling you, which was more than you expected from some random frat guy who didn’t know her from Eve. A surprisingly kind gesture, from someone who had only shown you distain.

“Well,” you grunted, after collecting yourself. “We’ll see what she says. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You hung up without another word. The elevator was approaching the first floor, and when it opened, you sprinted out of the lobby and down the street, following the path Google Maps had given you.

You were completely out of breath by the time you found his frat. You’d lost your flipflops somewhere after the first block. It was an old, big house—almost mansion-like. Beer bottles and plastic cups were littered across the lawn, signs of a party ended too quickly. You bounded to the front door and knocked loudly.

No reply. You knocked again, longer. Nothing. You were ready to try the door handle when it turned, and the door was pulled back.

A hard-faced and intimidating boy opened the door an inch. He looked young, but still a little older than Jungkook. He stared at you in frustrated annoyance.

“We said the party’s over.”

“I’m (Y/Fr/N)’s friend,” you panted. “Jungkook called me.”

Immediately, the boy’s face morphed into one of relief. He swung open the door, and you realized he had bright blue hair. “Thank God. I’m sorry. I thought you were here for the party.”

Your lip curled in disgust at the though. “Well, I’m not. Excuse me.”

You shouldered him out of the way a bit, taking in the space. It was definitely a frat house. It smelled like an aging brewery. There were several other men in the room who openly stared at you. For a moment, you were embarrassed by your attire, but the moment passed quickly.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you asked the room. Several of them pointed to a staircase in the corner. “Thank you.”

You took the stairs two at a time before almost running into someone at the top. He must have been waiting for you. For the first time, the sight of Jeon Jungkook filled you with complete joy and relief. His face, in comparison, was more shocked and horrified.

“Jesus, (Y/N)—where are your shoes?”

“Where is she?”

“You’re barely dressed—,”

“Jungkook.”

He sighed, accepting defeat. “She’s in my room, this way.”

Jungkook led you down the dark and empty hallway until you came to a door. It had several posters hanging on it, but you didn’t know of what. He pressed his ear to the door for a moment to listen before finally opening it, sensing your worried impatience.

The light was off. You got a sense of a modest-sized space, painted a dark color. There was a desk with a wicked gaming center set up on it, a dresser, and—there, a bed. You could see a shapeless lump on it that turned into a person the harder you stared.

“Hey, (Y/Fr/N),” you said, soothingly. She was curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed, head buried in the blanket. You turned to Jungkook. “Could you give us some privacy?”

His face creased. “She might get violent.”

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

Your friend looked up when she started to register your voice, and said, “(Y/N)!”

She scrambled off the bed and threw herself at you. Jungkook tensed, and moved almost as if to defend you, but all your friend did was collapse in your embrace and begin to sob. She blubbered something, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. You were certain it had something to do with whatever hallucinations her bad trip was producing.

Jungkook looked at her guiltily. “Has she ever taken anything like this?”

“She’s smoked some weed, but nothing more serious.”

You led your friend to the bed and helped her lie down, still shaking and sobbing. You held her hand and she gripped you tightly, like she was afraid you would let go.

“It’s okay,” you reassured her, keeping your voice calm and steady without being too sappy. “I know it’s bad right now, but you’re safe. I’m here with you, and this will be over soon.”

You laid down until you were across from her, watching her rock back and forth. You used your thumb to wipe her wet face. “Jungkook—could you bring me some tissues?”

You didn’t look as he left, or when he came back. He handed you a roll of toilet paper.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s all we have.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, voice still soft. You didn’t see it, but Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you, suddenly struck by your kindness. In class, you were often so cold and reserved. It was startling for him to see you so suddenly and painfully human.

He felt guilty for thinking that. He wasn’t going to lie and pretend he liked you, but he didn’t not like you, which you seemed to assume.

It was like you purposefully made yourself hard to get along with. Jungkook was an easygoing guy—maybe a little introverted, but friendly, at least. At first, he’d thought you were that way too. Until he very quickly realized you were just stuck-up and mean.

Well, that was harsh. You weren’t mean, and if you were, it was because he messed with you. To be honest, he couldn't actually pinpoint exactly why he liked doing that. Sometimes, it was just nice to get underneath your skin. To see your perfect composure crack, with just the clicking of his pen.

He just wished you didn’t look at him like he was a bug to be squished underneath your shoe.

Jungkook didn’t consider himself a frat guy, whatever that was. He was a guy, and he was in a frat. Why did putting those two together suddenly erase every other part of his personality? Before, he was Jeon Jungkook—kind, honest, handsome, talented, funny. But now, he’s Jeon Jungkook—frat guy.

That was the only part you seemed to care about. Why should he be compelled to think any kinder about you? To him, you were just a judgmental, possibly even cold-hearted classmate.

But that was before—before he saw you like this. Before he watched you wipe snot from your friend’s nose with your sleeve when the toilet paper wasn’t doing the job. He sank to the floor, mollified with the knowledge that your friend probably wasn't going to attack you at any given moment.

You wiped the snot from your friend’s nose, and the drool from her mouth. You tried to wipe off her smudged and running makeup as best as you could. She was still sniffling, eyes shut tight like she was afraid to open them.

After what must have been at least an hour, her trembling stopped. Her hand was lax in your own, and her breathing evened out. She had finally, finally fallen asleep, while you murmured reassurances into the still space between her face and your own.

You observed her, making sure she didn’t look sick or sallow. Making sure she was still breathing. Your own eyes were dry and stinging, but you weren’t tired enough to sleep. Another half-hour went by like this, until you felt confident enough to extract her hand from your own and carefully climb off the bed.

Your body was slightly sore, and you turned to stretch—and saw Jungkook asleep by the door, body slumped forward.

You stopped. He looked softer in his sleep. His face was suddenly round and painfully young. His mouth was open slightly, air whistling between his lips. His hair was stuck up in front from constantly running his hand through it, and his skin was paler—too pale. His dark circles stood out. He was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which you assumed he’d been wearing at the party.

A glance at your phone confirmed that it was only three in the morning. You walked back around the bed and covered your friend with the blanket, making sure she was comfortable. You gently removed her shoes. She snuggled deeper into the pillow, still clinging to sleep.

You moved back toward the door. You crouched down until you were close to Jungkook’s face.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching out to poke his shoulder gently. He jumped suddenly, whacking his head against the door.

He gasped in pain while you cringed for him. Reaching up, you cradled the back of his head and rubbed gently to help with the pain. It was a sudden, intimate gesture, but you were still in mothering mode. He allowed it, staring sleepily into the dark. You glanced back at your friend to make sure she hadn’t been woken by the thud.

“Can we step outside?” you asked, voice still low. He winced and nodded, climbing unsteadily to his feet. The two of you slipped outside, leaving your friend comfortable and still asleep in the bed.

The hallway was pitch black, but you could see light coming from the bottom of the staircase. Jungkook slipped his hand in your own and led you in that direction. His hand was warm and slightly rough, and you squeezed it subconsciously. He squeezed back. In the darkness of the hallway, so late at night, and after dealing with such a scary and pressing situation, almost nothing felt real—it was almost like a strange dream.

He let go of your hand at the bottom of the staircase. You let him.

A lamp glowed dimly in the corner. In the living room was another boy. You recognized him as the one who had answered the door. He was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He jerked up when he saw you.

“Is she okay?” he asked, speaking in a whisper. Like it was too late at night and the room was too empty to use a regular speaking voice.

“I think she’ll be fine,” you replied. “She’s gotten past the worst of it, and now she’s asleep. I wanted to grab her a glass of water for when she wakes up.”

You turned toward Jungkook. “Where’s your kitchen?”

The other boy jumped off the couch before he could reply. “I’ll show you.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook said, lowly. Almost gruffly. His morning voice? “I’ve got it.”

Taehyung stopped and raised an eyebrow. He eyed Jungkook, suspiciously. Something passed between the two of them, but you were too tired and mentally occupied to focus on it.

You tugged on the sleeve of Jungkook’s shirt and demanded, “Kitchen.”

The weird eye contact between Jungkook and Taehyung was broken, and he turned to you. “Yeah, it’s this way.”

He led you, but Taehyung followed anyway. The kitchen was modest and much cleaner than you expected. As if sensing your surprise, Jungkook snorted.

“You really think we’re animals, don’t you?” he asked. He opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass, while you flushed.

“I don’t,” you defended. You were feeling a bit ashamed. You’d thought some harsh things about Jungkook, and even if you hadn’t said them out loud, they still influenced how you’d treated him. Tonight, you’d gotten an opportunity to see a different side of him—one that you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before.

Suddenly, everything he’d ever done to you felt petty. So, what, he clicked his pen? He spilled water on your backpack? What did stuff like that matter? Why had you let it affect you so much?

“Yes, you do,” he replied. “You’re always so quick to think the worst of us.”

“Bold statement to make from a boy whose frat hosted the party my friend was drugged at.”

He and Taehyung winced, but then so did you. You could recognize a low blow, even if you were the one that had delivered it. There must be something wrong with you. Hadn’t you just been thinking you were being a huge bitch?

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, immediately. “I know that’s not the whole picture. I didn’t mean for it to sound that judgmental.”

Jungkook stared, and you flushed. “I mean—I know I can do that. Be more judgmental than I realize. And it’s true that sometimes I’m more inclined to think badly of you. But I know that’s just me being a bitch about it.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Taehyung butted in, drawing your attention and Jungkook’s ire. “This is our frat, and it’s our fault something like this happened. We should be more careful about who we invite and who we let in.”

Taehyung moved until he was standing next to you and continued. “It’s easy to have a negative opinion on frat life. I’m sorry that we had to prove you right tonight.”

Your flush deepened, but this time because of attention instead of embarrassment. Christ, where had Jungkook been hiding such a handsome and well-spoken frat brother? If you’d met him first instead of Jeon, maybe your opinion on frat life wouldn’t be so negative.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at the interaction. It made his skin tingle and his chest burn. He filled the glass he’d gotten with water and thrusted it toward you. “Here. We should go back up.”

Taehyung looked at him in confusion as you took the glass. “Just stay down here and sleep on the couch with me, man. I was gonna stay to get an early start on cleaning tomorrow morning.” He looked at you suddenly. “What did you say your name was again?”

“She didn’t,” Jungkook said, at the same time you replied, “(Y/N).”

Taehyung smiled. It was boxy. Adorable. “(Y/N) and (Y/Fr/N) can sleep in your bed, and you can sleep down here with me. Right?”

Jungkook frowned. “I’m fine on the floor. I want to be there if something happens.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook shot you such a sudden glare that your teeth snapped shut. Taehyung eyed him again, except this time in amusement.

“Okay,” he shrugged. He looked back at you and smiled, but there was something more to it—it was playful, teasing. “Thank you for coming over, (Y/N). You’re a devoted friend.”

You smiled at the compliment. “I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re doing a lot more than a lot of people would be willing,” he corrected, making your smile widen.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Jungkook snapped, sarcastically. “We need to go back.”

You narrowed you eyes at him, but let it go. It was time to let it all go. You were tired of being bitter and thinking you were justified for it.

The three of you wished each other good night before Jungkook took you back to his room, hand on the small of your back while you climbed the dark staircase. You stopped near the top, where it was still bright enough to see most of his face.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned. You nodded and looked away.

“Yeah, I just—,” and you stopped, unsure. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this. But I just feel like I owe you an apology.”

His jaw dropped. “What?”

You sighed. Did he have to be so dramatic? This was already hard for you. “I meant what I said earlier, about thinking the worst of you. When we first met, I was already in a super bad mood. We got off on the wrong foot.” You looked at his face. “I definitely thought you were just some ignorant fuckboy frat guy, but worse than that, I really didn’t try to see you as anything else. I accepted my bad impression of you and let it color my judgment toward everything you did. That was wrong of me.”

You glanced down the hallway, toward his room. “Thank you for calling me. I’m really grateful you were able to take care of (Y/Fr/N) before I got here. You didn’t have to do that. She’s not even your friend.”

Jungkook watched your face closely as you continued. “So, what I’m really trying to say is—I’m sorry for being rude. I’m sorry for not taking the time to get to know you. And I’m sorry for not giving you a chance. It’s a bad reflection of my character. Thank you for putting up with me, and thank you for helping me tonight.”

You waited a bit in stuffy silence. You weren’t sure what you were expecting—for him to laugh in you face, maybe. For him to at least acknowledge your apology. You were getting nervous until he finally said, “I’m sorry, too,”

You let out a surprised noise, and he continued. “You’re not the only guilty one. I did the exact same thing. I didn’t take the time to get to know you because I thought you weren't worth getting to know. I thought you were rude and uptight, and I went out of my way to annoy you because of it. That was wrong of me and I was being a huge dick. It wasn’t until tonight that I saw you as like, an actual person.”

“What did you see me as before?” you asked, slightly amused.

“I don’t know. A robot or something.” At your offended look, he was quick to continue. “But no offense! You’re just always in class, always paying super close attention, never talking. Sometimes, I don’t even think you breathe.”

You tried to find it in yourself to be offended, but then—you laughed. You laughed hard enough to make the water in the glass you were holding slosh precariously, and until finally, Jungkook laughed too.

“Yeah,” you agreed, still chuckling. “I’m sorry. I take myself a little too seriously sometimes.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he said. “I probably don’t take myself seriously enough. I know I’m goofy, but my grades—,” and here he stopped, grimacing, “—are bad. Really bad. Especially in chemistry.”

“I can help you out, if you want,” you offered. It was time to start wrapping up your conversation. You didn’t want to leave your friend alone for much longer. “We can study together.”

He seemed shocked. “Really?”

“Totally,” you agreed. “I mean, I suck at chemistry too. Maybe we can help each other.”

Jungkook stared at you a moment longer. If seeing you act kind with your friend had been a shocker, this was somehow even worse—seeing you actively friendly. He was certain, after tonight, and after your apology, that your cold and anti-social persona hide a surprisingly welcoming and caring heart. How willfully blind he must have been to have missed it.

Then he smiled, almost shyly. A surprising bunny smile, very different from the smug one he usually wore in class. “Yeah. Maybe we can.”

The two of you went back to his room. He creaked open the door and let you through, closing it behind him. It was still dark, but your eyes were more adjusted. You could hear your friend lightly snoring on the bed, and could make out a lump under the blanket.

As you made your way deeper into the room, Jungkook seated himself by the door again and leaned against it for support. You winced in sympathy for his back.

“I’m sorry you have to sleep on the floor,” you whispered. Jaw clicking, you suppressed a yawn. Maybe you would be able to get some sleep.

“It’s fine.” And then, “I’m used to having plenty of women in my bed.”

You scoffed lightly. Of course he’d say some stupid shit like that right after your heart-to-heart. “Don’t ruin our friendship before it can begin, Jeon.”

“Is that what this is?” he asked. “A friendship?”

“Go to bed.” You set the glass down on the bedside table and climbed in next to your friend. She was still sleeping peacefully, mouth ajar and breathing evenly.

A minute later, once the two of you had settled, you heard a quiet, “Good night, (Y/N).”

Your lip quirked as you tried to suppress a smile. “Good night, Jungkook.

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miraclesnail · 4 years

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1000 Ways and I Can Name One

Series summary: A thousand ways to tell the Stoll brothers apart and I can name you one. Travis and Connor centric oneshots featuring characters from PJO/HOO. Chapter 31: Miranda - Smiles

Work Summary: Bold. Brazen. Boisterous. Brash. That’s who Miranda is. She kinda has to be like that when bloodthirsty monsters lurk every corner, haunt her every waking thought, cause her to be somewhat of an okay killer by the age of 9. She also likes to think the monsters are the reason why her dad is scared of her, but she knows better. That part was sorta on her.(A 16k one-shot of how Miranda finds Camp Half Blood based entirely on my own wish fulfillment.)

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My thoughts: ... I realized now... I hate, hate, HATE, HATE editing long works. It’s so tiring. But it’s finished. It’s been almost 5 months but it’s finished :D The entire work is under the ‘keep reading’ but guys, it’s 16k long and Tumblr missed up the formatting. Please let me know what you think though!

Miranda — Words

Miranda’s earliest memory is when she was three and it was of her dad.

Of dad grinning with his genuine, crooked smile and a finger on his lips, shushing her as they wait for Clara to come home and fall for their prank.

Of dad smiling and helping her spell her name, letter by letter.

Of dad saying, “it means worthy of admiration,” as he ruffled her hair.

Of dad laughing and pointing at the T.V. as they watch Spongebob together.

Of dad laughing as their homemade cookies had salt added to it rather than sugar.

Of dad laughing as they played charade and she tried to imitate what an elephant sounds like.

Of dad taking the little heart-shaped blocks she made with her powers and hanging them up next to her drawings.

Of dad telling her it’s okay to be a little different, that she’s smart, that she’s unique, that she’s so, so, so, so very talented.

Of dad hugging her and telling her, “It’s okay. The house is safe. No scary monster will get in while I’m here. Just because you started seeing the monsters when the Gardner’s move into our neighborhood doesn't mean they’re haunted. That’s not a really nice thing to say, especially to our future friends.”

Her earliest memory is of her dad and it’s of him being happy.

Then when she was four she met Katie, the girl who moved into their neighborhood last year. Katie is a year older than her, but so much shyer and so easily frightened.

The playground was where they first talked, Miranda remembered.

Right by swings where Katie clung to the chains. Two girls were surrounding her, tugging on Katie’s ponytail and mocking her backpack and shoving her by the shoulders.

Always do the right thing, her dad always says. Don’t ignore bullying .

So she walked up to the bullies and hit one in the arm and kicked the other in the shin. They both ran away crying, screaming they will tell on her.

Now that did worry her a bit even as Katie clung to her and proclaimed her undying loyalty and friendship. (Little, red flowers pop up at their feet.)

Will dad be mad? Will she be scolded? Did she do the wrong thing? But dad just laughed and said not to worry. She did the right thing. He’s proud of her.

He’s proud of her!

“But, maybe, before going to fists, you should try using your words first, yes?” he said with a chuckle, ruffling her hair with a hand.

When she was five, Mrs. Violet, their next-door neighbor, died.

‘Mauled by a bear. Body in pieces. Chunks all over the floor. Not a quick death. How scary. How sad.’

The bigger words buzzed over her head as she tried to understand them with her limited vocabulary. She asked her dad to tell her what the words mean, but he just picked her up and held her close, saying not to listen.

So she listened and didn’t listen anymore.

“This isn’t your fault,” he whispered and that’s weird. She didn’t think it was her fault either. But does that mean it could be? Should she be thinking about what she did? But dad said it wasn’t so it couldn’t be.

She was six when her father’s love started to crumble.

Another neighbor died. This time, no bodies. Just blood splatters on the wall. She’s old enough to understand some of the whispers now. She’s old enough to see the furtive glares the adults sent her way as she and dad stood behind the yellow police tape at Mr. Dingleberry's house.

She held onto her dad’s hands, tugging on it until he looked away from the blaring sirens to her.

“Is it my fault?” she asked.

Dad bent to his knees to be eye level with her and smiled, but it’s weird. Ingenuine. His eyes don't crinkle the way they always do when he’s really happy.

“It’s not your fault, Randi.”

His words didn’t sound as strong as it did last year.

She’s seven when Dad stopped being proud of her.

Monsters existed. She understood that now. They’re real. She saw them with her own eyes with Katie. One-eyed monsters. Many-toothed monsters. Dog-like monsters. Fire-breathing monsters. Seal-like monsters.

They’re real.

And they’re dangerous

Dad said they couldn't come into the house. They’re safe as long as they’re indoors with the lights on and the doors locked.

And she believed him.

Well, when Miranda was seven a monster tried to eat her and Katie at a friend’s birthday party.

It broke inside the house, snapping the door in its hand like it’s nothing. It snapped her friend’s dad’s, Mr. Lotte, neck like it was nothing too.

His body hit the floor limp with his head at a weird angle. His vacant eyes stared at her. Miranda couldn’t remember much of what she saw after that. Her tears blurred everything to just unrecognizable shapes, unreliable distances, and untruthful reality.

But she recalled everything she heard with crystal clarity. Char’s high-pitched scream, Mrs. Lotte’s choked inhale, a chair falling, the ground rumbling, a man’s voice — one she doesn’t know — chuckling, “Yeah, they’re demigods alright.”

Mrs. Lotte ushered Katie and Char to her, stepping between them and the monster. She’s holding a kitchen knife. She’s pressing a phone into her hands. She’s talking to them — her — “Miranda, you’re the only one calm enough. Call 911. Take Katie and Char with you. And run . I’ll be right behind you.”

Run. I’ll be right behind you.

Miranda thinks this was probably the last time she trusted an adult.

But Miranda did run, dialing 911 and taking Char’s hand in hers as Katie ran beside her. Char resisted, clawing and digging her nails into her wrist.

“We can’t leave my mommy and daddy! Let me go. Let me go right now!”

“She’ll be right behind us,” Miranda remembered saying as she stared straight ahead, desperately looking for the exit, with the phone pressed to her ear.

‘She’ll be right behind us.’

You didn’t even check to see if Mrs. Lotte was following us.

Right when Miranda spotted the backdoor, Char jabbed her elbow into her stomach.

“Stop fighting!” Miranda yelled, struggling harder to hold onto Char, to hold onto the phone still connecting to the emergency services, and to open the backdoor with her elbow.

It opened easily enough. But that was because she didn't open it.

A monster did.

Katie screamed for her to get back a second too late as the monster grabbed her by the wrist holding the phone. Miranda pushed Char away, scrambling to grab anything to hit the monster with. A table. A lamp. Katie’s outreached hand. But the monster lifted her into the air, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Miranda felt something snapped.

The rumbling beneath her became unignorable, shaking harder and harder. Deep below, she heard just the barest of pipes breaking. The framed photos on the wall fell and shattered. The polished hardwood creaked and splintered.

Katie cried for her to be let go as she hit the monster’s legs with her tiny fists. The rumbling grew louder and louder. The hand lets go of her and Miranda dropped into a puddle of sewer water.

The monster — later she would know was a cyclops — struggled in a binding of wood, screeching and spewing words of hate as the wood constricted all together and crushed its organs. Katie gasping is what made Miranda looked up. Katie was … horrified, stepping back and shaking her head in disbelief. She’s mumbling apologies, trembling all over.

Looking back, she wasted those few seconds staring at Katie. It could have been used better. She could have done better.

Char ran back to her mother as soon as she was free.

Miranda didn’t hear a scream. Maybe Char died quickly then.

“What… what is this?”

Miranda’s head shot towards the voice. The first monster, the one that snapped Mr. Lotte’s neck, stood by the doorway with a knife stained in blood.

She can see the growing fury in that single eye as it stomped towards them, screeching, “ What did you do?!”

Katie squealed, backpedaling and raising a hand. “G-Go away!”

The same wood sprouted from the ground and wrapped around the monster’s chest, neck, arms, and legs.

Miranda waited. For the same thing to happen. For the monster to meet the same fate as it’s brethren. For the wood to tighten and crush the monster. But that didn’t happen.

Miranda glanced at Katie, who’s hesitating, who’s hand is quivering, who’s pleading for the monster to stop fighting and give up, who’s crying, who’s begging even harder for the monster to not make her kill him too, who’s face hardened in resignation at what must be done.

She remembered thinking… she hated seeing that face on that normally kind face.

The tears dried as Miranda walked to the monster, ignored Katie’s cry for her to step back, touched the wood, hesitated for a second, — but remembering Katie’s stricken face made the decision easy — closed her eyes, and focused.

Her dad and Katie’s came to pick them up five minutes after the deed was done.

The police came fifteen minutes later.

Miranda stared at the house speared through the middle by a pine tree and at the monster (“A serial killer,” a passing policeman said) she speared through the chest carried out in a bag.

She didn’t want to ask but asked anyway, “Is this my fault?” Could I have done more? Could I have saved them?

Her dad didn’t answer.

He just watched the bodies of her friend’s parents be carried outside in the bags.

Miranda wanted to ask again, but when her dad started weeping she didn’t.

Maybe if she hadn’t cried… maybe if she hadn’t listened to Mrs. Lotte… maybe if she had just fought first…

Then Katie wouldn't have feared her powers and a family wouldn’t be gone.

She’s eight when her father stops smiling at her.

Ever since that day, they saw a lot more monsters. Katie still couldn’t control her powers all too well, frequently popping up pine trees while she slept. But Miranda didn’t mind. She could practice her powers a lot more freely now, no longer bound by the small blocks her father would buy for her. No, the trees Katie made were humongous and full of wood she could manipulate once she scraped away the bark.

Into a sword. Into a spear. Into a hook. Into a bat. Into a shield. Into a bracelet. Into a cuff-style bracelet. Into a spiral-style bracelet. Into a Wonder Woman-style bracelet. Ohhh! She likes that.

Katie watched her do it all with a pout, legs swinging from the bench Miranda made. “I want your control, Randi.”

Miranda smiled and leaned against Katie’s arm, fingers tapping on the book in her lap. “I can’t do any of this without you. You can grow anything. My powers only work if I have wood.”

“What’s the point of power if you don’t have control?” Katie scowled.

“And what’s the point of control without power?” Miranda shrugged. “Even with all the control in the world, what does it matter if I can’t — he’s coming.”

Miranda flattened the bench into a board, muttering a quick sorry when Katie squeaked, before the backdoor slammed open. Katie caught on though and grass grew over the board, effectively hiding their activities for the past hour.

Miranda steeled her heart as she watched her dad run to them. Come on, Randi. You've done this a dozen times now.

She condensed the wood she was toying with earlier into the smallest size she could and shoved it inside her pocket.

“Miranda, what were you doing?” dad said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

And with practiced ease, Miranda smiled and held the plant encyclopedia up. “Trying to find flowers again. Why?”

And just like the dozen of times she done this, it didn't fool her dad. “Don’t lie to me. You were using your powers again, weren’t you? How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t play with your powers!” dad scolded, scowling.

Miranda stomped down the shame and raised her chin. “ We weren’t using our powers.” Technically not a lie. Katie wasn’t.

Dad stared at her for a second more, sighing and ruffling her hair. “Look, Miranda, I need you to understand it’s dangerous to use them so freely. Stop it already.”

Miranda watched him head back to the house, making sure he’s inside before pulling the wood out and practicing the speed at which she can change the bracelet into a spear.

She’s nine when her father stops looking her in the eye.

The monsters were becoming bolder and bolder. Before a single pebble slingshotted inches from the monster’s neck was enough to scare them off. But now it took snaring them in bear traps and pitfalls to make them go away.

Another thing she learned was that some monsters could teleport. (Which, if you ask her, is highly, highly unfair. She wanted teleportation powers too.)

Did it worry her? Yeah, a little bit. But she couldn't let Katie know that.

Miranda had a theory about the monsters and why they started showing up the day Katie moved into their neighborhood. Katie’s powers were probably acting like a blow horn, drawing every monster to her.

But was she ever going to tell Katie this unproven theory of hers? No. Never. Katie wasn’t doing this on purpose and besides who knows what the guilt would make Katie’s already unstable powers do?

So her solution for now was just to covertly train Katie how to control her powers.

But she should have realized, if the monsters were drawn to Katie’s powers, then there’s no reason for them not to be drawn to hers too if she flexed them enough.

Like now.

As they’re eating dinner.

A dog, the size of a school bus, burst through the kitchen window and took part of the wall with it.

Glass shards scattered all over the floor. The dog (no, too big to be a dog. Wolf? No, wolves don’t break into homes like this) shook the glass off its coat, unscathed.

It stared at her and she at it.

Something buzzed in her blood. Maybe fear. Maybe confidence. Maybe the gummy bear she found wedged in the couch and still ate like a dummy. Whatever it is, she didn’t hesitate turning the wood bracelet encasing her wrist into a spear.

It’s hard not to think back to two years ago. To the parents who fought the monsters in her place and died for it. To three years, four years ago, those neighbors that died because of them. Not this time. This time she’ll take the monster down before anyone could die.

She took a step towards the monster, but her father snapped at her to run away.

“I’ll handle this,” he growled, pulling the shotgun hanging on the wall down.

Miranda didn’t argue, but she didn’t run away either.

She desperately wanted to believe her dad got this. She desperately wanted to believe her dad will be okay. She desperately wanted to believe her all-knowing dad will be right again. But — torn to pieces, someone was screaming, not a quick death, I’ll be right behind you , all her fault — adults were liars. Adults weren’t reliable.

But he's your dad. Don’t you trust him?

“Miranda, get out of here now!”

Dad fired the gun. The monster leaped forward, high into the air. A single paw knocked the gun right out of his hands and onto the ground. One stomp of the same paw and the gun was in pieces.

It felt too cliche to say her heart froze. More like it fell in realization. Adults really couldn’t be trusted.

“Dad,” she said, inching forward as tears started to well but she rubbed the heel of her hands into the sockets. Don’t cry. Don’t ever cry again.

“Miranda, stay back!”

Only she can do something.

“Call 911.”

Do something, Miranda.

“Run!”

If you don’t… if you don’t, do something

“Hide!”

Then your dad is going to die.

And that will be your fault.

“Miranda, listen to me and run!”

Come on.

Her eyes cleared.

Do something.

The tears dried.

Do something.

She could see everything clearly. The monster leering over her dad. The open maw, seconds away from snapping over her dad’s head. The gleam of its teeth. The size of the monster. The red of its eyes, bright and gleaming.

Focus.

Aim.

Breathe.

Throw.

It pierced true through the eye.

The monster’s shrieked, a sound she’ll never forget. It made her hesitate, but then she remembered the scream of a father crushed to death, a mother’s scream of rage as she gave up her life to protect them, her friend’s scream of grief over her parents, and Katie’s scream of terror, of concern when that monster broke her tiny wrist all those years ago.

There was no sympathy as she shifted the bracelet on her other wrist into a spear and threw again, piercing through the open maw to the back of the throat. The monster screeched and thrashed, disappearing back out into the night from the hole it made.

Miranda stared out into the darkness (it teleported… so unfair.) before turning to her dad, happy that he’s okay, happy that the monster is gone, happy that no one got hurt, happy that she’s strong enough to fight off the monsters.

But the way dad looked at her, scrambling back rather than embracing her, face’s frightened rather than relieved.

She thinks this is the moment that the slow crumbling became a fast disintegration.

She’s ten when her dad stopped caring.

He stopped asking her to not use her power, giving her free reign to do whatever she wants.

Miranda handled most of the monsters that come their way now with Katie by her side to grow more trees.

Some of the monsters have really tough skin. Some of them have powers like her. All of them are really smart. The few minutes the monsters had before she killed them were spent cursing her in the English and Greek language. Really creative stuff, if you asked her.

The monsters were clearly smart enough to talk and know what their mistakes were. Unfortunately, they’re not smart enough to take her seriously. She wondered if she would be dead by now if the monsters stopped seeing a little girl.

“Miranda, you need to stop with the monster hunting,” Auntie Ceres begged of her, wiping the blood — not her blood, never her blood — from her cheeks with a hand towel. “What happens if you get hurt?”

“I’m way too strong for that,” Miranda said with a victory sign and a bright smile, “But on the off chance I do get hurt, as long as you and dad and Katie don’t, then I’m fine with that.”

It always made Ceres cry whenever she said that.

“Brian, make her stop! She’s your daughter for Pete’s sake!” Ceres would turn to her dad and Miranda wanted to tell Auntie that dad won’t do anything, haven’t done anything for months now. But she lets Auntie say it in the end, wondering if this time it would be different.

As always, dad just looked away.

She’s eleven when her dad gave up.

“I don’t want to stay with Clara for the weekend,” she begged, voice high-pitched but no tears leaking. The tears never came since that day when she was 9. “Please don’t make me.”

But her dad just simply packed her belongings to go to her ex-stepmom without ever looking at her.

“I have joint custody, Miranda. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You didn’t even fight in the courts!” she wailed, for the first time in a long time feeling despair, “You just give her whatever she wants! She doesn’t care about me! All she cares about is the child support you’ll give her. We both know she’ll abuse it. Please, dad. Don’t make me go.”

And again, again, again, again, just like he has been doing for months now , dad just turned his back on her.

Then when she was twelve, she ran away.

The day when Katie was supposed to come back from camp whatchamacallit, she got out of Clara’s home and took the bus to the Gardner’s house.

She can’t wait for Katie to tell her everything about the camp! The lava wall, the pegasi, the crafting building. Oh god the crafting building!

She saw the car sitting in the driveway and the excitement increased tenfold. Katie was back! Grinning with evil thoughts, Miranda climbed up the tree that’s beside Katie’s window. She shimmied the always unlocked window open and rolled inside, intending to scare her friend. But Katie isn’t in her room. Maybe she’s downstairs still.

With care, Miranda tiptoed her way down, still intent on scaring Katie but the only voices she heard were Mr. Gardner, soon to be her step-dad, and her dad’s but no Katie’s.

Is she not back yet?

Miranda thrummed with excitement. She could go with them to pick Katie up then!

With just as quiet footsteps, she went to where her dad is talking with Mr. Gardner. If she couldn't scare Katie, then she would just scare dad and his fiance.

But her dad’s voice, more labored than she had ever heard before, spoke.

“I don’t know what to do. Every second I’m with Miranda, I feel like I’m going crazy. ”

She froze in the shadow, socks peeking just centimeters from the doorway.

He’s probably talking about another Miranda, she reasoned. There’s lots of people with her name.

“She’s battle-crazy. She has unnatural strength. She doesn’t show sympathy for what she does whenever she kills those animals. She doesn’t even cry! What child doesn’t cry?”

A coworker. He got to be talking about a coworker. Not her. It can’t be about her.

He can’t be talking about her.

Dad knows why she doesn’t cry. Dad knows she can cry.

She just can’t cry as much as she wanted, because crying blurred her vision. She can’t see what’s coming if there’s tears in her eyes. She can’t defend Katie if there’s tears in her eyes. She can’t protect anyone if there’s tears in her eyes.

Dad knows this.

… Right?

She told him, didn’t she?

“It’s like she’s a sociopath! If I didn’t know the Greek Gods existed, I would have thought the devil possessed my little girl. Wait, if Greek Gods are real then the Christian God must be real too right? Oh lord, what if a devil is possessing Miranda?”

Sociopath.

Devil.

“Maybe you can send her to camp with Katie? They’re bound to have experience with this.”

Mr. Gardner didn’t defend her. Does he think she’s a devil too? A monster? Does Katie think so too? Does Ceres?

“I’m thinking about that. But Jesus Christ, she doesn’t want to leave my side ever. She made such a big fuss even when she had to go to Ceres’s.”

But she had a reason. That was before Katie left to rein her powers in, back when the monsters would come everyday. Katie can’t fight. Katie can’t protect Mr. Gardner and her dad. And Katie doesn’t know the monsters are drawn to them because her powers flickered uncontrollably.

She had a reason.

“You already said the camp was understaffed and underpaid. I can’t give someone like Miranda to them.”

Someone like her…

She wondered if this is how it feels to drown.

“She scares me. I’m scared of my own daughter.”

She wondered if the shattering she hears is her heart breaking.

Even still, her eyes remained dry.

Maybe her dad is right. Maybe she is a monster.

Miranda took a breath — it’s shaky. Come on, Miranda. Keep it together — and stepped around the corner, coughing once as she stared at her socked feet, not daring to look up at their faces. She heard two gasps. Dad’s voice is frantic as he said, “Miranda! W-what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at your mother’s!”

She doesn’t bother to answer.

“If I change, will you love me again?” she asked.

“Wh-what? Miranda, sweetheart, look. Whatever you heard was, um. It wasn’t about you. It was my co-worker at… at… uh… my… volunte — look, this wasn’t about you!”

“If I change, will you love me again?” she asks again, throat clogging but the tears that dad so adamantly thinks makes her human refuse to come.

“Miranda, I— you— of course, I love you. How about we just talk about what you heard just now and —”

They’re not answering her, but she’s smart enough, observant enough, seen enough over the years to know that was a lie.

It all started that night she killed the hellhound.

She scares me.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willed the tears to come, but nothing.

Sociopath, devil.

Her father’s face, scared and terrified, — of her — kept popping up.

Someone like her.

Miranda turned around and ran. Voices yelled after her but she didn't listen. Didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. And just ran.

She’s twelve when she runs away from home.

And she’s twelve plus a couple weeks older when she meets Lee.

Miranda (12) - Travis (13) - Connor (12)

April

Pre The Sea of Monsters

“So.”

“This is it?”

“This is it.”

Miranda stares at the old overarching sign, rickety and swaying in the wind, possibly seconds from toppling over.

Camp Half Blood.

She doesn’t know what she expected, but underpaid and underfunded definitely seems to fit the bill. Even so…

“Just so you know if anything sounds sketchy or cult-like, I’m out of here,” she warns.

But Lee just gives a blinding smile and says, “You’ll love the place. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Miranda walks up the hill after Lee, up to where that humongous pine tree is. He’s still talking in that peppy tone of his, relaxed and unguarded. It sounds genuine nut she’s careful to keep him in her sight at all times. Maybe three-fourths of the way up, she hears screaming and she thinks the worse — torture camp, slave camp, Aeron, army, battalion, crazy cult people.

It makes her stop and shifts her bracelet into a sword, backing away.

But then another person screams and after a second listen, she realizes they don’t sound fearful. If anything they sound —

“I got it! I got it! I GOT IT! Ack!”

“Travis, you idiot! I’m over here!”

“AH! Lee, look out! The volleyball—”

A volleyball is hurtling towards them at remarkable speed, towards Blondie who has his back turned, towards Blondie who’s facing her because she had to pull her sword out. He’s not going to turn around in time to dodge. So Miranda takes a running leap and whacks the ball back to the volleyball court at the base of the hill.

It, unfortunately, hits a boy right on the face and now there is new, different, not as benevolent screaming as the boy hunches over with others gathering around him.

Miranda winces as she drops back to her two feet, shifting the sword back into a bracelet behind her back.

Whoops.

“No. She didn’t. She couldn’t have.”

“Yes! She did!”

Miranda laughs — it feels so strange to laugh genuinely — and leans back on the infirmary chair. “Katie really did that?”

“Yeah, except she just barely grazed my shoulder with her suitcase,” the boy, (“I’m Travis,” he had introduced with a crooked grin as he bleeds on the volleyball courts), says with his head high. His identical twin, Connor, (“they’re not twins FYI,” Malcolms says) readjusts the bag of ice cubes over his brother’s nose.

Connor thwacks Travis’s on the forehead with a newspaper. “I didn’t need you to protect me then. I could have taken that suitcase.”

“Everytime someone new comes in, we get hurt,” Travis continues to say, “This is all too big of a coincidence. First, Will with his ear-piercing whistle that nearly made me deaf. Then Katie with her suitcase. Malcolm and his backpack. And now Miranda with a volleyball. Maybe we’re bad luck. This never happens when Luke was the uh… This never happens with anyone else,” Travis stammers towards the end, eyes darting to her and Malcolm then to Connor. Miranda piques at that. Luke? Luke sounds familiar.

Connor snorts, but eyes fond. “You’re the bad luck. I haven’t gotten hurt yet.”

“Maybe it is a curse,” Malcolm, a small guy with round glasses sitting next to her, says. He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “We should have Chiron check it out.”

A curse.

Maybe Chiron can check her out and see if there’s any curses on her too.

Connor readjusts the ice pack and Travis squeaks, pushing Connor’s hand away to hold the pack himself.

Guilt coils in Miranda’s stomach when Travis grumbles lowly, you’re pressing too hard .

“I really am sorry,” she apologizes again for maybe the fiftieth time

“It’s fine,” Travis says with a thumbs up.

“It was an accident,” Connor follows.

“Still…” Miranda mumbles, tinkling with her bracelet.

Travis’s eyes crinkle the way her dad’s used to back when he smiled all the time at her. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I had worse.”

“It’s true,” Connor says with the same smile Travis has, though the worry on his face seems to say something different. Or maybe that’s just how Connor looks 24/7. A perpetually worried brother. Kinda like Katie. She misses Katie. “Annabeth broke his arm once during judo practice.”

“That definitely hurt a lot more than a broken nose. On the plus side Annabeth felt so guilty, she did all my chores for me for a full month. So chin up. You’re not the worst thing to ever happen.” Travis laughs.

Miranda’s heart aches. Not the worst thing to them maybe. But to her dad…

It must have shown on her face because Travis says softly, “Hey. Seriously. This is nothing.”

She nods but makes a mental note to herself. Get a better poker face.

The door to the infirmary opens and a new boy, no older than 12 at most, comes racing in. He looks like Lee’s little brother with his blond hair and blue eyes and sun-kissed skin.

“I found the hymn for bloody noses! Travis, hold still.”

“NO! Wait, wait, wait, Will. I don’t want to—”

Will didn’t listen, going ahead to move the ice bag into Connor’s waiting hands. Placing his hands on the bridge of Travis’s nose, Will closes his eyes and chants.

Miranda watches, mesmerized, at the way Will’s hands glow a soft gold, the way no one is bothered or excited at this display of power, and the way Will so very calmly just let his power be known in front of a complete stranger. (But you kinda did the same in that cult and lo and behold, look what happened.)

Travis squeals and pushes Will’s hand away, but it seems Will’s trick done its job. The nose is no longer bleeding, though Travis doesn’t seem any better with the tears pricking his eyes.

“That stung!”

Will’s face droops and Miranda swears that expression rivals that of a sad puppy. “Oh. I'm sorry. Maybe I mispronounced a word ...”

“Will, I’m done being your test subject,” Travis whines, wincing and rubbing his nose, “If you’re going to practice your powers, do it on Lee or Karen. They’ll both be happy to help.”

Will offers an apologetic shrug. “They don’t get hurt nearly enough for me to practice. You, on the other hand, get hurt every other day. Plus, you’re right here and Karen is in California.”

“The curse,” Malcolm mutters under his breath.

Travis pouts, turning to his brother and nudging him in the ribs. “Defend me, Connor.”

And in a show of utmost support, Connor smirks and slings an arm over Will’s shoulder. “Hey, if it heals you then I’m not complaining. Oh, I know! Think of it as an incentive to stop getting hurt.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose! Quick, someone Iris-Message Annabeth and have her defend me.”

Connor tosses the ice bag into the restroom on the other side of the room with pinpoint accuracy, the bag landing in the sink. He checks Travis’s nose before clasping his hands together and smiling. “Now that Travis is all good, it’s time for the tour. Welcome to Camp Half Blood, Miranda! Or as what I like to call it around these parts, the Gods’ dumping grounds. And you, Miranda Gardiner, are a demigod.”

Travis and Connor lead her around the camp and give her a tour.

The amazing lava-sprouting rock wall she read about months ago. She’s part god. The cool pegasi and their stalls. She’s a god’s child. The magical, food-popping pavilion. A child that was dumped on her father’s doorsteps . The infirmary. A cursed child. The cabins. Her real mother abandoned her. Cabin 11 which she will be staying in. Nobody loves her. Her new bed. She misses Katie. Her nightstand. She misses her dad. Her chest box.

What’s the point of life with her dad hating her?

“Miranda!”

“Yes?!” she exclaims, just stopping herself in time from colliding her head with (Travis, Connor?).

One of the brothers is staring at her with worry. The other is also staring at her with worry. She wishes her dad would stare at her like that too.

She forces the smile and asks again, “Yes?”

“You’re doing okay?” one asks.

And Miranda flashes a grin. “Never better. So what’s next?”

The one who asks her frowns a little but breaks eye contact with her to nod his head at the bed. “This will be your bed. Our policy for beds is first come, first serve.”

“Before, the policy was ‘oldest and wisest get the bed’” the other brother snorts, “We would have to sleep on the floor whenever the summer people came. It was so unfair. Anyway this bed is yours. And this chest box is yours too. It has a lock.”

“But the lock doesn’t really work,” says the other with a shrug. “Don’t keep anything valuable in there.”

“No problem,” Miranda says as she slinks on top of the bare mattress, sighing as she sinks into the springs. This is a thousand times better than the hard benches of New York City. “I don’t have anything valuable with me.”

“You don’t have anything?” her counselor asks with a frown.

“Nope!” she answers, looking at the bed frame above hers. She wonders if it’s made of wood. She wonders if she can manipulate this.

“Not even a backpack?” says the other.

“Nah-dah. When I ran away, I took nothing. I just hitched onto a train and rode it wherever it took me.”

Travis and Connor share a look before they go to the cabin’s closet and take out a couple clothes and a comforter, holding it out for her. She stares at the offering between them and up at their honest faces.

It’s just like Lee said, huh?

Free food. Free clothes. Free bed. And all she has to do is just go to the classes Chiron holds and do a few chores. It sounds too good to be true.

It is too good to be true.

She guesses it’s time to put a stop to this grand fairy tale before she gets too attached.

“What’s the catch?” she says, smiling and standing back up.

“The what?”

“The catch. The price. What do you want from me?” she bites out, a hand sliding to hold a bracelet with the tips of her fingers.

“We don’t want anything from—”

“I know what’s going on,” she says. “You’re fighting against somebody, right? And in return for all these commodities, you want me to fight them for you. Well, I’m telling you right off the bat I don’t want to fight. Nah-dah. Zilch. Will not do. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200. So if you want to kick me out, go ahead.”

“Oh that.” Like this is a joking manner, they both kind of chuckle. “We only want willing people to fight. It’s bad for morale to force people to fight. And we have Annabeth and Clarisse. Combined they’re like an army.”

“So don’t worry about the fighting! It should be over before you even knew it.”

Miranda’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t sense any ill will from them. The brothers offer the bedding and clothes again and she takes them into her own hands.

“Okay, I’ll hold you to it,” she says, not really believing them.

They’re going to lie to her just like dad and Mia did.

After selecting a couple towels and socks and tucking them into the chest box, Travis and Connor introduce her to the other residents.

Malcolm, a taciturn bookworm who is giving off major ‘I am a genius at everything’ vibe.

Clarisse, totally a future gym buddy once Miranda breaks past her grumpy exterior.

Will, camp’s rising healer with the biggest heart and possibly the sweetest personality who doesn’t take shit from anybody and oh my god why is he a yearrounder? What parent could turn this child away?

Silena, a nice, sweet girl who she will undoubtedly become friends with because of the connection this girl has with the pegasi stalls but there’s something about her… something wrong about her…

Beckendorf, a kind, genius mechanic that seems to have some kind of feud going on with the Stolls if the glare is anything to judge by.

Lee, an instrument enthusiast.

Chiron, the otherworldly supervisor.

And Mr. D. An actual god.

He doesn’t seem like a god, but what does she know?

The daily routine is like this: wake up at 6, eat breakfast at 7, school lessons at 8, recess at 10, lessons again at 11, lunch at 12, then training at 2.

She’s fine with archery. She’s fine with hitting dummies. She’s fine with even just running mindlessly for an hour. What she won’t do is fight against a person.

She refuses to.

Fighting a living being… having to anticipate movements… having to make active decisions… there’s no guarantee she won’t use her powers out of reflex. She knows she has great control but in the heat of battle, her reflexes, her instincts, her want to win the competition, Miranda scares she’ll reveal her powers by mistake.

And besides, it’s her powers that made dad scared of her, it’s her powers that drew that freaky cult to her. It’s her powers that ruined every good thing she has in life. She can’t let it ruin this too.

Chiron obliged, stating that he will respect her wishes and nearly everyone is okay with her decisions except for Clarisse. But Clarisse always picks a fight with everybody so Miranda doesn’t let it bother her. Travis says not to let it get to her. Someone dear to Clarisse left and the daughter of Ares has never been great at coping.

With the comfort that her needs will be met and a lessen need to stay vigilant, it seems like the nightmares come back with a vengeance.

Of dad tossing her outside, face cold and empty as he orders her to leave and never come back. Of dad laughing in her face as she begs for him to take her back ( “I’ll change! I promise, I’ll change!”)

Of Katie turning her back on her. Of Katie looking at her with disgust. Of Katie looking at her with fear. Of Katie wrapping her in her vines and choking the life out of her, face giddily with relief as —

Good thing she always wakes up before it goes too far.

Miranda wakes up and lays there in the soft warmth and cushion of her new bed, listening to the crickets and the tic tic of the clock and someone’s soft snoring and someone’s restless turning and tossing.

Guess she isn’t the only one having a bad dream.

Miranda turns to the side to find either Travis or Connor, one of them, whimpers and whines in the dark. Just as she wonders about waking him up, they did it by themselves.

She listens to his ragged gasps, watches him move his blanket away and climbs the stairs, listens to him asking his brother if he could sleep in his bed, and hears a body shuffling to the side to make room.

She smiles bitterly into her pillow. Dad used to let her snuggle in bed with him after a nightmare too despite Clara’s protest she’s getting too old for that.

It all stopped though the day Char’s parents died.

She’s never alone. There’s always someone with her. Mostly Travis and Connor, but sometimes they’re busy and Will would be her companion for an hour or two.

She doesn’t mind. Will can be surprisingly fun to listen to as he talks about the hymnals and his aspirations and what he’s working on learning today. It’s just that there are only so many things to do at Camp and without fail, consistently actually, the brothers leave her at Will’s hands at 4 pm.

She tries not to let it bother her, especially since she declared she wants nothing to do with the fights, but, man… she really needs to get a better poker face because the 7th time the brothers pass her on to Will, Will says, “Do you want to see what they’re doing?”

She scrutinizes his honest, good-natured face, finds no lies, and nods.

Will leads her to the forest, signaling for her to hide behind a tree and to be silent.

“They’re training,” Will whispers as they crouch behind the tree.

Miranda watches the brothers fall into a fighting stance in a clearing that seems well-used if the wide patch of dirt is anything to go by. They fight first with a sword, then a sword and a shield, then a knife, a spear, nunchucks, bare-handed.

She still can’t tell them apart yet without help but there’s always one clear winner judging by the dirt stains.

“Good match. Good match. But Travis I think you’re still having trouble actually striking, you know, the only way you can win for sure. Running and dodging only prolongs the battle,” Connor says as with a knee grinding between Travis’s shoulder blades and arms pulled back by the wrist.

Travis huffs with his cheek pressed to the dirt, trying to throw Connor off and failing. “I’m trying .”

“You always hesitate,” Connor lectures, “The enemy won’t hesitate.”

“I know . I’m not stupid ,” Travis whines, hips buckling but Connor remains unphased as ever. “It’s just… just…arghhh, get off! I get it. You won again.”

“Just what?” Connor asks, getting off Travis and helping him stand.

Travis stands with a red face, patting his dirt-stained camp shirt. “It’s just…you know what happened with Mrs. Elliot that one time. I’m scared of going too far again. One time was enough. One time was way too much. I can never look at milk again without being reminded of that incident.”

“Oh.” Connor frowns, rolling his shoulders. “Do you want me to stop eating cereal then?”

The way Travis smirks… crooked and mischievous and so obviously done to move the subject forward… Dad used to do that all the time back when she doubted the righteousness of her powers. “Nah. I know how much you love your cereal. You’ll probably go through withdrawal without your daily gallon of milk and honey nut cheerios.”

Connor pouts and nudges Travis in the arm. “You should talk. You eat your weight in strawberries every morning, you ass.”

Their conversation devolves into ribs and jabs at each other's diets. It sounds like they both need a nutritionist to set their diet straight. Watching them bickers though… it makes her yearn for her dad again and she can’t be having that.

“Come on, Will,” she says, backstepping. “Let’s go.”

Just before she turns around she sees Connor’s face softening, voice becoming far more gentler. “Don’t worry about going too far. Let me do all the fighting and you just watch my back.”

On day 14, the conversation finally happened. She’s surprised it took this long.

They’re all children of gods. They all should have some kind of skill. Travis and Connor pick up on languages really quickly. Malcolm is a master crafter. Clarisse has a solid grip on all weaponry. Will is obvious with his penchant for healing. And Katie, Katie with her remarkable power, Katie with her flashy power, Katie, a sure sign she’s a daughter of Demeter. (Does this mean her mom is Demeter too? Since she can control wood?)

“What about you? What’s your power?” One of the brothers asks, “Please tell me you aren’t like Katie and can make freaky deeky trees grow.”

Miranda grasps her bracelet in a hand and smiles. “Me? I don’t have any powers.”

The one who asked her frowns, like he doesn't believe her, like he thinks she’s lying, but that's nothing new in her life.

“Not even passive ones?” the other asks, “I don’t have a lot of active powers like Travis but we share the passive ones.”

Miranda frowns. “Passive? Active?”

He goes on to explain, “Passive as in it’s on all the time and doesn’t take energy. Like I can understand most languages. Percy can talk with horses. Malcolm can do any kind of craft. I guess active powers would be like what Katie and Will have.”

Miranda stares at her socked feet for a few seconds, debating what to say. They’re like her and Katie. They shouldn’t mind. right? But Aeron and Mia were like her and look what happened to them.

“No,” she says, fiddling with her bracelet. “I don’t have any active powers.”

Life’s a goddamn joke for allowing this to happen exactly one hour after that conversation about powers.

She doesn’t quite understand what is going on with the barrier. All she knows is that the massive pine tree is dying and that is somehow correlated with the monsters getting through.

Beckendorf, Connor, Travis, and Clarisse normally handle it. Usually, in tag teams too. It’s amazing to watch them fight and take down the monsters. The way they don’t even talk and somehow work in cohesion reveals the years they been working together. It’s so cool.

And so very infuriating to have to sit back and do nothing. It makes her hands itch in a way it never has before. Those four are strong and Miranda has no reason to worry. But she has been the main protector of her neighborhood for years. See a monster, kill the monster. It’s a conditioned response. And one that’s proving a hard habit to kick apparently.

She jinxes herself though because now there’s a shadow dog (“hellhound!” Will shrieks) standing before them on the volleyball field. They’re pack animals at some point in their life apparently as Miranda stares at the hellhound in front of her. Camp’s main fighters are each dealing with their own shadow dogs. Clarisse is taking on three and it seems she’s struggling.

Don’t worry about Clarisse right now , Miranda thinks. Worry about Will and Silena first.

The three of them are by the Big House, their game of volleyball long forgotten as Miranda watches the hellhound break into a sprint towards them.

Miranda doesn’t sit in on their training session, instead spending the time climbing the rock wall but she thought this camp trains them how to fight. If Chiron is that good at teaching math and science, he must be great at teaching monster-killing techniques too, right?

But the way her two companions stare at the coming hellhound with wide eyes, the way they’re frozen in terror, the way they don’t even budge when Miranda yells for them to fucking move , it’s obvious the camp has a poor training regiment. Or maybe Will and Silena are new like her. Or maybe they’re slack off when it comes to the training sessions (the former seems more likely. Will is a crazy hard worker. She can’t imagine him skipping anything. )

Either way, the hellhound was coming towards them and Will is frozen, Silena too, and she couldn’t just not do anything. As easy as breathing, as easy as thinking, Miranda transforms her bracelet into a wooden spear. She pulls Will back from the snapping teeth and jabs the point into the eye, twisting and grinding it down into the socket.

The hellhound howls and backs away, remaining red eye glaring at her with an intelligence no wild animal has. It bares her teeth at her, some painted red with blood dripping from its destroyed eye. This one is a lot smaller than the ones she normally deals with. Maybe it’s an adolescent?

It snarls, blood dripping in rivulets now.

Miranda squeezes her spear.

This is it. This was the moment her father thought of her as a monster. If she continues this, the other will think she’s one too.

But then if she hadn’t acted back then, her father would be dead. If she doesn't act now, Will will be dead.

She’s hesitating too much. The demon snarls again and lunges towards her and Will.

Years of fighting monsters help her evade the snapping maws, pushing Will off to the side. A claw just barely scratches her forearm though, but it itches and burns like it has been dunked in burning oil.

“M-Miranda!” Will cries.

Hey, come on, Miranda. What is better? To have dead friends who won’t ever know your secrets? Or to have alive friends, safe and sound and able to live another day? Stop stalling. Stop playing around. Stop doubting and just finish this.

Miranda readjusts her grip on her weapon, shifting it into a pebble. The hellhound is charging towards her again. She meets it halfways, pulling off to the side at the last moment and angling her fist to be diagonal.

Time it. Hellhounds aren’t that bright. Time it. Stay calm. You can do it. raises her fist with the pebble and waits, counting down the seconds.

Right when the hellhound’s jaws are over her fist, right before it could snap its jaws close and take her arm, she shifts the pebble into a spear. The jaws snap and the spear embeds into the roof of the palate, clean through the snout.

The hellhound shrieks are so, so familiar.

Miranda pulls out the celestial weapon she received, a harvesting sickle, and brings it down into the thigh of the monster, the awful screams fading away as the monster poofs into literal gold dust.

(Wow, Lee wasn’t kidding about that part either.)

The following silence is overwhelming.

She doesn’t dare look at her two companions as she retrieves her bloodied spear, instead looking at the bloody mess that is her spear and the ground.

“Well, now that’s over with. How about we continue our game of volleyball?” she says with that airiness of cheer she’s so used to drawing up.

Nobody responded like she expected.

Someone is vomiting like she expected.

Someone is walking towards her like she expected.

Any second now. They’re going to call her a monster and tell her to stop and go to therapy. Then when she evidently cannot be normal, cannot listen to orders, cannot sit by and just hide from the monsters that come, they will kick her out.

Well.

It has been good while it lasted.

She’s going to miss them.

Some of them had actually grown on her.

A hand touches her arm.

Yes. Any second now.

There’s a small inhale.

This was bound to happen. There’s no way she could ever hide it.

Will is chanting and a cool sensation is flooding her arm, like pressing it against a cold pillow, soothing and soft and — wait.

Miranda steps back from the hand and stares at Will with his kind eyes, at the spear bloodied from the hellhound’s tissues, at the pile of dust, and at Silena who just now stops vomiting and is looking at her with the same look in Will’s eyes.

It’s not fear.

She doesn’t understand what it is.

But she knows it’s not fear.

“Show us again. We all want to see it again!” Travis exclaims, eyes twinkling in a way she wishes her dad would as well.

Let’s not think about him .

Miranda presses her palm on the trunk of the tree, bark scraped away so her fingertips rest on the wood itself. She doesn’t need to concentrate much to shift the wood into a sword perpendicular to the tree trunk. There’s a wave of gasps and admiration as she pulls the sword clean from the trunk of the tree to be passed around.

Clarisse twirls it in her hands, impressed. Lee isn’t as impressed. He looks more pained than impressed. Maybe because she tried to crush his head with it when they first met. “Where did you learn to make something like that?” Lee asks as he examines the sword in his hands.

Miranda takes the sword back. “There’s a lot of monsters in my neighborhood.”

Lee’s face becomes more pained but before Miranda could dwell on it more, Clarisse shoves her way forward to stand directly in front of her.

“That’s really impressive,” Clarisse says, eyes sparkling. “But how well can you fight with it? I’ve been looking for a new training partner after Annabeth left. All these wimps here sucks ass.”

Miranda smiles and brandishes her sword. “I say pretty well.”

In the end, her confidence isn’t unfounded. She’s equally matched with Clarisse. Her techniques and forms may be a little unorthodox but it garners the approval of Clarisse and henceforth she is now Clarisse’s new sparring buddy!

The horn sounds for lunch and Miranda follows the others to the dining pavilion. Clarisse stays behind though, tossing a coin into a birdbath. (“She’s Iris-messaging someone. It’s a monster-free method of communication,” Malcolm explains.) The daughter of Ares talks to the fountain, saying how she “found a new sparring partner” and “she’s so much better than you” and “are you jealous, Annabeth?” all with a smug smile.

Miraculously, a voice flits up the bath, “I miss you too, Clarisse. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a month and a half.”

Miranda stifles a grin as Clarisse’s face flushes and the daughter of Area screeches, “I DON’T MISS YOU AT ALL, CHASE. EAT SHIT.”

Nothing good lasts for long.

Happy times are soon banked by tragedy and sorrow.

The euphoria brought on by getting the lead for the school play, learning about Clara and dad’s divorce, finding out about dad and Mr. Gardner’s wedding was all ruined when she found out dad can’t come to play or that Clara will have dual custody over her or that she isn’t loved.

That last bit, discovering she wasn’t loved, definitely put a damper on her mood for a while, but she’s over it now. She got over it. She had to get over it because how can she think about something as trivial as having a dad scared of her when she has bigger things to worry about? Right now, it’s worrying about the monsters coming through the barrier. Back then it was surviving with no money, no food, and no shelter.

That little time she spent on the run was definitely hard.

Hunger took her mind off dad more time than she can count as she takes to the garbage cans in search of edible food. The many monsters that lurk in the cities’ corners also took her mind off her dad. And the biting cold did a great job of taking her mind off her dad as well!

Then meeting Aeron in Memphis after she fought off a cyclops also proved to be a great distraction even though something was off about Aeron. Something dangerous…

Still, it dulled the pain and she went along with the strange boy and devoured the food she was given. Met a boy some years older than her with a kind face whose name is Chris. Met another kind girl named Chevette who healed the poisoned bite she got from the shadow dog. Met a girl named Mia who said she understands as she cups her hands in hers with a smile that’s kind of deranged.

Aeron said they’re revolutionaries. They’re going to change the world, the entire infrastructure. They said they were going to make sure no child goes neglected. No child will suffer. No child will ever feel unloved. Which sounds nice and all and when Miranda asked how they were going to achieve that goal, Aeron said they’re going to climb to the heavens, destroy the gods, and replace them with titans.

Which… okay. Miranda thought they might be a little crazy because after all, God isn’t real but they have food and shelter and people who say they understand so she stuck with them for a little while.

Nothing good ever lasts.

The group she found, while kind enough to provide life necessities, are also off the rocket insane .

‘We need you to fight.’ ‘We need you to kill.’ ‘We need you to infiltrate camp something something.’ ‘We need you to be a spy.’ ‘We need you to kill this boy named Perc something something.’

Espionage, murder, assassination.

It’s absolutely insane. And the way everybody didn’t blink an eye? They’re definitely a cult. So she left in the middle of the night without telling anyone.

But she wasn’t sneaky enough. Someone must have seen her left and tailed her.

They’re oddly persistent, following her wherever she goes. No matter how much she threatens them to leave her alone, that she will hurt them (no, she won’t), that she will kill them (no, she won’t), that she’s getting tired of this (scared, really), that she isn’t going to join whatever evil cult they have going on (Katie, please help her), they persisted.

And persisted and persisted and persisted.

Miranda was seconds away from giving in and going to the police to help her take her back to Texas.

That is, until she met Lee.

She was so, so certain Lee was with them.

But he said Katie sent him after her and she so desperately wanted to believe that Katie loved her, doesn’t fear her like dad and Mr. Gardner does. Lee seems to be an honest, good man. She doesn’t sense any warning bells. So she got into the car with him (windows down and no seatbelt in the backseat just in case. Just in case…)

But everything works out in the end and here she is, swathed in a warm blanket with fresh clothes, food in her tummy, and weirdos who aren't freaked out by her.

But all good things come to an end.

“Hello, Miranda.”

It’s so bullshit.

“It’s so nice to see you again.”

Why can’t nice things last?

“Let’s all be friends.”

Then like the viper she is, Mia smiles innocently and sweetly, standing on top Half Blood Hill with a suitcase.

Miranda doesn't like asking outright what’s going on with the Camp (Travis becomes 100x more talkative with this painful longing in his eyes and Connor seethes quietly as he tears open into a bag of Cheetos. Miranda decides she doesn’t like those looks), but she gets just enough to understand the main picture.

Luke, a former counselor, went full crazy and joined an evil god to destroy the world. (“Titan,” as Chiron likes to correct her so often).

Before going AWOL, Luke recruited almost all of the Hermes Cabin.

A simple investigation of the cabin’s closet reveals a lot of belongings — a photo of a boy and girl, a stuffed bear, a Canon camera, a locket — carefully stacked in the corner of the closet in a large box labeled ‘just in case they come back :)’

And an even simpler check of the belongings reveal names written in sharpie. Chris. Chevette. Holden. Aeron.

Aeron.

The pieces are falling together now.

“Miranda,” Mia says lightly, like they’re old friends. “You look like you want to punch me.”

I do.

“What are you doing here?” Miranda asks instead, hand gripping her bracelet as they stand under Thalia’s Pine. They’re the same height with close to the same build. If it comes to blows, Miranda won’t have trouble overpowering her. Mia’s ridiculously long, knee-length hair with all the ridiculously large ribbons and bold hair clips is also an easy target. The weird, shimmering cerulean hues of her eyes is no less creepy than it was all those weeks ago.

Mia’s eyes follow her hand, her smile saddening. She tucks a strand of her straight, brown hair behind her ear. “I see you’re more open to using your powers. Shame you won’t use it for us.”

“What are you doing here?” Miranda asks again. Warning bells pulse through her. Danger danger danger, they scream. What were Mia’s powers? Do you remember? Did she ever used them?

“Travis and Connor,” Mia says, Miranda’s blood going cold. How does she know them? “I need to talk to them.”

“What do you want with them?” Miranda asks, transforming her bracelet into a pebble.

“I just need to talk with Travis and Connor. There’s matters I—”

“You’re working with Kronos, aren’t you?” Miranda bites out.

The smile widens. “So you know that name. Yet you’re still here.”

“What is your goal?”

No answer.

Miranda thinks of Will and Silena who can fight but not that well, who keeps facing death’s door every time a monster comes because the barrier is deteriorating. She thinks of Travis and Connor and how they liken this camp as their home, of Lee who calls this place a sanctuary, of Clarisse and Beckendorf who found their place in this world thanks to the camp.

And she thinks of Katie. This is the place where she finally, finally, after years and years of trying and failing, learned to control her powers.

It’s precious to them.

And they’re precious to her.

“Are you going to destroy the camp?”

No answer.

Miranda takes a step towards Mia who smiles wider.

“Tell me!”

She hears footsteps behind her, someone running to them. She doesn’t turn around. She knows better than to turn the back to the enemy but she hopes, she prays to every gods there are that it isn’t—

“Hi there. Are you new? Do you two know each other?” her head counselor asks, coming right up beside her with what she knows is a lax grin.

“Get back,” Miranda snaps, leaping back herself but it’s too late.

Mia’s smile widens even more. The hand in her pocket twitches and suddenly Miranda and her counselor are flying through the air. The back of her head hits a shoulder. An elbow digs into her ribs. Her knees are pressed into her chest. 15 feet below the metal chain net she’s trapped in, Mia is pulling out a gun from the back of her pants.

“Gun!” she yells, shaking the net with her hands. Panic settles in her as she twists to see who followed her counselor. His brother, most definitely. They’re never apart, but Malcolm is there too. They both stare at her— no. Her other counselor is looking at Mia now, eyes widening as he steps back with a hand on Malcolm’s arm.

“Shit. Fuck. Malcolm, duck, duck, duck!”

“Connor, run!”

“She has a gun!” Miranda cries, “Malcolm, look o—”

The gun fires.

Malcolm falls forward flat onto his face and Miranda sees Char’s parents before her. Ms. Violet. Mr. Dinkleberry. Dead and in pieces.

No. no no no no no nonono nonoNO

She shakes the chains with all her might, tries to break the chains by fitting the pebbles between the gaps and expanding but they hold strong. All she can do is yell and rattle the chains.

She hasn't felt useless in such a long time. Not since Char’s parents gave their life for her. She forgets how awful losing friends is as she watches Malcolm curls in on himself undoubtedly in pain (he isn’t bleeding), forgets how much it hurts to hear others as Connor cries out and sinks to Malcolm’s side, shaking unmoving shoulders, (why isn’t he bleeding?), forgets the sheer grief that comes with situations like these. (He isn’t bleeding. Something’s wrong!)

Even with all that is happening, the tears haven’t come and she sees everything that unfolds in crystal clarity.

Malcolm continues to curl in on himself until his hands and feet are beneath him, then he’s pushing himself up until he’s kneeling, until he’s standing, until Miranda can see that glassy, distant hinge to his normally sharp eyes. (Something’s wrong.)

“Malco…?” Connor starts and he sees what Miranda does too, scrambling back from his cabinmate with alarm.

Malcolm takes a step to close the distance and socks Connor in the cheek.

Travis shrieks in concern, chains rattling as he throws a fit beside her.

From what she saw during training, Malcolm is a very efficient fighter, wasting no movements, wasting no energy. He just does his thing without any hesitation. It’s no surprise to her when Malcolm restrains Connor before he has time to think. In mere seconds, Connor went from standing to nursing his cheek to kneeling to having his arms pinned behind his back, Malcolm gripping the appendages in a fashion that if need be he can just apply pressure and break the bones.

“That had gone swimmingly well. Just as planned,” Mia sighs with relief and this blind rage, this boiling fury coils in Miranda’s stomach.

“Why are you doing this, Mia?” Miranda asks, unable to keep the shake away from her voice as Mia stands over Connor’s vulnerable form.

“I’ll kill you! Fight me fair and square, you ugly punk!” Connor screeches with his cheek pressed against the dirt. He didn’t flinch or even showed discomfort as Malcolm pressed on his arms to their breaking point and that’s impressive. Once they’re free, Miranda has to get Connor to teach her to keep a game face. “I’ll kill you! What did you do to Malcolm?”

“Who? Oh, Him?” Mia says, like there could be any others. “He’s simply brainwashed. Whoever the gun hits becomes my personal slave for a couple minutes. So, I’m guessing you’re Connor? Aeron always said you had a potty mouth.”

Travis beside her bristled and that all but confirmed it. Travis and Connor knew Aeron. Aeron was originally from Camp Half Blood.

Connor screeches and twists, trying to throw Malcolm off him but the smaller male has him locked in place. With gusto Clarisse would be proud off, Connor curses, “Aeron is a filthy liar. Let Malcolm go and I’ll show you how shitty my mouth can become.”

Mia still looks unfazed. “Hmmm. You don’t seem as scary as the others make you out to be. I expected more. But I suppose this is the result when you overestimate your enemy.”

The chains rattle once to draw Mia’s attention. When Travis spoke it’s all calm and gentle words, but there’s a layer of coldness, of frigidity, that put her on her toes. It… it reminds her of her dad. “Hey. Mia, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Travis. Welcome to Camp Half Blood. Quick question before we start the tour, what do you want with my brother?”

Mia hums, tucking a strand behind her hair. “Luke wants him for some reason. He asked me to infiltrate the camp and kidnap you, Travis, to bring back to our base. We’ll use you as a bargaining tool to have Connor do whatever we want. Of course, my initial plan of pretending to be a camper was all ruined when I saw Miranda but I have to say this improvisation turned out to be better.”

Travis’s hand slinks into his pocket, the elbow jabbing into her ribs.

“That’s it? You think kidnapping me is enough? Like, come on. I am an escape artist. There’s nothing I can’t break out of. Luke and Aeron should have known that. Do you seriously think keeping me hostage will work?” Travis says with a small laugh, voice still cold.

“We thought about that and we came to the conclusion that if you proved to be too much of a hassle to contain, we’ll just have a child of Apollo mess with your memories a bit. We found him a few days ago. Apparently he’s well versed in the medicinal qualities of his powers. He can make memories, lock memories of his patients, even change existing memories by messing with the neurons of the brain. It all comes at a cost, of course. It’s rather draining for him so we rather not use it so freely.”

“Touch Travis and I swear I’ll cut you up into quarters and feed you to the pigs!” Connor shouts, struggling with renewed vigor as Travis laughs.

“That sounds so villain-y and super, super fake. Do you know how crazy you sound right now?” Travis says but the hand in his pocket pulls out and Miranda can see the celestial Swiss Army Knife gripped tight in his hands.

“I assure you I am not lying.”

“Sure you aren’t. Oh by the way, how many of those mind-control bullets do you have?”

Mia didn’t look away as she shot Connor in the back with the gun. “Enough for everyone here.”

Travis’s jaw twitches, but he remains composed. The knife moves closer to the chain.

“I rather not fight. My orders are to bring you back unharmed. But if I have to cut off your limbs, then so be it,” Mia warns, readying her gun.

“You’re fibbing,” Travis says with hearty laughs, but under his breath, for her ears only, he mutters, “Make a cushion and then go get help,” before she’s freefalling 15 feet back to the ground.

A cushion , she thinks. Something to cushion their fall and not break their bones.

She extends the wood pebble in her hand to become thin wood shavings. Not the best but it’s something. She hits the pile feet first and flinches from the shock of the drop.

Travis didn’t flinch though.

He lands feet first and starts running immediately for Mia. He dodges Malcolm coming for him, leaps over Conner with that same glassy stare in his eyes, and — Travis crashes face first into the dirt from Connor tripping him.

Travis groans and kicks Connor in the shoulder, yelling a quick ‘sorry’ as he scrambles to his knees. But Connor surges on and wrestles Travis back onto the ground. Either the kick was too soft or Connor’s brainwashed state dulls the pain. Probably the former.

Miranda recalls the shavings back into a block of wood and charges at Mia. She grabs the hand with the gun first, pulling it off to the side first. A little twist and pressure and the gun drops from Mia’s hands. Then Miranda pins both wrists above Mia’s head and wraps it together with the wood in a makeshift handcuff.

“Make them stop,” Miranda hisses in Mia’s face.

To her infuriation, Mia smirks. “And if I don’t?”

“I wasn’t asking. Do it. Now.”

“What will you do if I refuse? Kill me? I don’t think your father will be too happy with you.”

Miranda’s heart stutters even as she grits out, “You don’t know my dad.”

Kill her? Dad would understand why she has too. Dad will… no. No, he won’t. He barely understands why she has to kill the monsters. He thinks you do it out of fun, not out of necessity. He won’t understand this either .

Travis makes a pitiful whine and Miranda’s head whips around to see Travis tossing his brother over his shoulder towards Malcolm.

“Come on, Connor, dude. I’m trying to save your life. Stop being a nuisance and take it easy for once,” Travis whines, as Connor stands back up and koala hugs his brother while Malcolm takes out a dagger.

“You always hesitate. The enemy won’t hesitate.”

All that time the two of them spar, Travis never won once.

Unless… maybe… hopefully… Travis was holding back?

Connor is wrestling Travis into the ground, stomach down, just like in their practices.

Nows a great time to stop holding back, Travis.

Connor is straddling Travis on the back just like their practices.

Come on, Travis .

Connor now has Travis pinned just like their practices.

Time to show your true strength .

Connor has effectively rendered Travis immobile. Just like their practices.

Who is she kidding? Connor is his brother. Travis won’t do anything to hurt him. So it’s up to her to get them out of this mess

Kill Mia . Kill her and everything will be solved .

It should be easy enough. Humans don’t have nearly as thick a skin as monsters do.

But her dad... Mia will win if you don’t do this. Her dad will never be able to talk with her again. Stop lying to yourself. Dad will forever hate her. He never loved you in the first place. She can never face him again if she does this.

He’s a lost cause. Give up on him.

Her other bracelet starts shift forms.

Mia‘s eyes dart to it.

Travis.

Connor. Malcolm. Will. Silena. Beckendorf. Lee. Clarisse.

They don’t fear her like Katie doesn’t fear her, that has been established. She won’t lose them the way she lost her father. Now to not lose them to death. She can control that.

Focus. Just kill Mia and this will all be over.

Just go one more step further.

Save your friends.

Kill.

“Miranda.”

Focus.

“Miranda!”

Focus.

“MIRANDA!”

She snaps to attention, loosening up the wood block crushing Mia’s neck and there’s a cacophony of guttural gasps from the girl beneath her.

Travis somehow got himself free and is now holding Connor in a bear hug while shoving Malcolm to the ground, kicking the dagger away. Even busy, the smile Travis gives her is genuine. She wonders if her heart should be swelling the way it is now.

“Oh thank god, you finally look this way. It’s going to be — OW, Connor, you donkey!” Travis yells as Connor flings his head back, hits Travis’s scare in the forehead, and escapes, going for Malcolm’s dagger. “It’s going to be okay. Just go get Clarisse or Lee.” Travis rips the knife out of Connor’s lunging hands and tosses it aside. “I’ll handle this.” Travis blocks a roundhouse kick from Malcolm. “You don’t have to fight.”

I don’t have to… fight? I don’t have to?

I don’t want to.

But… but…

Mia smirks but it’s tinged with the slightest of fear. “Lee, Clarisse, and Silena are at Karen’s funeral. Our intel tells us Will and Beckendorf are at the armory around this time. And Chiron is talking with the Olympians. Leave and by the time you get back, I would be long gone.”

Travis groans as he leans away from Connor trying to eviscerate him with a new knife. “The spy? The spy is a yearrounder? It’s one of us?”

Mia only smiles.

A spy? Among them? What? How? Why?

No. There’s no time to think about it. Later. When the time is better. When Mia isn’t— crap she shouldn’t have looked away from her. A shoe connects with her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and pushing her off. She’s aware of Travis crying her name but there’s bigger fish to fry.

How could she let herself be distracted?

Mia is standing back up with the gun in Mia’s still locked hands and crap. Miranda is shifting the block of wood into a shield but she can tell she isn’t going to make it.

Crap. Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap .

Mia aims the gun at her. Miranda can see the barrel. The shield is still nowhere wide enough, just barely the diameter of a basketball. But it’s better than nothing and with a little prayer to Mr. D, the only god she knows for sure is real, she tries to tuck her body behind the teensy-weensy shield.

Except.

There is no bang.

The gun never goes off.

Instead there is a howl, a high-pitched shriek she mistaken for hellhounds so many times back in Texas.

Follow directly by a stampede.

And shortly after a human’s screams.

“You always hesitate. The enemy won’t hesitate.”

She had asked them how long they had been at camp. “Almost 6 years,” they had told her proudly. “We came to camp when we were 7 and 6.” But then right after they said a lot of them here understand being homeless. A lot of them ran away from home. Did they too? Did they run away when they were so young?

“ I’m scared of going too far, you know? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

That was what Katie used to say too, all those times she asked if Katie wanted to help kill the monsters.

When Miranda lowers the shield, there’s a coyote biting at Mia’s ankle. Another coyote gnawing on the wrist. Several pigeons pecking at Mia’s face. A Holstein cow — a cow , where the heck did this cow come from?? — running in and butting Mia in the abdomen hard enough for her to fly back and hit the ground with a sickening crack. The cow stomps on Mia’s legs, her hips, her stomach and — oh god, she thinks she hears ribs cracking. Another coyote darts in and grabs the gun, crunching it in it’s jaws. Connor and Malcolm collapse in a heap.

Miranda stares at the animals stomping, biting, pecking, tearing the girl apart. It’s hard not to think of Katie and how, on that fateful day, her powers crushed the living goo out of that cyclops. That miserable resignation that was on Katie’s face is the same on Travis.

Miranda doesn’t like that face. She doesn’t want to see them ever again.

Travis kneels by Connor and Malcolm unmoving bodies and checks their pulses. The relief on his face tells her all she needs to know.

“That’s enough. Thanks, guys,” orders Travis.

The animals stop immediately, obeying without a second command and running off to who knows where. Complete and total control. Dang… Travis can do this kind of stuff?

“You okay?”

It takes an embarrassing five seconds before Miranda realizes Travis is talking to her and she nods quickly.

Travis sighs a hasty, “That’s good. Great. Cool. Amazing. Okie dokie, time to get this over with.” Then he stands with a grunt and limps towards Mia, his calf bleeding from a cut.

For anyone else, being stomped on by a 1000 pound cow would be enough for death to hurl them off into hell but Mia isn’t just anybody. She splutters weakly as Travis nears but her voice still holds conviction. “Stay away from me.”

Travis pauses for a second before going again.

Mia turns her head and glares, face ridden with lacerations from the pigeons. “I said stay away.”

“You’re going to die if you don’t get help,” Travis murmurs, voice quieter than Miranda had ever heard it.

“Good.”

“Good?” Travis says lowly, “Are you really going to die for Luke’s revenge ploy? Come on. You can’t be serious.”

“Yes. I—” Mia coughs, blood spluttering from her lips. She’s dying, but her eyes are enraged, burning with hatred that she sees sometimes in Lee’s and Connor’s when they don’t think anyone is looking.

“Yes, I am willing to die if it means my godly mother will suffer even a bit of the humiliation and pain she inflicted upon me.”

“Dying isn’t the way to get stuff done though,” Miranda says, staring at the corner of the shirt that’s still relatively free of blood. But there’s something… Miranda rubs her eyes. Is it her or is Mia’s hand glowing?

“You think you hold the moral high ground, don’t you?” Mia rasps. Yes, her hand is definitely glowing with a reddish light. “But you’re just allowing the gods to do whatever they wish, to continue their millenia long abuse. Your inaction makes you just as bad as them.”

“The world is going to end if we follow Luke,” Travis says mechanically, like he says this a thousand times.

Mia just laughs. “That’s what the gods told you to keep you fools fighting for them and you all fell for it.”

Travis stares at the ground for a few, contemplative seconds before pulling out a bottle of nectar from his pocket. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think my dad really cares for us. I can sleep at night that way. Besides, the Olympians are keeping the world running. It would be selfish to expect them to be there for us 24/7.”

The glow is spreading from her hands up her arm and it’s shining even brighter now. Does Travis not notice?

Mia in return just laughs harder, even as more blood trickles past her lips. “Unbelievable. You’re so blinded. It’s actually rather sad.”

“I can say the same about—”

“You know, Luke had told me if you ended up resisting too much to just kill you. If we can’t add to our forces, then it’s better to cripple the enemy. I was so looking forward to my mother’s despair but I suppose I’ll just have to wait until she’s tossed into Tartarus.”

The light settles in the chest area, growing tenfold in intensity, and Miranda understands the same time Travis does.

She’s going to explode herself.

“Are you kidding me?!” Travis screeches before turning tail and yelling for her to get Malcolm.

There’s not enough time.

Travis grabs her arm and tugs her to her feet, yelling even louder for her to move as he lifts Malcolm and Connor by the back of their shirt. Miranda stumbles to her feet and takes Malcolm from Travis, tugging him in place of the son of Hermes.

They’re not going to make it.

They have 3 seconds at most before Mia explodes. That’s not enough time to run. Not enough time to get out of the range. All four of them are going to die. But if she blocks as much of the blast as she can… maybe… it might all work out.

Miranda looks down at the shield in her hands.

She can’t change the mass of the shield. This is all she has to work with. A big enough shield to cover both of them means it will be stretched thin. But if she focuses on thickness, their limbs won’t be covered.

Decide.

Quick.

Right now.

Do it right now.

“Miranda! Come on!

Miranda passes Malcolm off to Travis, plants herself in front of them, and makes a decision.

Even if she misjudges the intensity of the blast, even if she gets burned a little (or a lot), even if it hurts, as long as everybody makes it out okay, what’s there to complain about?

As long as everybody makes it out okay, then she is fine with any outcome.

Holding up the shield, Miranda clenches her eyes and braces herself.

But there’s a hand on her shoulder and another hand pulling her shield from her hands.

When she opens her eyes, Travis is in front of her with her shield in his hands.

He’s protecting her, she realizes.

And wait — no — that’s not how it works. It’s supposed to be the other way around. It’s always the other way around.

Wait —

Don’t —

No —

It wasn’t enough.

The shield was too thin.

It wasn’t enough.

She wonders if she will ever forget the smell of cooked flesh and would ever forget Travis’s unbridled screams before he could restrain himself and would ever forget the burns, the entire arm charred black.

No.

She probably would never forget.

“This is it. This takes the cake. This is the worst pain I ever experienced. I really do have a curse. Quick, check my arm. Is it still there? Am I going to become like Edward Elric? Will Beckendorf have to make me a metal arm? Ah my gods, that would be so so sooooo cool . Ahhhhhithurtssomuch.”

Maybe if she stares hard enough at Will and Beckendorf running towards them, they’ll run faster. Maybe if she does not look at the burns, it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe if she just focuses on his words and not his tone, his gasps, his whimpers, then maybe Travis is okay.

“Miranda, tell Beckendorf that in my new robot arm, I want a snack and drink compartment. He can do that, right? Yeah? Yes? The counselor meetings get so boring. You have no idea.”

But this laughable denial of hers is ridiculous.

“Why?” she says, hugging her knees close to her chest. “I was already in position.”

Travis’s blue eyes fall to her and she hates the hurt she sees in them. Hates hates hates hates hates it.

But he grins, a bare ghost from his usual dazzling grin, but a grin nonetheless. It makes her heart ache.

“I’m a counselor,” he gasps brokenly, “It’s my job to keep you all safe and sound. Also, I’m the oldest. Wait, how old are you? Younger than Katie, right? I’m the oldest? Yeah, I’m the oldest and the oldest have the duty of being the punching bag.”

“You didn’t have to.” Her throat feels knotted. The words are getting harder and harder to force out.

Travis ruffles her hair with his good hand and smiles just like the way her dad always used to.

“I wanted to.”

The charred grass blurs a little. Miranda grinds the heel of her hands into the socket but it just made it worse. And worse, and worse, and worse until she gives up and buries her face in her knees.

This is so stupid…

She got over it…

Why is she still hung up over it…

She should just let it go…

But still …. Why couldn’t it be dad who said that to her?

“You’re incredibly stupid.”

“I’m going to personally kill you.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Miranda glares at the blonde girl’s back. So this is Annabeth Chase. She heard nothing but good things about this girl and yet...

She wonders how much trouble she’ll be in if she pummels this girl.

“This isn’t his—'' she starts to say.

But Connor, fully recovered and sound of mind again, holds her back by the wrist and shakes his head. “This is how she shows she’s worried. She’s not being serious.”

Miranda doesn’t quite get it, but as long as Travis isn’t bothered by it — he isn’t, if anything he seems on the verge of laughing — then she’ll let it go.

As Annabeth’s rants quiet down, Travis puts down the paper crane he's been making and says, “I’m thinking of starting a swear jar. Imagine all the drachma I can make off you and Connor alone.”

“This is serious , Travis!” Annabeth sighs, stopping her pacing to face him. “You could have died.”

“But!” Travis says, waving his healed arm with no scars whatsoever. Will is passed out, slumped on the infirmary bed. “I didn’t. So this is a great, great day and I’m still twinsies with Connor so even better!” By Ng

Annabeth sighs again and picks up Will with ease and lays him on the bed, sliding a blanket over him.

“What about next time? What if next time you weren’t so lucky? You could lose an arm or leg. Even your life.” Annabeth walks over to Travis and pulls his arm into her hands to scrutinize the healed appendage.

Still Travis shrugs. “Guess I’ll deal with it when that day comes. But since you’re here right now, how about a game of Egyptian War? Loser buys winner a chili bread bowl.”

It’s clearly an unacceptable answer even to Miranda. Annabeth looks close to having an aneurysm.

“One month,” the blonde says, “I have one more month of school left and then I’ll be back as a yearrounder again. Don’t get into any trouble until then.”

“One month? Ehhh, doesn’t sound doable.”

“Travis,” Annabeth says smoothly, resting a hand on Travis’s shoulder with a terrifying calm expression. “Seriously.”

The jovialness sloughs off in one second and Travis nods. “Okay. One month of no trouble. I promise.”

Quick as the soberness came, the quicker it left as Travis grins playfully. “So, Egyptian War? What do you say? Loser buys the chili bread bowl. I want it fresh from San Francisco.”

Miranda and Connor are kicked out as Chiron checks Travis over again. Something about them being a distraction which she totally believes because Travis keeps asking them to free him. His cry of “Traitors! Don’t leave me with Chiron! Noooooooo,” lingering in her mind as she sits on the porch’s bench with Connor.

Annabeth is on Half Blood Hill with a man, her father probably. A woman comes up to them and kisses the man on the cheek, the mother. Two boys bounce into the picture too, the brothers. They’re just one big, happy family aren’t they? She wonders if that will ever be her one day. Standing on the hill with her dad and Katie by her side… walking down the hill to go back to Texas… living life like it was when she was four and innocent and ignorant. What a life would that be…

“Did I hurt him too badly?” Connor says out of the blue.

Shit. Miranda tears her eyes away from the departing family to Connor, gloomily glaring at his lap. Shit . Miranda looks away. “No. You only just bear-hugged him.”

“You need a better lying face,” Connor mumbles, slumping on the bench. “What exactly did I do? Did I make that wound on his leg? His shirt was torn too. Did I—”

“Hey! Let’s talk about something else. What is that cool Disney princess power Travis has? The one where he can control the animals?”

Connor’s guilt-laden expression disappears like a dime as he shushes her, eyes darting around them.

“Sh! Not so loud,” Connor whispers furtively, “He used it in front of you? His — his — okay, Disney princess power is one way to describe it — but his animal manipulation skill?”

She nods, Connor paling at her response. He slumps even more on the bench and runs a hand through his hair, muttering about how he can’t believe Travis actually used it.

“Look.” Connor shuffles closer to her, whispering even quieter. “Our dad is the god of animal husbandry otherwise known as the care, management, and breeding of livestock. Travis and I can talk with animals because of this and if Travis focuses really hard, he can even summon them.”

Miranda shakes her head. “Snakes and coyotes aren’t livestock.”

“Right, but with zoos becoming more and more rescue-focused and helping the species recover while providing environmental enrichment, Hermes’s power extends to wild animals now. What I need you to do now is not tell anyone about this. No one but us and Annabeth knows. It’s our last resort power, our ace up our sleeve, our trump card. Don’t tell anyone .”

“Then why did he use it?” she asks, puzzled. “He could have summoned the animals after I was mind-controlled.”

Connor murmurs, “Travis probably panicked. He doesn’t do well fighting by himself. I think he saw it was going to become one versus four and he acted so he wouldn’t be alone.”

Oh. That sounds kind of sad to be honest.

And a major liability.

“We aren’t the spies,” Malcolm announces out of nowhere. Travis, having been discharged by Chiron, wanted to spend the rest of the day on the rock climbing wall. But Will, bless his heart, somehow woke up like he knew Travis will say that and ordered him to only rest and rehab.

Connor and she had to drag Travis whining to the cabin.

Malcolm followed after them. Maybe out of guilt. Maybe out of boredom. Maybe just wanting to get some rest too. Then five minutes into their break, Malcolm said that.

“What?”

“I said, we aren’t the spies,” Malcolm repeats. “Us four, right here, right now. Mia tried to kill us four so we can’t be the spies.”

“Okay?” Travis says with confusion, continuing to draw in his notebook. It looks like the interior of their cabin. Is he making a bed sign up sheet? “I kinda figured that was the case?”

But Connor seems to get what Malcolm is getting as he scowls, putting down his book about engineering. “In a few more weeks, it won’t just be us four in this cabin.”

“Mia knew me,” Miranda realizes, “She couldn’t infiltrate like she wanted because she knows I will recognize her. But before I left, Aeron was finding demigods left and right. I would see a new face everyday.”

“How are we going to identify Luke’ henchmen from regular campers?” Malcolm asks, nudging Travis in the arm to make him stop drawing.

Travis waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Connor and I handle it.”

“But...” Malcolm starts as Travis goes back to doodling.

“Trust us,” Connor pats Malcolm on the back. “We got a plan.”

“But…” Malcolm wilts. “I want to do something too. I can help. I want to help.”

Miranda twirls her bracelet on a finger.

“Malcolm’s right. It doesn’t have to be you two doing everything. We’ll do what we can too.”

June

She didn’t believe Lee at first about how full this cabin can become. But then the campers start filing in one after another and holy cow. There’s definitely not enough bed to house them all. It’s crazy how many people are coming in…

And it’s crazy how far people are willing to go to claim a bed. Bags are being thrown. People are pulling out charts and diagrams. Powers are being used. It’s complete utter chaos. And Miranda has to say, she kinda likes it.

“Mine! I called it!”

“No fair! I was here first!”

“Lukkkkkeeeeee, Johnny is being mean again.”

“Hey, where is Luke?”

“Wahahahahaha! All you little fuckers are too slow.”

“Everybody shut up. I’m trying to study for the SAT.”

“It’s summer. It’s summmeeerrrrrrrrrr! I’m going to do nothing but sleep.”

“Jeremy, give me back my manga!”

“LUKEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Miranda ducks as an 11-year-old hurls a pillow and misses their target. She steps over two 10-year-olds play-wrestling on the ground. She points a lost 9-year-old to the closet. Then finally she stands before her childhood friend looking as uncomfortable as she expected.

Katie never was one for rowdiness.

“Kit-Kat Katie!” Miranda exclaims, looping an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

Katie scowls just as expected too, but doesn’t shove her away. “Please don’t start calling me that too.”

Miranda laughs and presses her cheeks against Katie’s shoulder. “But it’s so cute!”

“It’s annoying,” Katie sulks, lower lip jutting.

But her childhood friend drops the pout and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Miranda, I—”

“My fault? My fault ? ”

Miranda glances over her shoulder to find two boys — Michael and someone she doesn't recognize — face to face. Well, more like face to chest. Michael is trying his best by standing straighter but there’s only so much one can do. They’re not outright brawling so Miranda lets her attention drift back to Katie.

“Yeah? What were you about to say?”

Katie’s face crumbles. “I pestered our parents to tell me what happened.”

“And?”

Her step-sister shakes her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “They want you to stay here.”

Miranda pulls Katie into a hug just as the tears start to fall. “There, there. It’s going to be okay,” she says as Katie cries into her shoulder. It’s not fair, I don't understand, what does he mean?, Monster?, you’re the nicest person ever.

Miranda hides her smile in Katie’s hair. She kinda expected this would happen. Huh. It hurt a lot more than she thought it would. But Katie’s quiet affirmations of her character helps dull the pain. Plus, there’s also —

“I’m going to kill you!”

Directly after, the screams start.

Miranda turns around to find the newcomer on top of Michael with hands around his neck. Travis is pulling New Guy off Michael with difficulty, yelling for the others to step back. Connor helps Michael stand and holds him back from probably jumping the New Guy. This is turning out to be a very eventful first day.

“I’ll be right back, Kitty Kat.”

Miranda bites back a smile at Katie’s indignant squawk at the new nickname and makes her way to Mr. Pushy.

“Hey,” she says, sliding in front of New Guy and planting herself right between Michael and him. “That’s not a nice way to speak to your future friends.”

“Future friends?” the guy — Sherman, if the name on his duffel bag is correct — snorts, “What is this, some kind of preschool?”

Miranda smiles. “If you’re a bully, you won’t make any friends.”

Sherman rolls his eyes and rips his arm free from Travis. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Travis, the semi-hopeful face he dawns upon her arrival, now looks absolutely miserable as he says, “I can’t do that. And no cussing in my cabin. Both of you are sleeping on the floor. Beds are only for campers who play nice.”

“Fuck off,” Sherman spits at Travis and tries to shove past her (Michael really helping this situation by screaming, “BRING IT!” behind her).

Miranda grabs the sleeves of Sherman’s shirt, puts her forearm under the armpit, and tosses him over her shoulder, making sure he lands on the pillow tossed earlier.

She smiles innocently as she lets him go to address the silent crowd, ignoring the star-struck gaze Sherman has.

“We are all in the same boat so let’s try to get along, yeah?”

Plus, she also got Katie and her new friends so life isn’t all that bad now.

#PJO #fanfiction #ao3 #archiveofourown #miranda gardiner #HOO #ffn #katie gardner #travis stoll #connor stoll #my writing #1000 ways and I can name you one #suicide bombing #bad parenting #angst #character origin story #animal death #OC character death

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danaan13 · 5 years

Text

Today is my birthday. It's also been one week since a very hard decision had to be made, that changed my life very suddenly, and very painfully. The following is going under a cut. It’s also really long. My apologies to any mobile users that might get the full post anyway. Scroll really fast. I'm going to be talking about the loss of my dog. Some of it is traumatic. So warnings for injury, death, cars, insurance shit, and lots of feelings.

This post is 85% for me and 15% for anyone who's had questions since my vague posts a week ago. I have no blame or ill feelings for anyone that needs to keep scrolling. This post is going to be a lot. And I understand if one doesn't have the energy or the headspace for it. But a lot of of this is writing for my personal mourning.

One other thing: I go over events with the vet we saw. I'm not looking for different diagnoses, or different opinons, or debate, about what the vet said, or the decision we made. As I said, this post is for me to mourn. For me to record what happened. Maybe someone else would've done something differently. I don't know. We made the decision we thought was best.

And with that:

One week ago, my spouse took our dog for a walk in the evening. This was our normal routine. Newton, our dog, loved it. She was an australian shepherd mix, and naturally had all kinds of energy to work out. Even at eleven years old. It's 6 in the evening. It's pitch black out. My spouse has a bright orange, relfective rain jacket on. Newton is wearing a bright orange doggie vest, a collar that had a glowy blue led strip all the way around, and a leash with a reflective string. By our thoughts, safety was accounted for.

Their normal route took them past the shopping center that's a block and a half from our home. My spouse sees a truck sitting at a restaurant parking lot exit, as if waiting on traffic, before attempting to turn. Spouse believes they're going to continue to wait, and starts to cross the front of the exit, along the part marked as a sidewalk. Spouse is directly in front of truck, when it starts up and hits them. And pins Newton under the wheel.

The driver rolled down the passenger window to yell at my spouse. My spouse was yelling at him to move off our dog. A witness, who heard our dog screaming, from inside the restaurant, comes out and bangs on the man's driver window till he rolls it down. He finally backs off of Newton. They move her aside. My spouse was in that kind of shock where emotions shut off. They start giving orders. You call 911. You get that man's insurace. Someone get pictures. Etc.

And then the man suddenly drives away. Doesn't say a word. Doesn't leave insurance. Doesn't stay for the police. He ran.

By this point, one of the witnesses already has clear pictures of his vehicle and license plate. He's reported to the police, and they put out a call to find him.

Spouse calls me shortly after this. Call our vet. We got hit. We need to get Newton to a vet. So I call our vet. It's 6:30. They're closed for the night. But they were there for accounting stuff. They give me the number for the emergency vet. I call ahead. Tell them we'll be coming, but that I don't know what the injuries are. Just that a car was involved.

I go hop in our car. Drive a block and a half to the scene. There's two fire trucks. There's police cars. Traffic's doing that bottlenecking thing. I park and run over. Instantly get hugged by the witness who'd gotten involved. My spouse is sitting on the sidewalk. One piece. Looks okay. My dog's wrapped in sheets. She's awake. Looking around. What I could understand of her body language was a mixture of pain, but excitement because there's people paying attention to her. And oh how Newton adored every ounce of attention she could beg for.

The witness, we'll call her S now. S volunteers to come with my spouse and I to the emergency animal clinic. She sits in the back of my car while the firemen load poor newton in. Spouse comes with me, even though the firemen wanted them to go to the ER. We agree to go to the ER once we got Newton settled. S's family, two men who I presume to be husband and father, possibly, follow in their car behind us.

We get there. The vet techs wisk Newton off to the back. They need to do xrays. They need someone to stay and talk out costs. S volunteers to take Spouse to the ER. Spouse agrees to go. So I stay at the vet by myself. They settle me in a room, where I text friends updates about all this. I'm scared. And all I wanted was to hug my dog.

The vet shows up after a bit. She's very calm, very kind, and amazingly empathetic. She explains that Newton wasn't succumbing to the medicine as quickly as they'd like. She's too excited. Too many new people to meet. Gets excited every time someone comes into the room. Classic Newton. So, they only got the xrays from the one side at that time.

Her spine is fine. But a hip is shattered. There's shards. One hip is also dislocated. My heart's in my stomach. Vet explains that if it's just the one leg shattered, they can amputate. But if it's both, then it's not good. She explains that the dislocation would have to be fixed via surgery. It can't just be popped back in. She explains that our town doesn't have an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. We'd have to go to one of two major cities, two hours away. The vet then explains that she'll get better xrays, once the meds kick in and they can roll Newton over without causing her more pain. So, she draws up the treatment plan for the next twenty four hours. I leave the deposit for the cost of the care. She says she'll call me when she's got more data. And when she's talked to surgeons offices.

And then I go to the ER, trying to not cry because my dog will probably never run or jump, ever again. She's an aussie. They run. They jump. They're energetic. Newton would bounce all over the place in front of our patio door, to greet our neighbors as they walked past. She was constantly knocking down blinds from our hanging blinds there. She loved to play fetch. We've got a long hallway we'd throw tennis balls down, and she'd go chase them and run back. She'd never do any of that again.

I get to the ER. I tell my spouse. They're heartbroken. I call our auto insurance, at the nurse's request, to start that process, while we wait for the doctor to come back from the xrays. When the doctor comes, he says Spouse is fine. No breaks, fractures, or internal injuries. Might have bruising show up in a day or two. So, we're given pain medication to handle that. To note, no bruises have yet appeared, a week later. Spouse physically feels fine. Emotionally is another matter.

So, we go home. We cry. We try to settle down. It's been two and a half hours since my spouse left the house to go on that walk. I make my posts here. We make posts on Facebook. We get an outpouring of concern, love, and prayers, from friends and family alike.

By midnight, I get a call from the vet. They have the rest of the xrays. Both hips are injured. One shattered, one fractured. And then there's the dislocation. There does not appear to be any internal injury though. She'd gotten ahold of both surgical centers in the two nearby cities. Both hospitals can do surgery. But they both would require about ten thousand dollars to do it. And, they both note that Newton is eleven. She's classified as a senior dog, despite her energy and good health. She'd never be the same. Therapy after surgery might not be enough. The neat wheels some dogs get, might not be enough. There's no guarantee that her quality of life would be enough, that she wouldn't suffer.

So, I talk to my spouse. And we're breaking. She's been our family for eleven years. We call back. Make the decision, get ready, and go to the clinic. We get to hug her and pet her. We get to give her a few last good treats. We cry. And we get to hold her as she goes to sleep for the last time.

And then we go home again. We still don't know if they've arrested the driver. There isn't a report on the police website yet. We manage, somehow, to sleep. Not very well on my part. By the next morning, there's a police report. The man was arrested and charged with a hit and run.

I try to call our auto insurance back. The adjuster we were assigned to the nigh before, is out of the office for the weekend. So, I wait and then call back on Monday. We start that whole process. She starts contacting the driver's insurance. We talk to the police department and get told we can get ahold of the city prosecutor in a week. We start the process to get a lawyer.

We celebrate Christmas with our son. He doesn't live at home now. Got his own place. And a dog of his own there. He brings her over when he comes. And for a few hours, we're able to cuddle and play with a sweet dog again. It's not the same. It hurts a little. But it heals a little too.

Today is my birthday. And today I get to go pay the company that handled Newton's cremation. And pick up the clay pawprint that they made for me. Happy birthday to me. I know my Newton is no longer in pain. And that she was her beautiful smiley self, right to the last moment. I will miss her forever. But I know that we'll be okay. Eventually.

If you've read this far, and you feel the need to do something, or say something, then feel free to tag me in posts of cute dogs or cats, or other animals. Or, if you're wanting to do a more monetary action, maybe donate to organizations like the Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary. That's what I'm doing for my Facebook Birthday Fundraiser. You don't have to give through mine specifically. You don't even have to give to them in particular. Heck, you don't even have to tell me about it. I just appreciate that there are groups like theirs, that can provide good quality of life, to senior dogs, who have that chance.

And for anyone wondering if we're going to get another dog, we are. We put in an application at our local humane society. It might feel fast. But it's so quiet in here now. We need someone to carry Newton's torch onwards. We've looked at a few dogs already. We've not found our one, yet. But we're looking.

Thank you for reading all this. I'm sorry if this post was difficult for you in anyway. I've got a lot of mourning left to do. So for now:

Goodbye my sweet, silly girl.

Newton 2008-2019

#long post #content warning #cw #goodbye my sweet girl #dana in mourning

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oldfashionedswiftcurse · 5 years

Text

Like Pieces into Place

Hi hi hi,

I’m working on a new fanfic that takes place near the London countryside with Taylor and Joe (during/post-Calvin, Tom Hiddleston doesn’t exist in this lol). Please let me know if you have questions, comments, feedback, etc. Enjoy!

The lush greens and reds greeted her and her Range Rover as they barreled over the rocky driveway to her cabin. She certainly wasn’t in Nashville anymore. She wasn’t even in America. Taylor had left behind the populated city life for some time away. Although Tree had mentioned that the private cabin was located right on the outskirts of London, she hadn’t specified the immense distance between Taylor and her neighbors. Other than the beautiful ranch they passed earlier, there was little sign of life, and while it would definitely allow her to concentrate fully on her next album, it gave her little to do otherwise.

“Tree, when you said private, I didn’t actually expect a murder cabin. Just to be clear, should I call 911 during an emergency or just accept that I will most likely be slaughtered by a serial killer?”

“Taylor, no one is going to kill you. It’s both cute and rustic, and you did reiterate how much you wanted your privacy,” Tree echoed, and Taylor admitted defeat.

“You’re right. I guess, if a daily phone call with Adam and utter loneliness for the other twenty three hours of the day is the path I chose, I’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Atta girl,” Tree beckoned, rustling with her phone in the background. “By the way, you can take a break with the dramatics. The Maxes will be joining you every morning for this next week, so I think you’ll manage just fine. It’ll be a great new album.”

Taylor chuckled, hanging up the phone. As she parked the car and carried her bags inside, she basked in the refreshing feeling of doing something alone. It had been so long since she had carried her own bag or driven herself that she was glad to be doing basic chores. After unpacking slowly and memorizing the basic layout of the cabin, Taylor changed into a gray sweatshirt and leggings and walked through the seemingly endless forest. As the wind began to blow her blonde curls into her eyes, Taylor opted to cover herself with her hood as a shield.

It was the perfect temperature, just cool enough for the wind to leave some goosebumps on her arm, but warm enough for her breath not to leave a trace in the air around her. Taylor would describe it as the perfect level of balminess. As she continued onward, Taylor spotted the same ranch from earlier. There were distant cries of laughter, and she was relieved that she was vacationing (if that was even the right word for it) near a family. Families always made her feel warm inside, and in this particular moment, she thought back to her own childhood farm as she picked pumpkins while her brother, Austin, ran through the fields.

The ranch was massive, but still maintained a distinctly homely quality to it. The farm area was attached to a large white Victorian home equipped with a wraparound porch and a porch swing. It was the kind of home you grew old in, accepting the peaceful transition from a bustling city to a quiet town. She wondered what Christmases were like in that house and whether or not the children shared the same memories that she did from her childhood.

“Lucky, come back! Dad’s going to have a fit, and I won’t be able to go to the festival this weekend!”

The sound was very distant, but as Taylor watched a tiny Australian Shepherd waddle right past her, she knew that the voice would be linked to a young child. The cherubic, blonde child appeared before her, armed with a doughnut and a long leash, and frantically raced after her dog.

“Here, let me help,” Taylor muttered, chasing after the dog and scooping it easily into her arms as the girl clicked the leash into place. “This little guy’s got a lot of power in him, huh?”

The girl eagerly nodded, and as Taylor placed the dog onto the ground, the girl managed to take a bite of her very pink, very frosted doughnut.

“Thank you, Miss. If we hadn’t caught him in time, he’d be gone forever, and Dad would never let me get another pet! This is Lucky, and I’m Madilyn. We live just down the path there,” she said, extending a hand to Taylor and then deciding against it due to her frosted fingers. “Are you living out in that cabin? Dad said it was about time we got a new neighbor.”

“I am. Hi, my name’s Taylor,” she said gleefully, sliding her hood down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madilyn. And you too, Lucky, rebellious as you may be.”

And as Taylor smiled at the excited puppy, Madilyn’s jaw dropped.

“You’re…this can’t be real. Maybe I hit a boulder and fell off a cliff or something because…well, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you before, but you look an awful lot like…”

“Taylor Swift?” The pop sensation teased, but as Maddie’s cheeks grew pink with embarrassment or awe or a series of different emotions, Taylor couldn’t help herself. “That would be me.”

She shrugged, and Maddie looked on in amazement.

“Do you mind?” Maddie glanced inquisitively, reaching for her phone.

Taylor acquiesced immediately, smiling brightly for the selfie. Her smile was authentic, unblemished by the city facades and too-bright paparazzi lights.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the girl interrupted politely, “what are you doing…here? My friend from school, Elizabeth, never wants to play here, and her mom’s only in banking. I can’t imagine an actual pop legend wanting to spend time around here when you could be surrounded by crowds and cameras!”

“First of all, your friend, Elizabeth, doesn’t seem like she gave this place much of a try. You should never have to convince or beg people to spend time with you in your home, especially if you have a puppy as cute as Lucky. Second of all, the fame and attention…it can be too much too often. It’s nice to distance yourself sometimes, which is exactly why I’m here in this wonderful setting as you so quaintly put it,” Taylor responded, and the girl’s wide, green eyes looked back in great doubt.

“I’m only eight,” the girl replied succinctly, and Taylor wondered why she even tried. “I’m not sure I can quaintly put anything.”

At that age, friendships still carried the appearance of continuity, and of course a girl just about to enter tweenhood was still tricked by the allure of fame. It was a disillusioning realization one could only come to after spending years and years in the spotlight.

“MADDIE! MADILYN?!” A deep voice bellowed, and Maddie instantly glanced backward and then back to Taylor.

“Is it okay if I invite some friends over tomorrow to meet you? They would die if they knew you were here!” The girl uttered, reaching once more for her phone.

When she noticed the huge glops of frosting made by her fingers during the selfie, she hesitated and wiped her fingers on her bright red leggings.

“I’d actually appreciate it if you kept my presence here a secret, Maddie,” Taylor muttered, and the girl’s head shot back in resignation.

“Are you kidding? This could change my life!”

“I’d be pretty upset if one of my friends broke my trust like that, Madilyn. I hope we can be friends.”

Maddie’s shoulders fell in defeat, but she smiled back.

“Tell you what, I won’t tell anyone about you if you don’t tell my dad that I almost lost Lucky. I really want Lucky to have a brother or sister, and both Dad and Granny Lu always vote me down, and it’d be a tremendous help…”

At that moment, her sentence was cut short by the appearance of a broad-shouldered, blonde man.

“Madilyn, how many times have I told you not to stray too far from the ranch? I knew getting a dog was a bad idea, but somehow, I let you convince me anyway.”

He froze when he spotted the two blondes before him.

“There you are! Madilyn Alwyn, when I say that dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, I don’t mean that we’ll wait for the princess’ grand arrival whenever she feels like stepping into the kitchen.”

He glanced over at Taylor quizzically, then back to his daughter.

“Now, I expect to see Lucky all washed up and you sitting at the dinner table in approximately ten minutes,” he said unflinchingly, and the blonde child shrugged apologetically at Taylor and then raced away with Lucky in tow.

“I apologize to you if she kept you. I’m Joe, Joe Alwyn, I own the ranch just down there. And that was Maddie. She’s eight, and while I’m glad she can finally walk without a diaper or a stroller, I must confess it has proven to be a struggle to find her anywhere,” he said breathily, and the rapid inhale-exhale pattern of his chest acknowledged that he had been pretty frantic in his search for his daughter.

“Taylor. It’s nice to meet you. She’s really a pleasure, and she does have a way with people,” she teased, extending her hand.

Joe reciprocated the action, and the sleeve of his dark blue flannel brushed against her hand when their hands locked together.

“She didn’t try to sell you anything, did she? I’d check your pockets too for valuables. I’d say she ranges from savvy saleswoman to common grifter depending on the day.”

Taylor chuckled before noticing that their hands had not separated. They both glanced down, returning their respective hands back to the side of their bodies.

“She did not try to sell me anything, I promise. She did say something about a huge blowout party tomorrow though, something about unicorns and carnival rides,” she teased.

He rolled his blue eyes, chuckling himself. His ice-blue eyes crinkled when he laughed, a habit Taylor wondered whether or not he was aware of.

“She got it from her mum, I swear,” he said, his bright gaze growing slightly grim. “So how long are you planning to stay around here?”

“A few weeks, at least. I’m a musician, and I’m planning to write a bit of music while here,” she said, gesturing to the copse of trees surrounding them.

“If you ever need someone to play a saxophone,” he whispered, gauging from her wide eyes that this plan would never come to fruition, “I’m always available. I was a pretty skilled sax player in my day.”

“I will definitely take you up on that offer if I find myself in need of a…saxophone,” she joked, slipping her hands in her pockets. “It was nice to meet you, Joe Alwyn.”

“You won’t be taking me up on that offer, I assume,” Joe said, scratching the back of his neck goodheartedly. “I may have slightly over exaggerated my saxophone playing abilities.

Taylor shook her head, smiling at the ground.

“But if you keep Lucky around, I will make every effort to see him. That Maddie is pretty special too.”

Joe grinned back at her, and they separated with a quick wave. Taylor made her way back to her cabin just in time for her to respond to a few texts from close family and friends. She spotted a quick text from Adam and checked her hair quickly to make sure she was prepared for their scheduled Facetime call. One glance at the text, and Taylor knew it was bad news.

Sry babe, didn’t register the time change between Sydney and London. we’ll figure this out. xxx adam

She exhaled in defeat, throwing her hair into a loose ponytail. Tonight, she would soak in a long, hot bath and squeeze in some writing time. There were many ideas swirling around her head, and as she slipped into a restful sleep in the bath, her mind kept thinking of ways to incorporate a saxophone into her next album.

#taylor swift #taylor swift and joe alwyn #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor and joe fanfiction #taylor and joe

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bards-witcher · 5 years

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What if someone wrote a story for OhmToonz based around the song I know I’m a wolf by Young Heretics? Like Cartoonz would be the ‘wolf’ and Ohm would be the ‘rabbit’.

Okay so I listened to the song and read through people’s comments and there are some dark theories with the song which I decided to play on a bit XD.

Listen to the song here.

Warning: There is abuse/death in this so please don’t read it if it’s not your thing.

Also, I don’t want to offend anyone with how I potentially treated issues in this fic, if I have grossly misrepresented something please tell me so I can fix it :)

[Ohm POV]

It was Tuesday evening, and like most evenings he had nothing special going on, so like normal he was lounging across his couch and trying to pay attention to the show playing on his TV, however, he’d long since lost attention in it and the plot was now far beyond his understanding.

As he was watching who he thinks is the suspect be interrogated, he hears a knock on the door, somewhat thankful for the distraction as he gets up off his couch to open his door.

He was expecting any one of friends to potentially drop by, maybe a neighbor asking if he had any eggs or sugar, but what he didn’t expect was to be looking up at his ex-boyfriend Luke, the same boyfriend who hadn’t hesitated to slap him around when he didn’t get what he wanted.

A spike of fear ran through him and immediately he tried to shut the door, only for Luke to step his foot in the way, keeping the door open no matter how hard he pushed against it in an effort to close it.

“I know I’m probably the last person you wanna see Ryan, but please can we just talk for a minute? I know I’ve been an asshole, and a bastard and every foul name under the sun but please can we just talk? I won’t try to come in I swear”

With a sigh he stopped his efforts in trying to shut the door, instead opening it slightly so that he could peer out, but that he could still somewhat shut the door if he had to, the hand behind the door pulling out his phone and putting 911 on speed dial just in case.

“Say what you want to say and leave, I want nothing to do with you” It hadn’t even been a minute and he could already feel tears burning behind his eyes, and it took all of his willpower not to let them fall.

“I want you back Ryan, I love-“

He couldn’t help his scoff as he tried to shut the door once again “You’ve got to be kidding me, Luke, did you honestly think I’d give you a second chance after what you did to me?”

“I know, I did the worst thing imaginable, and I hate myself for it more and more every day. There are no words to tell you how sorry I am for treatin’ you like that, but I’m better now, I-”

“Luke I want you to-“

“No please, just listen. Since you left me I’ve been a complete wreck, half the time I couldn’t bear to get up off the couch…”

“Oh, woe is you-”

“…But I realized how something was not…right with me. So, I sought help, I’m seeing a therapist, and I’ve got a stable job at a car shop, all that’s missing is you, Ryan.”

“You punched me in the face Luke, and for what? Because I didn’t clear your dishes?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what was goin’ through my mind, it was so so wrong of me to even think of layin’ a hand on you like that-“

“You broke my nose, Luke!” He tried not to let the visible wince from Luke affect his standing in the matter.

“Look, I’m not sayin’ we pick up where we left off or anything, but please, just give me a chance, the smallest chance you can so I can prove to you I’m different, that I’ve changed”

He let out a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes “Luke-“

“Please. Please, Ryan. Please, I know you still have feelings for me, just as I do for you, give me a chance to make things right, I’m beggin’ you”

Despite the part of his brain telling him to shut the door for good, to literally and figuratively close the door on this part of his life, he couldn’t deny the older man’s words. Despite his best efforts to put all of his anger and hatred towards the other man, he still loved him, still wishes he could wake up to version of Luke that had placed gentle kisses across his face to wake him up, and who’d be at his beck and call after a particularly stressful day of work.

He looked up at the taller man, trying to find any hint of a lie or malice, but all he found were the pleas of a desperate man, begging for anything he had to offer.

“One chance, you get one chance, or I’m gone. You so much as flick a finger at me then we’re done, for good, understood?”

He could see the relief wash over the man’s face and he allowed himself to feel the smallest spark of hope light up in his chest before they said their goodbyes, shutting the door behind him he fell to the floor questioning whether his choice was the right one.

**********

Things were tense at first, the first few times they met up he always made sure to have a friend with him and always made sure they were in a public place, just in case things were to go south, not that he expected Luke to be dumb enough to actually attack him in public.

Eventually, though, he gradually became more comfortable being around the older man, a few months after Luke had first turned up at his door and he was now inviting him over for dinner and to play some games, something that had been the norm for them back when things were good between them.

He feels some trepidation, in the beginning, making sure to tread carefully and to be aware should the older man's mood change at an instant, but no such change came. Instead, he found himself relaxing against the man next to him as the night wore on, laughing in a way he hadn’t for a very long time and genuinely having fun.

He allowed that little feeling of hope to grow when Luke offered to wash up the dishes, cleaning the kitchen as well, before saying his farewells. They were teenagers almost, standing shyly in his doorway as they determined what to say or do next, and he was slightly endeared by a blushing Luke who was trying to get out just how much he enjoyed tonight.

He leaned up to kiss the man’s cheek, noticing his blush get redder before they finally left each other for the night.

**********

Over the next couple of months, Luke started coming around to his more and more often, and it’s almost like the first time they were together, Luke devoted and willing to do anything and everything he could for him.

So, caught up in their ever-changing relationship that he paid no mind to the increasing pile of Lukes’ belongings making their way into his apartment, instead letting out a fond sigh before finding a place to put the item with the multitude of others.

Tonight, he and Luke are cuddled up together on the couch watching some show Brock had recommended to him, when in the corner of his eye he notices Luke swiping through his phone and tapping out a message, not long after the older man pried himself away from him as he made his way towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be back in about an hour, ‘kay”

“Luke, this is my only night off this week, you agreed to spend the night with me so unless it’s some kind of emergency-“

“I said it’s none of your business Ryan, so leave it” Just as Luke turned to leave he got up off the couch and ran after him.

“No, you don’t get to just leave without an explanation, so tell me what the hell is going on Luke”

Before he could blink he felt Luke slap him across the face, his face already burning hot from the impact as tears began to brim his eyes, all he could do was stare at the older man in shock before Luke seemed to come to his senses, apology quick on his lips.

“Ryan, I’m sor-“

“Get out”

“Ryan, please, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

“Get the fuck out now or I’m calling the police”

“Ryan, c’mon…“

He didn’t listen to what Luke had to say, instead turning his back on him as he headed towards the couch where his phone now lay, planning on going through with his threat, at least that was until strong arms wrap around him.

“Let go of me, Luke! I want you gone; I want you out. I never should’ve given you another chance” He only felt the arms around him get tighter, but with a well-aimed kick he was able to break free, quickly grabbing his phone before running towards his bedroom where he could lock himself inside.

However, just as he was closing the door, Luke came barrelling through it, a murderous look on his face as he wrestled the phone out of his hand and threw it across the room. He felt pure terror as he saw Luke stalk towards him, unable to stop the tears now streaming down his face as he begged Luke to leave.

Instead he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his cheek, thumb swiping along his cheek in an effort to get rid of some of the tears that had spilled, but he wanted to throw up, to smack the hand away, but it was his fear of the man in front of him that prevented him from doing so.

His breath got caught in his throat for a moment when said hand moved down the side of his face to rest against the bottom of his neck, and this time he did react, breaking himself away from the touch as he tried to move across to the other side of the room.

“Why couldn’t you be good Ryan? Why do you have to ask so many questions when it’s none of your business?”

“Luke, please…go, I don’t-“

He stopped when once again Luke stormed towards him, grabbing a hold of his neck and he clawed at the tight grip around it as he tried to breathe whatever air could.

“Why couldn’t you be happy? We were happy, weren’t we? I’ve tried so hard to be good for you but no matter what I do you always berate and snap at me”

He tried clawing, kicking anything he could to try and break the other man’s hold, but nothing worked, he could only plea on deaf ears as black spots started to appear across his vision.

“I love you so much Ryan, why can’t you see that? I’d do anything for you…”

He couldn’t hear the rest of what Luke wanted to say, a ringing in his hears getting louder as the darkness started to invade his vision, with the last of his energy he tried to scratch at the hand around his throat but still Luke took no notice of his peril, tears falling out of his eyes as he prayed for the wellbeing of his friends and family until there was no more breath to be had.

“..do you even love me Ry?” Luke looked at the man in front of him, failing to notice his limp frame and glazed over eyes as he shook him slightly, letting the man go so he could speak, only to watch in horror as he saw the smaller man's body crumple to the floor in front of him.

“Ryan? Nonononono, please no, you can’t-“ He collapsed onto the floor, moving the body so that he could try and attempt CPR, but it wasn’t too long before he realized that he was too late, the sight of the purple bruising around Ryan’s’ neck almost causing him to throw up. “Ryan, please. I’m so sorry, I love you, please don’t be dead. RYAN!”

He could only rest his head against the younger man’s chest as tears spilled out of him, pleading for Ryan to come back, but there was no answer, the only sound being his cries and apologies for the man he loved falling on deaf ears.

#ohmtoonz #ohmwrecker #cartoonz #abuse tw #death tw #yeah this is pretty dark and angsty

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loudlytransparenttrash · 6 years

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I'm so sick of seeing things based on the travon Martin and/or Mike Brown stories that make it seem like there is some sort of hunt for innocent black people and the evil whites tm don't care. There's a show called "rest in power" and then some dumb movie coming out based on those cases. Why are bad people being treated like insperational martyrs when one beat a man half to death and the other robbed a store and charged a cop?

Yep, I’ve been over this many times throughout my blog so I’ll just compile it in this reply so you can get all the information and sources without having to scroll endlessly through my blog :) xx

Narrative: A young innocent African-American gentle giant who couldn’t harm a fly was for no reason shot by a murderous racist cop while he had his hands up begging not to be shot. Some even say that he was kneeling while the cop assassinated him, some say the cop stood over him and shot him in the head. These narratives quickly sparked BLM and their campaign of Hands Up, Don’t Shoot and was used as the justification of extensive violent rioting and looting.

Reality: Michael Brown robbed a store, grabbed and shoved the store attendant before walking out with his stolen items. In the official DOJ report, it shows the officer came across Brown after the robbery went over the police radio, this wasn’t a random targeting of a black male. As the cop went to get out of his car, Brown slammed the officer’s door shut, reached in and began attacking the cop. When the cop pulled his gun, Brown went for it and tried to take it from him. A shot was let off and the bullet hit Brown’s hand. Brown ran so the officer followed, ordering Brown to stop. Brown turned and charged towards the officer and after several more demands for Brown to stop, the cop fired.

Several witnesses provided testimony that supports these accounts. Blood spatter analysis, shell casings and ballistics tests also confirm it. The autopsy report showed that Brown had a graze wound on his thumb which contained matter “consistent with products that are discharged from the barrel of a firearm that can only happen in close range,” so close that there was no stippling, a patterning of gunpowder that won’t appear within an inch of the gun’s barrel. As Medical Examiner Judy Melinek said “this guy’s reaching for the gun.”

The official report further backs up the altercation at the car with Brown’s skin was found on the exterior door of the vehicle. Blood from Brown was found on the officer’s uniform, police car and gun. The autopsy even shows Brown wasn’t shot with his hands up. According to the autopsy report, the gunshot wound to Brown’s upper dorsal right arm demonstrated that the direction could not have happened if Brown’s palms had been up, facing the cop and surrendering. It also proves that he was not running away but rather lunging towards the officer. The entire “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot” is a catchy slogan for the BLM movement but it’s one that is entirely unsubstantiated and completely fabricated.

But of course, aggrieved blacks, social justice activists, the media, celebrities and Brown’s family lawyers had already developed their story long before any facts were released. Brown’s mother made it clear she will not accept any autopsy or DOJ report that proves the officer was telling the truth. Something you won’t ever see in these documentaries - The DOJ report reveals that this race-baiting narrative was being whipped up instantly after the shooting:

According to Witness 102, crowds of people had begun to gather, wrongly claiming the police shot Brown for noreason and that he had his hands up in surrender. Two black women approached Witness 102,mobile phones set to record, asking him to recount what he had witnessed. Witness 102responded that they would not like what he had to say. The women responded with racial slurs,calling him names like “white motherf-ker.” This bi-racial witness stated that he thought he had witnessed a cop killing as Brown took off running from the police vehicle after a shot was let off while Brown was “wrestling” through the window. Brown stopped then charged at the officer. Witness 102 was in disbelief that the cop “kept missing” because Brown keptadvancing forward.

Black witnesses also came forward to provide statements, shown in the report. Witness 103 was a 58-year-old black male. He said he saw Brown punching the officer at least three times in the facial area, through the opendriver’s window of the vehicle, while the officer was leaning back towardthe passenger seat with his forearm up in an effort to block the blows. The witness heard a gunshot and explained that Brown took off running before coming to a stop. Brown turned around to face the officer, his hands were then down at his sides. Brown started “moving fast” toward the cop. Witness 103 said Brown never had his hands up.

Witness 105 was a 50-year-old black female. She noticed Brown’s hands on the officer’s car after the first gunshot grabbed her attention. Brown then ran and the officer chased after him. Witness 105 explained thatBrown put his hands up “for a brief moment,” and then turned around and puthis hands down “in a running position.” She said the officer told Brown to “get down,” but Brown did not comply. Witness 105 stated the officer only shot at Brown when Brown wasmoving toward him. Like Witness 103, she was afraid to come forward due to pressure by the community. She explained that she was coming forwardbecause in speaking with her neighbors, she realized that what they believed had happened wasinconsistent with what actually happened.

Witness 104 was a bi-racial female. She said Brown was leaning inside the police vehicle. She heard a gunshot then saw Brown run from the car, followed by the officer who hopped out of the SUV and ranafter him while yelling “stop, stop, stop.” She said the officer did not fire his gun as Brown ran from him.Brown then turned around and quickly “balled up in fists” in a running position and “charged”at the officer. The witnessed described it as a “tackle run,” explaining that Brown “wasn’t going tostop.” The officer fired his gun only as Brown charged at him, backing up each time Brownran toward the officer. At no time did Brown get shot with his hands up, according to the witness.

Witness 108 was a 74-year-old black male. He stated to detectives that the shooting was justified, but repeatedly refused to give formal statements to law enforcementfor fear of reprisal should the neighborhood find out that his account corroboratedthe police officer’s. Witness 108 refused to identify himself but told detectives that the police officer was “in the right” and “did what he had todo,” and that the statements made by people in the apartment complex were inaccurate. He reluctantly explained to detectives thatthe officer told Brown to “stop” or “get down” at least ten times, but instead Brown “charged” at him. Witness 108 repeatedly expressed fear in coming forward, citing community sentiment to support a “hands up” surrender narrative as his reason to remain silent. He explained that he would rather go to jail than testify publicly before the county grand jury.

All throughout the witness reports, majority of them being black, there is a clear trend of fear of community backlash against anyone going against the “hands up, don’t shoot” story. This pack mentality within black communities is nothing new, but it does show how easy it is for a false racial narrative to spread across the media and country and become a mantra of the professional race agitators as the truth is stifled and forced into silence. Michael Brown’s movie is told through the lens of his family, which et’s remember his parents have already said that they will never accept any alternative findings other than their son was targeted for being black and gunned down by a racist cop for no other reason.

As for the Rest in Power series, it’s the same deal. It’s framed as a truth telling documentary, but all the inconvenient facts are left out because a story about a violent thug being killed in self-defense isn’t as profitable or politicizing as an innocent black youth being slain by an evil racist. From the very beginning, it was obvious they were setting up the Trayvon Martin killing badly by turning it into a giant racial atrocity. George Zimmerman had been tried and convicted in the media and public opinion before any facts were released, with the case almost uniformly being portrayed as racially motivated, and the wearing of a hoodie by a young black male as the symbol. Even Obama framed the case in racial terms.

In trying to turn the case into a racial narrative, the initial burst of publicity and activism turned on Trayvon wearing a hoodie. The Hoodie has become the symbol of protests and the entire make-believe narrative of the shooting, based on the assertion that Zimmerman found Trayvon suspicious simply because he was wearing a hoodie. But in audio tape in which Zimmerman mentions a hoodie, it’s clear that a hoodie was only ever mentioned in response to a later question by the 911 operator who asked Zimmerman what the person was wearing. The dispatcher asks, “Did you see what he was wearing?” which Zimmerman replies, “Yeah a grey hoodie, either jeans or sweatpants and white tennis shoes.” This is the only mention of Trayvon’s hoodie, and it was among a description which included several other pieces of clothing.

Still, from images of former Michigan Gov. Jennifer Granholm wearing a hoodie, to the “million hoodie march,” to Havard law students wearing hoodies with a sign “Do we look suspicious?,” to Congressman Bobby Rush appearing on the House floor in a hoodie, the hoodie has come to symbolize the alleged “racial profiling” by Zimmerman which led to him shooting Trayvon. While Trayvon was wearing a hoodie that night, there is nothing to suggest that Trayvon was considered suspicious by Zimmerman for that reason. Despite this lack of evidence of the wearing of a hoodie as an actual factor in the case, the hoodie today remains the symbol of the case.

The racial narrative is based on multiple other falsehoods, the first major one being the NBC News doctoring of police audio in which it falsely made it seem as though Zimmerman said he was following Trayvon because Trayvon was black. But that’s not what happened. Zimmerman once again only mentioned race when the police operator asked about race. The dispatcher asks, “Is he white, black or Hispanic?” and Zimmerman replies, “He looks black.” Seconds later as Trayvon walks closer to him with his hand inside his waistband, Zimmerman confirms to the dispatcher that he is a black male. This is the only mention of race, only after the 911 dispatcher asked the question.

There also was the claim that Zimmerman used the term “f-king coons” on the police tape. But that was debunked early on. One of hottest topics of argument had been whether George Zimmerman said “f-king coons” under his breath on the 911 tape. The left-blogosphere has used the alleged racial epithet endlessly to paint this as a racially motivated hate crime. In the Affidavit of Probable Cause, State of Florida investigators swore under oath that Zimmerman used the term “f-king punks.” Feeding the media racial narrative, there was also widespread but false claims that neo-Nazis were patrolling the neighborhood where the shooting took place, even though Sanford Police denied this.

An extensive FBI investigation found no history of racism in Zimmerman’s past. To push the race-baiting narrative, Zimmerman continues to be described as “white” when he’s very clearly Hispanic. Have you guys ever seen photos of him? The dude ain’t white. Also, a year before the incident, Zimmerman had angrily spoken out against the son of a white police lieutenant who had beaten a black man. Zimmerman had also tutored black children for free in his spare time, he was a Democrat, he voted for Obama, yet he is painted as a white supremacist and racist who assassinated an innocent black male for no other reason than Trayvon was black.

One of the most believed false narrative of the case is that George Zimmerman supposedly was told by the police dispatcher not to leave his car, but did so against police instructions. This allegation is used to claim that the entire confrontation was Zimmerman’s fault, and had he merely followed police instructions, nothing would have happened. But Zimmerman was not in his car at the time of the comment “we don’t need you to do that.” The audio tape proves at no time was Zimmerman ever told to stay in his car. Trayvon had become aware that he was under observation and started circling Zimmerman’s car while Zimmerman was requesting the police. At about the two minute mark Trayvon runs, and Zimmerman loses sight of him. When Zimmerman did exit the vehicle it was in direct response to the dispatcher asking him to report the direction of Trayvon’s travel.

The dispatcher testified at the trial that dispatchers are prohibited from giving orders over the phone because they are not physically on the scene and may inadvertently direct the caller into greater danger. When the dispatcher asked if Zimmerman was still following the direction that Trayvon ran, Zimmerman said yes, that is when the dispatcher said they don’t need him to do that and Zimmerman replied “OK.” There is not a single piece of evidence - none - that suggests Zimmerman continued to follow Trayvon after this point. Of course, Trayvon would ultimately launch his attack on Zimmerman right at the corner of the building where Zimmerman complied with the dispatcher’s suggestion to stay where he is. If Trayvon had truly been fleeing from a frightening Zimmerman, he had more than enough time to reach the safety of his father’s girlfriend’s condo.

The other most believed narrative is that Florida’s Stand Your Ground law was invoked in Zimmerman’s defense. That’s not true, it was never invoked. It made sense for Zimmerman not to rely on SYG, because Stand Your Ground would only be relevant if Zimmerman had a route of exit, but the shooting took place while Zimmerman was on his back on the grass, his head having been pounded on the pavement and being beaten relentlessly by Trayvon. All witnesses say exactly the same thing. Trayvon was on top of Zimmerman, beating his head into the ground as Zimmerman was screaming for help. Blacktivists claim that it was Trayvon calling for help, but it’s been long confirmed that it was indeed Zimmerman crying for help. Zimmerman had a broken nose, two black eyes and cuts to the back of his head where Trayvon slammed Zimmerman’s head repeatedly into the ground. Forensic analysis also demonstrated that the trajectory of the single shot and burns on Trayvon’s sweatshirt were consistent with Zimmerman being on his back with Trayvon hovering over him at the time of the shot. Since Zimmerman was pinned to the ground, he didn’t need to invoke SYG because there was no reasonable means of avoidance. The race-agitators then argue “but Trayvon was just a kid and Zimmerman was a man,” yet forget to mention that Trayvon was far bigger, taller and in far better physical shape than Zimmerman.

Of course this case is one of the many that are exploited and twisted by race hustlers like Al Sharpton and BLM to prove the existence of oppression and victimization of blacks. There have been plenty of cases, such as with Roderick Scott, a black man in New York who shot and killed an unarmed white teenager. A jury found Scott to be not guilty of murder because Scott had killed the teen in self-defense. Scott was found not guilty for the same reason that Zimmerman was found not guilty. Both killings were done in self-defense, but you will never hear about this case because only black people are murdered and only white people are found not guilty, remember? Pretty much every legal scholar who has closely followed the Martin-Zimmerman case said that the verdict was correct, Zimmerman had indeed acted in self-defense.

Again, there is no question that the documentary makers and journalists will leave these facts out. I bet they also won’t tell you how a search of Trayvon’s backpack showed it to contain a dozen pieces of women’s jewelry, including silver wedding rings and earrings with diamonds, as well as a screwdriver which is often used as a burglary tool. They won’t ever tell you this because it gives credibility to Zimmerman’s claim on the 911 call that Trayvon was acting suspiciously around the houses and the reason Zimmerman was on alert was because he was in charge of the neighborhood watch and there had been many burglaries recently committed by youth. Trayvon’s autopsy showed marijuana in his system, which also verifies Zimmerman’s claim on the 911 call that Trayvon was acting like he was on drugs.

The verdict came as no surprise to those of actually following the evidence. It came as a shock to those who bought into the false narratives, evident by the eruption on social media, the mass rioting and outbreak of violence and the eventual beginnings of Black Lives Matter, who carried these false narratives and deceit into the Michael Brown case and have since continued to glorify and martyr criminals in their efforts to demonize police officers, blame whites and demand reparations for this this make-believe targeting and oppression.

When it first happened, I was all about social justice and I was as outraged as anyone as I heard about these black youths being executed by crooked racist cops and white supremacists simply for being black. I get questions all the time about what made me abandon the left and these activist groups such as BLM and feminism and this is it. It’s the lies, deceit and the searing, irrational hatred for anyone who dares questions it. It’s also the constant state of victimization that one must be confined to in order to maintain the worldview of racial oppression in the United States. I keep hearing aggrieved blacks say “Zimmerman will come for me next, he will come for my child next.” Why on earth would anyone worry that Zimmerman might “come for them next”? Is it because they are planning to break Zimmerman’s nose, give him two black eyes and smash his head against the ground while thundering down punches to his face? Or, is it because they’ve foolishly believed Zimmerman “murdered” and “executed” Trayvon Martin for being black?

Black youth are in danger but it’s not white men or white cops killing them. 93 percent of black murder victims are murdered by other blacks. Over 1400 more black Americans were killed by other blacks between 2010 and 2011 than the total number of blacks lynched between 1882 to 1968. Despite making up just 13 percent of the population, blacks committed half of homicides in the U.S. for nearly 30 years. In 2012, blacks at just a fifth of the size committed almost 1000 more murders than their white counterparts. The murder rate for 20 to 24-year-old blacks is 17 times higher than the rate for whites the same age. Black-on-white murder is more than double the rate of white-on-black murder. Black males are 7 percent of the population but are responsible for over 40 percent of cop killings. Blacks are 18.5 times more likely to kill a cop than be killed by cops. It would take cops 40 years to kill as many black men that have died at the hands of others black men in 2012 alone. Black and Hispanic police officers are more likely to fire a gun at black suspects than white officers.

Black youth are being taught to see oppression and white supremacy where it does not exist while embracing and glorifying the “culture” that sees murder and crime rates only comparable to the Third World. They’re taught to celebrate and martyr criminals and that consequences and the law is a conspiracy carried out only against victimized black people. There’s not a single piece of evidence that supports the narrative of innocent blacks being gunned down by police for sport. There’s absolutely zero evidence of systemic discrimination. It’s a fable that can only be believed if you confine your worldview to Malcom X and Al Sharpton’s radicalized race conflict theories. There’s no big evil white police force dedicated to eradicating the black population. There may be some racist cops, but to imply that all law enforcement exists only to kill and lock up innocent blacks is one of the most dangerous myths of our time. If cops really wanted blacks dead, they’d stop patrolling and serving black neighborhoods as black delinquents are already doing a pretty good job at wiping each other out.

BLM chant a slogan that implies they care about the wellbeing of black people, but they always go silent the second the slogan could actually be useful for advancing the wellbeing of black Americans. The only time they’re provoked into action is when the situation doesn’t warrant it, such as the times a black person is shot during the commission of a crime. They’re nowhere to be found when they’re most needed, such as when discussing how to lower black crime rates, homicide, drop out rates, gangs, single mothers, broken families, health and abortion. These are the real problems destroying black lives, yet Black Lives Matter will only ever show up when a police shooting can be twisted and spun into a cool new hashtag, sparking another violent riot and more looting where more black business owners and black citizens will have their property damaged and stolen by their supposed saviors.

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