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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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The music monopolists

Writing in Wired, Institute for Local Self Reliance researcher and anti-monopolist Ron Knox gives a thorough, important account of how music industry monoplization resulted declining revenue for artists, even as the industry itself has reaped greater profits.

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-big-music-needs-to-be-broken-up-to-save-the-industry/

Importantly, Knox describes how concentration has come to every link in music’s supply chain, from radio to recording, streaming to live performance. The monopolists who dominate these sectors fight fiercely between each other, but no matter who wins, artists lose.

Let’s go segment by segment. Two thirds of all North American music comes from three labels. The labels grew through anticompetitive mergers: giant companies, awash in investor cash, bought out mid-sized, successful labels, turning them into subdivisions of the Big Three.

The more concentrated the labels got, the worse they were for everyone. They spent the nineties and naughties price-gouging record companies, pocketing hundreds of millions from an illegal price-fixing conspiracy. The fines they paid were smaller than the profits they reaped.

But at least they distributed music. Today, the struggling physical record store industry — a network of passionate music sellers who serve the most intense music fans — find themselves getting “record shipments” that turn out to be boxes of random stuff like cough syrup (!).

That happened when the Big Three all piled their distribution into a single company, the monopolist Direct Shot Distributing. As Direct Shot started to fail, its operations descended into chaos, and record stores started to receive boxes of random consumer packaged goods.

It was bad news for the non-monopolized, music-first record stores, but it barely registered for the Big Three labels — today, they buy an average of two new acts every day.

The labels don’t make money from selling records, of course. They get their money from streaming.

Streaming is also massively concentrated, gathered into the hands of just a few companies: Spotify, Apple, Youtube, Amazon — with the notable exception of Spotify, the industry is dominated by companies that also monopolize other sectors.

Monopolies are good to these companies. Spotify’s market-cap doubled during the pandemic — the market values its 150m subs (twice as many as subscribe with Apple) at $50b. The major labels get $1m/hour from streaming. 99% of their artists see $25/year in streaming royalties.

Spotify may be the biggest streaming service, but it’s not the lowest-paying. Youtube — a Google division, whose unsuccessful attempt to launch an in-house video service convinced it that it had to buy someone else’s success — drives the worst bargain.

Spotify uses its industry dominance to extract heavy fees from the labels — creaming 30% of the total revenue generated by a typical track. Big Three monopolists with fat margins can absorb this. Indies? Not so much.

Spotify’s market cap growth is in part due to the new ways it’s come up with to shake down the labels — a variety of tactics that all boil down to one thing: payola. Spotify will sell labels pop-up ads, placement in “radio” algorithms, and access to “Discovery mode.”

Like all forms of payola, Spotify’s rate-card is a way for monopolists to edge out indies, buying their way into your ear-holes. I’m sure that the Big Three would rather keep the bribes they pay to Spotiify, but the consolation prize is pretty sweet.

If the Big Three are the only ones who can afford to buy access to Spotify’s audience, then creators are driven to sign with them, and have less bargaining leverage when they negotiate their deals.

Spotify, meanwhile, can consolidate its gains by driving up those fees, pitting labels against each other in a bidding war for access to listeners. This effectively drives down the royalty rate Spotify pays, because every new track will have to buy in to get any reach.

Spotify talks a good game about how it uses big data and machine learning to pick the songs you hear, but increasingly, the algorithm is getting far less compute-intensive, a simple sort-by-highest-bidder system you could operate from a laptop running Windows 3.1 and Excel.

In theory, streaming losses can be made up with touring. Acts who attain digital popularity can charge access at the door to clubs and other venues. The only problem is that live performance is also a monopoly business.

The 800lb gorilla there is Livenation, a division of the ticket monopolist and notorious arm-breakers Ticketmaster — spun out of Clear Channel, the monopolist that we now know as Iheartradio.

Livenation parlayed its access to the capital markets to buy out $1b worth of venues and promoters, before being acquired by Clear Channel for $4.4b in 2005. Today, it’s a division of Liberty Media, consolidated with Ticketmaster, Pandora, and Siriusxm.

What goes around, comes around: Liberty’s private equity owners are in the process of buying up Iheartradio, re-merging all of Clear Channel’s spinouts into one giga-monopolist.

The conglomerate already coerces artists to book exclusively in its clubs and using its ticketing, starving independent venues. Add 850 terrestrial radio stations to the mix and it will choke off all the oxygen that independent venues, promoters and ticketers rely on.

Liberty didn’t buy all these companies because it’s passionate about music and wanted to ensure artists got a fair shake. By rolling up the entire live music/radio supply-chain, it bought the power to extract vast sums from musicians, and to keep rivals out of the market.

Well, not all competitors. Lollapalooza co-founder Marc Geiger raised tens of millions for “Savelive,” a new would-be monopolist that offered to “rescue” live music venues in exchange for a 51% stake in them.

Savelive illustrates an important point about the nature of monopolies: they beget more monopolies. Consolidation in the labels meant that only the largest streaming companies could negotiate a sustainable rate.

But consolidation in radio drives consolidation in labels — and many of the indie radio stations that survived the first wave of consolidation were picked up cheap by Iheartradio once monopolistic streamers ate their lunch.

This is a pattern across the whole entertainment industry: bookstore mergers and big box retailers drove consolidation in publishing; that was accelerated by consolidation in online ebook and physical book retail.

It’s not limited to the entertainment sector either. As David Dayen describes in his essential book MONOPOLIZED, hospitals didn’t start consolidating until the pharma industry underwent a wave of brutal mergers and started gouging for drugs.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

Hospital consolidation led to gouging insurers, leading to a wave of insurance consolidation. Today, nearly every part of the health industry is monopolized, from pharmacy benefit managers to medical labs.

The only parts of the supply chain that doesn’t monopolize — that can’t monopolize — are the ends of the chain: the people who work in the system, and the people who use it.

Monopoly punishes doctors and nurses and other health workers — and it punishes patients.

It punishes writers and publishing workers, and it punishes readers.

It punishes musicians and independent venue owners, and it punishes listeners.

When every part of the supply chain gets so monopolized that it can’t easily be squeezed by any other part of the supply chain, these giants turn on us — the workers and users of the system. We, the atomized and fragmented, cannot resist the squeeze.

But as Knox writes, the tide is turning. After 40 years of waving through anticompetitive mergers in the name of “efficiency,” the DoJ and FTC are under new management, with two-fisted trustbusters like Lina M Khan at the helm.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

This new cohort of monopoly fighters reject the “consumer welfare” theory of antitrust (the idea that monopolies drive prices down and are therefore good for society), going to war against the hegemonic orthodoxy that began with Ronald Reagan.

https://doctorow.medium.com/epic-v-apple-d3e59893b4f3

The new antitrust is surging, with bills in the House and Senate, executive orders from the White House, regulatory proceedings at the DoJ and FTC, and an interagency-cabinet coordination committee that ties it all together.

This new antitrust promises workers and users of monopolized industries a better alternative than rooting for one giant to beat another in hopes that they will drop a few crumbs for the rest of us to enjoy.

Creative workers don’t have to choose between Big Tech and Big Content based on their assessment of which monopolist will abuse them the least. Instead, we can root for antimonopoly, for giant-slaying, and the right to self-determination.

The most important immediate step towards that future is blocking new anticompetitive mergers, like Sony’s bid for AWAL, or Liberty Media’s use of a $500m SPAC to go on a vertical monopoly shopping spree.

The agencies have the power to stop these. They should. When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

But ending anticompetitive mergers won’t get us out of that hole: most industries (from beer to cheerleader uniforms to wresting to eyeglasses) are already monopolized.

The new trustbusters — and the ILSR — want to use antitrust law to break up these conglomerates. I think that’s right: vertical monopolies will always engage in self-dealing to the detriment of independents, workers and customers. Break. Them. Up.

But breaking up is hard to do. When the DoJ tried to break up IBM, the company’s lawyers outspent the entire DoJ antitrust division, every single year, for twelve consecutive years, and in the end, it escaped breakup.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. IBM escaped justice because Reagan was elected and neutered antitrust. And even though it remained intact, it was never the same — for one thing, it decided that it was too risky to make its own PC OS.

IBM knew that antitrust enforcers were very suspicious of tying software to hardware — so it tapped a couple of hacker kids, Bill Gates and Paul Allen, to sell it DOS, from their new company “Micro-Soft.”

Unfortunately for all of us, antitrust enforcement only declined after that, so IBM was able to return to its monopolistic ways, and Microsoft escaped from antitrust scrutiny after a mere seven years in regulatory hell.

Antitrust enforcement can sap monopolists of the will to power, as they become increasingly concerned that their actions will attract aggressive legal reprisals.

Think of how Apple “lost” the Epic lawsuit but still “voluntarily” rescinded its heretofore hard rule against apps providing links to web-pages where you can use third-party payment processors to make purchases.

As monopolists lose their nerve, space opens up for all kinds of pro-worker, pro-user interventions, far beyond those afforded by traditional antitrust.

Next year, Beacon Press will publish THE SHAKEDOWN, a book I co-wrote with Rebecca Giblin about the monopolistic corruption of creative labor markets and how creative workers, regulators and fans can resist it.

The Shakedown catalogs the ways that monopolization of investment, distribution and sale of creative works allows entertainment companies, Big Tech, and major retailers to shift an ever-larger share of the creative industry’s revenues from workers to themselves.

More importantly, we identify tools beyond breakups that we can use to de-monopolize the industry — things we can do right now, without having to wait for the conclusion of an antitrust suit that might run for decades.

Take reversion rights: many copyright systems allow creators to take back their rights after a set period (35 years in the US). This lets artists who signed bad deals — before they were proven successes — to resell their catalog or extract reparations by threatening to.

But reversion is really hard to do, and 35 years is way too long. Only an handful of creators — even those with valuable catalogs that could be renewed through reversion — ever manage it.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/06/backsies/#take-backs

Congress (and other legislatures around the world, including Canada, where this is likely to come up in the new Parliament) could fix reversion: make it easier to do, and make it available after a shorter period — say, 14 years.

And what about those bad contracts? The “freedom to contract” has always been subject to limits, where some clauses are deemed unenforceable “as against public policy” or because they are “unconscionable.”

With the entertainment sector consolidated into just a couple of states, state legislatures could act to void the most abusive clauses — for example, clauses that allow labels to claw back royalties indefinitely to recoup (often inflated or fictitious) “expenses.”

Our book explores dozens of these kinds of ideas, from co-operatives to trade unions; better accounting practices and direct arts subsidies; radical interoperability and collective licensing; minimum wages for creative labor and collective bargaining.

None of these are replacement for reducing the size and power of conglomerates throughout the supply chain, but all of them are interventions we can make as the power and nerve of conglomerates declines, changes that will hasten that decline and open more space for breakups.

And all of them are applicable, to a greater or lesser extent, to helping workers and users of all the other consolidated industries, from health care to cheerleading.

For example, expanding California’s ban on noncompete clauses would help fast-food workers nationwide — because today, fast food employers are the most aggressive abusers of noncompetes.

That means that a fried chicken cashier earning the tipped minimum wage can’t quit to work at a burger joint across the street for a $0.25/hour raise. Creative workers aren’t the only ones suffering from monopolization — we’re not even the worst off.

But by definition, creative workers have a platform. We reach people. We have the potential to help form the kind of unstoppable coalition that we’ll need to reverse the generations of oligarchic, post-Reagan consolidation.

You may have heard about how Danish McDonald’s workers earn $22/hour and get six weeks’ paid vacation and sick leave. That didn’t come about because McDonald’s was required by law to pay it.

It was worker solidarity that did it. As Matt Bruenig writes, McDonald’s initially refused to sign the voluntary “hotel and restaurant” collective agreement. So its workers went on strike.

https://mattbruenig.com/2021/09/20/when-mcdonalds-came-to-denmark/

Now, if McD’s workers had struck alone, they’d probably have lost. But Danish law allows for sympathy strikes — that is, it allows workers in other parts of the supply chain to take industrial action to support their sisters and brothers who are striking.

When the McD’s workers walked out in 1989, sixteen other sectoral unions joined them. They didn’t just help picket at leaflet in front of McD’s restaurants!

Dockworkers wouldn’t unload McD’s shipments. Printers wouldn’t print their cups and placemats.

Builders downed tools on McDonald’s construction projects. Typesetters wouldn’t set the McD’s ads in the daily papers. Truckers wouldn’t deliver to McD’s restaurants. Food industry workers wouldn’t produce the drink syrups, fries and other inputs to the McDonald’s kitchens.

McD’s caved.

Now, as Bruenig points out, these kinds of sympathy strikes are illegal in the US, but it’s a mistake to think that workers don’t have power because sympathy strikes are illegal — rather, sympathy strikes are illegal because workers don’t have power.

Workers across all sectors face the same kinds of monopolistic exploitation. Workers across all sectors have a common enemy (literally, thanks to “common ownership” where companies like Vanguard and Berkshire Hathaway hold significant stakes in almost every major company).

With a shared cause, shared tactics, solidarity and a renewed sense that we can do more than root for the giant we think will mistreat us the least, creative workers and their sisters and brothers in every sector can reverse generations of losses.

That’s why the new antitrust matters — because it is an assault on the consolidation that gives all industries the power to shift money and other forms of value from workers and users to a small elite of investors.

#pluralistic

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caterpellas · 4 years

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munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving)

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here) word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo, a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry #fine line album #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles icons #harry styles one shot #writing #one direction smut

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is-that-another-soulmate-au · 4 years

Text

Alrught so Modern soulmate AU bending is still a thing because I want it to be, sit down.

Soulmate AU: lock and key.

Everyone is born with either a lock or a key somewhere on them. The most common placements are the neck or the wrist. Some can be on their thigh, ankle, or even their waist.

Sokka has a key around both wrists

Suki has a key around her left wrist and a lock on her right

And Zuko has two locks on a single chain around his waist just above his hip bones.

Modern AU: looking for roommates.

Zuko put some 'looking for roommates' posters around town and gets a call from two people Sokka and Suki. He decides to meet up with them at his Uncle's tea shop (which I'm calling 'Dragon Insomniac' because I want it to be a 24hr teashop).

Now, onto the story:

"Zuko, you told them to meet up at 4 , its still 3" his Uncle said as he set down his nephew's cup of tea.

"I kno that Uncle, I just wanted to be ready for them" he fidgeted in his seat for a moment and readjusted the sleeves on his shirt out of habit.

"An extra hour of preparation before discussing roommates?" Iroh chuckled when Zuko nodded "alright, enjoy the tea, I'll show them to your table when they get here"

Zuko hummed a response as his Uncle walked off. Taking a drink of his tea he went over what he planned on saying to the duo when they managed to get to the shop.

Lost in thought he didnt even notice it had been a half an hour already, and only managed to resurface when he heard the little bell go off and two people walk in, a tall man with an undercut and his hair pulled back into a ponytail and a woman with shoulder length hair with the top half pulled back into a braid going down the back of her head. The man had a blue jacket on while the girl simply wore a green turtleneck sweater.

"Didn't expect us to come in at the same time, wonder which one he is" the man said while looking around

"Lets ask the man at the counter, I think he said his uncle owned the place" the woman pointed out

Ah, thats them. Interesting. Zuko let out a sigh and tried to swallow his sudden anxiety. He watched as his uncle directed the duo over to him and they both kind of stared at him for a second, turned to look st eachother and then back at him. Most people have that reaction due to his scar so he didnt find it unusual. He made a small wave and took a sip of his tea.

The two walked over and took their seats "Zuko?" The man asked as he sat down

"The one and only" he smirked a little "Suki and Sokka I presume?"

They nodded "yeah, so uhm, we actually know eachother from high-school" Suki motioned between her and Sokka

"Oh?" That was a little unexpected

"Yeah, I didnt know you meant this Suki when you told me her name, we haven't seen eachother in years!" Sokka chimed in

"Is the fact you two have a past together a deal breaker with being roommates?" Zuko rose his brow

"Oh not at all! It's a pleasant surprise to be honest" Suki chirped "we were two of the very few non-benders in the school"

"Oh? That's a relief to be honest. Last time I roomed with another bender they broke my gaming console" Zuko laughed

After they went over the agreements and signed some papers they all hopped into their cars and the duo followed Zuko to the apartment complex. Zuko gave them a mini tour and showed them his animals, that being a bearded dragon named Druk and two cats named Mushi and Lee

Before the end of the day Zuko handed them both keys to the apartment and sent them on their way to pack up, telling them he'd have their rooms ready by the next morning.

And he did, he had the rooms ready and organized with beds made (he totally went out and bought them both really nice bedsets in the colors they wore that day.) Laundry hampers, little bedside tables and a desk in both rooms, knowing through text conversations that Suki blogged and Sokka drew and carved.

Sokka was the first to arrive, having spent most of the night meticulously packing his items into boxes. "Wow, this is different than yesterday? Did you have this packed away?"

Zuko let out a snort "no, I went out and got the blankets and hampers after you two left, my Uncle had the rest of it in storage, I steamed the beds though so you don't have to worry about any dust or what have you."

Sokka raised a brow "you went all out huh?"

"Just being hospitable, I hope you like the bed set, I'll go start lunch, you down for burgers?"

"Hell yeah I'm down for burgers"

Zuko chuckled "alright, Ill get them started, when Suki gets here let me know."

Later on Suki arrived and she was just in time for lunch. Walking in and slipping off her shoes to set them on the small shoe rack Zuko set up, she sniffed the air "oooohhh whats that smell!"

"Zuko! Suki's here!" Sokka called

"Yeah! I could here that! Thank you though!" And with that said Zuko rounded the corner and made a little wave "Im making Burgers, do you want wheat buns, white buns or Brioche buns?"

"Brioche please, I like the apron" she giggled

He flushed "it was a gift from my uncle" the apron simply read 'look at these hot buns on the chef' and Zuko didnt want to get a new apron because he was afraid of hurting his Uncle's feelings

"He sure has a good sense of humor" she laughed

The rest of the day went smoothly and they all eventually went to bed around 11 that night. The next two weeks Zuko was busy working doubles at the teashop, Suki was busy working as a bouncer at Kyoshi Rise and Sokka was busy doing commissions and working at his dads flower shop, so it was kind of a blur.

The Saturday after the busy two weeks they all had off. Suki and Sokka were sleeping in while Zuko was taking the time to do some morning yoga, donning a pair of black yoga shorts and a red crop top as he did his stretches. The soul chain and locks hanging around his waist now visible to anyone who might see him. Though he was sure his roommates wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

Little did he know Sokka was leaned against the doorway to the kitchen watching his flexible roommate do yoga while sipping on a mug of coffee. "So thats where your soulmate thing is?"

"Ack!" Zuko lost his balance and collapsed on his mat "you twat! You could have waited until I was in a more stable stretch! Ow that really hurt" he rubbed his backside "and yeah, thats where my soul locks are"

"Locks? As in plural? I have two keys, Suki has a lock and key"

"Oh? Thats uh... interesting?"

"Whats interesting and what was that bang?" Suki yawned as she walked out of her bedroom

"Oh just the fact that we all happen to have two soulmates" Zuko said in a grumpy tone "and that bang was me falling because this jerk scared me while I was doing yo-"

"Woah, you're kinda hot" Suki blurted and turned red "sorry, ive just never seen you in a crop top. You're uh, well built" she cleared her throat awkwardly

Zuko froze and turned beet red "uh, thank you? I kick box and do yoga and that's about it" he then stood and stretched his arms above his head "anyways, do you guys want waffles for- agh! What are you doing?" He jumped back when Suki reached out to one of his locks

"Shush, one of your locks has a similar pattern my key I wanna try something" She brought her left wrist up to the lock "hey, what'd'y'know, it actually matches" she smiled but brought her hand back to her side "I guess I'm one of your soulmates huh?"

Zuko blinked at her and then looked to Sokka and then back to Suki "why didn't you unlock it then?"

She laughed "well if you have multiple soulmates you have to have both unlock at the same time, thats why me and Sokka lost touch after sch- Sokka come here real quick"

"Oh my gods" Zuko mumbled under his breath as Sokka came closer and brought his right hand up and smirked

"Would you look at that, weve been under the same rook for a total of two weeks and never noticed." The duo then looked at Zuko "would you be okay with us unlocking them?"

He nodded and watched them unlock his soul locks simultaneously and watched sokka unlock Suki's. His face was probably the same shade as his shirt when the chain sealed around his waist as a sort of tattoo instead of an actual chain.

"Well, this has been an interesting morning. But I have to restate my question, who wants waffles for breakfast?"

>should I continue this? I'm tempted, but im gonna end it here for now<

#avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko #avatar: the last airbender #atla zuko #atla sokka #sokka #sokka x zuko #suki #atla suki #suki x sokka #suki x zuko #i will die on my endless soulmate au hill #soulmate alternate universe #soulmates #soulmate #modern au #roommates

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

3 - Haunted Basement

The patient was still mewling even when I entered the small room, I slammed the door behind me and took the time to slide one of the small rolling chairs over in front of the door, despite it opening from the other side. It was stupid but I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time. Despite the skeletal physique of the patient I felt that somehow he would manage to get up and chase me down, if I didn’t deter his efforts in some miniscule way. Once I had the door ‘secured’ I stood and watched the handle, expecting it to turn slowly like in some horror movie or something.

Eventually I pulled myself away and jogged all the way from the grunts mill back to the other side of the lobby. It seemed almost too good to be true, and I had a bit of a scare when I reached the security door and couldn’t find the magnet key in my pocket. The shock was short lived, I simply had to turn my coat pocket out more to pull it out of a wrinkle it had wedged into. Never did a computerized confirmation sound so beautiful.

I shut the door after me and glanced over the room. “They Lie” was scrawled on the wall in dried blood beside a window, right above a large pool of blood. Footprints led away from the message towards the door.

It seemed my chance finding the magnet card wasn’t so chance after all. The ‘Priest’ had been in here recently, and he did leave the key card for me to find, presumably while I was out cold for that short time. This system seemed too elaborate to concoct by one man, but it was apparent from the file I found he was a patient of Mount Massive Asylum. Not a comforting thought given my situation.

No matter, I would soon put this place far behind me, and deep in the back of my mind. I shook my head and turned to the main computer. Overhead screens displayed various rooms, some I recognized, others I hoped to never stumble upon. No one knew I was here, no one significant anyway. I pulled the chair over and slid the keyboard under my hands, the screen had the basic menu for systems access. I might be able to stumble my way through this, as long as their network didn’t lock me out after a few password attempts.

Security

The white page and loading screen appeared and I watched intently as the little gray bar filled with white, inch by inch. I looked over my shoulder making sure no one was in the room with me, I hadn’t searched it thoroughly in my haste, but everything appeared normal. Or should I say safe and none threatening?

Aside from my friend slumped against the wall. Sigh, I turned back to the screen and blinked. The feed on my right was transmitting from somewhere dark and I could barely make out the familiar black shape with bald head strolling along towards…was that a lever? My blood ran cold and I stood up from my seat when the ‘Priest’ turned and looked directly at the camera.

The lights went out.

I stumbled in the sudden dark, for some reason moving before I had any idea what was going on. That switch he pulled, it was a breaker somewhere.

Thank the creators of backup generators, the emergency lights flashed on bright and blazing, I covered my face as my eyes readjusted to the bombardment of light. Had to find the generators, need to turn the power back on. The plaque near this corridor read Electric Room and indicated steps down, along with an overturned wheelchair and a crimson trail.

As my mind wandered to undertaking this new task, a muffled voice came through the door. “We have to contain it.”

I needed a way out, I needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. I tried the door, but losing the main power activated a locking mechanism. Damn! Did he know I was here? There was no place visible that could conceal me, only two lockers. Was that all? I turned and saw a large shadow streak across the wall, my options were drying up.

The locker gave a loud creak as its hinges ground together, I pulled down a coat that had been hung up and tossed it aside before replacing the vacant space with myself. Right when I had shut the door, the big fucker stalked past the window. I held my breath and hoped, I prayed he would keep going. This door was always locked before, it’s still locked now. He’d lose interest and keep going, somewhere out there was some poor idiot that hadn’t been tossed out a window yet.

I wanted to slip down as he threw his body against the steel door. Maybe it would hold, it was built to withstand a riot. But I think at this point I was just kidding myself, nothing was going the way I had anticipated it would. This place needed to go to hell.

After three slams of his massive body, the door crashed inward and Chris stood on the bent metal. He gave the room a casual look over, everything looked just as it was the former evening.

I tried to control my breathing, everything seemed amplified in the acoustics of the hollow locker. Out of reflex I pulled up my camera, catching an image of the big fucker as he turned to the computer terminals. With him out of sight I felt infinitely better, but he was still there searching for me. He made audible snuffling sounds, muttering to himself,

“You were here, weren’t you? Little pig. I’ll find all you whores.”

I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes until they snapped open, the sound of a creaky locker bulldozing my thoughts. I could barely make out his shoulder, and a blood stained hand as he stood poised, but in the same instant relaxed when he found no one huddled in the cramped space. He shut it gently and pivoted, marching to the doorway where he stopped. He glanced back but looked away.

My lungs craved air, but every shallow breath I took ached. Did he plan to turn around and check the other locker?

The latch clicked as I lifted it and pushed the door open, I stiffly swung around it as I shut the door and pulled the next locker open. No sooner had it settled, Chris stormed back to the lockers and snapped the door open. I was trying to push away, put myself as far from him as I could despite the tiny space.

He shut the door and turned away, this time exiting the room. “Parameters will hold up….”

Ten minutes later and I was still hiding. I heard no sound and saw no sign of Chris’ return, but remained leery. If I couldn’t see him, he could be anywhere.

Anywhere but here?

I struggled with the latch, almost panicking with the thought I had accidentally locked myself in. My fingers were a little numb, my whole mind felt numb. I took a few steps toward the computer terminal and collapsed in the chair. What had I been doing up to this point?

“The big fucker is stalking me. Found a patient file for a CHRIS WALKER, ex-military police, several tours in Afghanistan. A lot of the blood in this place is on his hands. But not all of it.”

My writing was sloppy, but that was the best I could do for now. My camera was still on record so I shut it off for a bit and saved its charge. I set it on the terminal and propped my head up on my hand. The Generators would be down the steps in the Electric Room but restoring the power would be another matter. Did they need gasoline? What sort of grid did they run on? I was unsure if Murkoff staff had them locked up to prevent people like the ‘Priest’ guy from getting ahold of them. Obviously they must be accessible, unless he was the only one with access to them.

I sighed through my fingers. What was I doing with my life?

Pages had been left on the terminal, a small note to Shawn about the camera operations. Beneath it was a notice for restarting the generators, the Asylum had it’s own power off the grid after Murkoff took over. Well, of course they would!

But it had directions for restarting the generators, reactivate the pumps and throw the breaker. Seems pretty basic. I tossed down the page and ran out the room, but returned shortly to snatch the camera. My thoughts were a bit off kilter, I was hearing shrieking on the other side of the gate, from where I thought Chris had stalked off to. I was going the opposite way, later I would worry where he had gone.

A pipe had broken from the wall, water gushed from it just missing the stairs I took to the basement. Chances are it was a delivery pipe, but it was no more cleaner than sewage. The air was humid yet chilly, small drafts moved through the open doorway waiting in the subterranean level. I sucked in a sharp breath as the water engulfed my shoes, I stepped back and pondered. There was no way to get around this, I liked my shoes but I’d have to buy a new pair after this regardless. A new style, I didn’t want to remind myself how many bodies I trudged over.

The actuality was, I was scared. No lie. There was no telling who was down here, if there was something worse than that big fucker. But if I wanted a chance to get out of here, I had to get through this.

My feet sloshed through the water, shoes turned soggy and heavy. I pulled up my camera and flicked on the night vision. Even with the enhanced lens I couldn’t see what was under the water, I just had to tread carefully. There was quite a bit of ruble on the surface, some of the ceiling had weathered and fallen. Large items lined the walls, some barrels a pallet. They might have used the lower floor for storage as well, it was spacious from what I could see.

I was met with a despairing sight, the gate that lead into the basement rooms was locked with a thick chain. No way could I smash it. Just to mock me, the wall beyond the gate had a plaque labeling the primary rooms. The middle name was Electric rooms. There had to be another way into there.

As I turned to backtrack, a flash of light blinded me from the next room. The wall had rotted and crumbled to some degree, and with some extra effort I was able to remove enough brick that I could squeeze through.

The water was deeper on this side, and a bit more ruble was hidden beneath the surface. I caught my footing before I could fall and drop the camera. That’s the last thing I needed.

A cool draft met me in this grimy place, but the scent it carried was far from fresh. I clutched my coat tighter around me and stepped carefully, there were boards bobbing just under the surface, sodden but uncertain about their watery demise. A few laundry baskets had been abandoned and another shelf melted in the flood. I turned a corner and continued, at least in this section I didn’t need my camera, this corridor was well lit.

Wooden crates were stacked along the walls making a slow precession into the water as their predecessors decayed, and gave under the weight. I wondered what was kept in the barrels along the walls, gasoline maybe. They had vehicles and other machinery that needed fuel, a tanker probably came out to deliver the barrels. The noxious stench of bad oil was constant, cheap grade bought in bulk for old machines. Engines. The generators couldn’t be far.

Someone had stacked boxes in the middle of the corridor, I tested their stability before hopping over. The emergency lights didn’t reach this area, or had burned out. I moved my feet carefully under the water tensing when I felt something soft and undeniably slimy. It could be a cardboard box filled with liquefied files, that’s all it was. But the smell intensified, a soggy vapor of rot and soured water.

Before me was what appeared to be a high archway, but the opening was boarded up tight. I put my hand up testing, feeling the draft creeping between the cracks. Maybe there was a small window down here, something I could squeeze through if I could find it.

“W-who’s there?”

The voice sounded meek, worried. I shuffled away as banging ensued.

“Who’s? WHO’S THERE?” I held still as the noises softened and the speaker began mumbling. “I’ll hurt you. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m not afraid of anything. Not anymore.”

I waited listening to the sounds of the water, only the drips and tranquil sloshing penetrated the black. Slowly my feet moved, reducing as much noise as I could through the froth. The night vision revealed nothing but a large corridor, at the end a dull haze of light. It was on the other side of a waist high platform, evidence on my side revealed there had been steps some short time ago but the timber ruptured and was torn away. The waterlogged planks I had seen along the way might’ve been the remains.

From what I could make out there was no one in this room. The walls were thick brick and solid looking, a few pallets and boxes had been left to rot. The furthest wall had two doors, the one on my direct left had one, all shut and to my limited knowledge locked tight.

Another body hung from the ceiling, headless and bloated. Another reminder of what would become of me if I didn’t hustle and get the fuck out of here.

I pulled myself onto the platform and stepped softly down the steps. I wondered if this place was first built as an Asylum, or had it been constructed by some eccentric billionaire that appreciated his privacy. The building was ancient, but the ideal of looking into its private history had not come to mind while I was struggling to locate information on Murkoff’s activities. A map would have been very useful right now.

The control board beneath the brilliance of light labeled out my next course of action. The generators couldn’t work without gasoline (I knew that). The main breaker needed to be flipped before I could restart the power.

This didn’t seem too complicated, where?- I turned around recalling the sealed rooms, one of them must hold the breaker.

My shoes bubbled as they filled with water once again, I didn’t want to think about what might’ve been floating beneath the surface. I focused ahead trusting my NV, even with it I was still bumping into boxes and things my eyes had missed as I set my narrow sight for one of the two doors. When I put my weight on the first step it gave, dissolving into the water. I came down hard on my knee but brushed off the sharp pain, at this point it was nothing but a mild nuisance.

The door knob stuck but with a hard twist the handle creaked and I crept inside. The soft glow of the emergency light illuminated the generator, poised on a metal pole was the button. All was going well, I punched the dial and turned around as the machine whirled to life.

On a metal barrel beside the door something glittered, I walked over and discovered it to be another battery. Odd place to find one, but maybe someone had been down here last with a penlight. I pocketed it before I stepped out the door and stopped, my blood running cold. The sound of crashing and banging came from not far away, not far enough away from me. Timber splintered and gave as someone broke through what could only be a door. Or a barricade.

I checked through my camera scanning - where had it come from? The acoustics of this room made locating sounds tricky, there were four doors in this room? No, three, I came from a step–

A pair of eyes flashed, I stepped back as I moved my camera searching for the face. There, a man looking right at me from the doorway he had forced open. I retreated back into the room shutting the door before examining the confined area. Had he seen me? He was insane no doubt, could he trust his eyes after what had happened here? It might not have mattered to him.

The room was solid, except for a bed a few feet from the generator. I slid under it as the thuds came from the doorway, the wood snapping and the jam cracking before the door clattered against the cement. My instinct warned me to crawl further under the bed, I was just beneath the edge, but if I made a sound he would find me. The dull drone of the pump could nullify the tiniest gasp, but somehow he would pick up the rough fiber of my coat against the moist cement. I held my breath as he walked by, his gaze roaming the walls and shadows. In his hand he carried some sort of weapon, what looked like the leg of a table with screws still sticking out of it.

It was splattered with black.

I swallowed and let out a shallow breath. Please leave. Please don’t check under the bed.

He slapped the clean side of the club against his palm a few times, turning to check the room once more before he spun around. “The gospel. Tells us to follow.”

Once he cleared the doorframe I took in a long, deep breath. God, my ribs. I didn’t need to get anymore beat up than I already was.

For good measure I waited, he had vacated the room but was he debating on returning? I had no idea if he had seen me or what he might’ve thought, if he thought he saw me. There was time, take it slow. But if I waited, would he eventually return and notice the bed? I shifted under it a little more, almost immediately the man materialized in the open doorway.

I bit my lip. He didn’t hear me! He couldn’t have! He was here on a hunch and once he had satisfied his suspicions he would leave. I tucked my face against my shoulder and watched him with my eyes. He gave the room another glance over as he passed, and checked behind the generator when near it.

Against my better judgment, I slipped out on the other side of the bed beside the wall. I kept low and crawled towards the gaping doorway as I heard his feet grit against the moist silt of the floor. My breath hitched as I looked over my shoulder, he had just dropped down to check under the bed. I didn’t wait for him to rise, I carefully stepped on the door and slipped out of the room.

The steps groaned under my weight, the sound amplified in my mind. Cursed all, I forgot the last step was ruined and stumbled in the water as I fought to keep my footing, and reduce the noise I was making.

“What’s that?”

I couldn’t see at all without my camera, but hadn’t the presence of mind to raise it for my eyes. Instead, I felt around in the dark for the rail and made a painfully slow shuffle around to the backside of the steps. They groaned as my pursuer stepped down into the water.

He made a more graceful recovery than I had when he missed the last step, or he recalled that it was ruined. Or, a more frightening thought, he was more accustomed to the inky veil that occupied many of the rooms.

It was fortunate I had my hand wedged in the cameras strap, I had let go of it as I pressed my fingers against the wet wood. With it on my mind I raised the visor and watched the figure scan his immediate area. After a tense second he continued forward, his legs churning dull froth with each step. I backed away slowly, always keeping him in my sight. I bumped against a crate before I turned around, checking for what other obstacles might be in my path.

The second door, same as the first. I hopped onto a crate moldering against the steps and made light footfalls towards the handle. It gave with an easy twist and I entered, shutting my thin paper of protection.

This room had more to offer. Lockers lined the wall, shelves had been assembled in the corners littered with few items, some bottles of oil and boxes, tattered sheets. In the furthest corner was the pump.

When I activated it, the noise would alert the prowler. There would be no doubt in his mind, with the door shut, that someone was still in here. Or, this was the trail of thought I entertained. I had to keep reminding myself he was a patient in an asylum, there was no telling what his rationale skills entitled.

I punched the button and turned to the lockers along the wall. Maybe I could lock it from the inside….

The latch was different from the ones on the top floor, I fumbled with it trying to discern if it was corroded with rust or if I was doing this wrong, but the sounds at the door thumped with each beat of my heart. Wait! Wait! I needed to hide now!

I sprint over behind the pump and ducked down. A final crash announced my visitor as the door caved in. He kicked away bits of the timber as he stepped through, they clattered across the floor loud enough to be heard over the pump.

“—revealed himself to the shattered minds.” He muttered, somewhere amid a quote. I curled up into a tighter ball and pressed up against the pump, if he glanced over it I might fall just under his peripheral sight.

A locker opened then slammed shut. He patrolled the area, his club thudding along the metal doors before he stopped. For a moment there was near total silence.

I trembled though I couldn’t decide if it was from the cold or if I was terrified. Must have been both, my coat was good but my pants were soaked. I flinched when he began beating the lockers and screaming. When would this nightmare end?

With a final hoot he raced out, his shoes thudding over the broken planks and fading down the steps outside.

Several minutes passed, but of the man there was no sound. The generator caused too much of a ruckus, it was impossible to pick up echoes or voice in the next room. Was he still out there? From here I had no way of knowing.

I uncoiled myself and peered over the pump. It might’ve helped if I had my camera up, but the emergency light impeded the NVs range. There were no sounds that worried me, but that could mean he was standing just outside the door waiting. I moved around the large machine and crouched, shuffling towards the broken door. At this range I could see through my visor, but halfway there I couldn’t see much beyond the portal but dark shapes huddled.

The right side was the stair side, I huddled on the left straining to see.

“Can’t see me. Won’t get me.”

I slinked back, but realized I was still safe. He was trudging by the stairs muttering to himself, I don’t think he could see me. Or maybe I underestimated his instincts, he climbed onto the crates and began up towards me.

In a wild dash I reached the pump and ducked down behind it. I hadn’t seen if he cleared the door before I hid, did he even see me in the first place? I had no way of knowing, but I was out of sight and therefore, out of mind. He was just checking the room. He must’ve visited the other side first, and then came back to see if I was here. But this was all speculation, I had no idea what was—

A locker swung open, pause. He slammed it shut and jerked another one open. He knew I was here, he was looking for me. I listened carefully as his steps moved across the room, then pivoted. Where was he now? I slid to the edge of the machine and leaned over.

He was at the opposite corner just standing there, but I could still hear him walking. When my eyes adjusted to the odd contrast of light and shadow, I saw a sheet hanging on the shelf.

“There you are!”

I twisted around where I was huddled, he grabbed my shoulder and raised the club above his head. My leg kicked out blindly smashed into the brick wall, I tore out of his grip and slid out under a metal pipe attached to the pump. A sharp crack filled the air when he brought his weapon down, it took a moment to register my opportunity before I was clawing to my feet running for the door. “Wait! Come back!”

Even with my night vision up, I still ran into the rail that surrounded the steps. I heaved over it splashing into the water below, footsteps were right at my neck and I felt something slice through the air near my head. I bent forward and ran, though I heard him storming down the steps a few feet behind me. The camera was jiggling too much, I had a god awful time trying to hold it steady while I tore through the room. All the time the guy was still after me, screaming. I was unsure where exactly I was headed.

Ahead of me I saw steps and light, I vaulted up them stumbling over the fallen door. I hadn’t stepped over a door to get into this place.

A wall appeared in my path, I barely put on the breaks but still managed to smash my good shoulder against it. Panicked and shaken I forgot the camera but rather, slapped my palm and fingers against the solid surface and followed it. I staggered through an open door as the footfalls of my pursuer neared, I found the edge of the door and flung it shut. The doorknob rattled as he worked to get it open, I think my appreciation for broken door handles grew somewhat in that instant.

I stumbled over a pipe and fell hard on my chest. As I lay groaning and fighting to recover from the stun, I noticed a few broken beds just ahead. The door was about to give, I crawled under the beds and lay flat as the wood crumpled and the variant charged through.

It was impossible to see without my camera, but I heard his wet footfalls as he paced around the room. A few of the items were shifted, I tried to identify what each was as he poked around. Finally his steps came towards my space, I took a sharp breath and held it as he smashed the club against a metal bar then waited. In the distance I could pick up the echoing clatter of the pumps. I needed to focus on that.

“There was no putty tat there.” After a few more minutes, either he became bored or forgot what he was looking for. I heard his weight rock the broken door as he thudded over it.

I didn’t want to move. No telling where he was now, or where I was. But I reasoned with myself, if I stay here he would eventually find me. I was blocked in but this area had served its purpose for the time. I wasn’t ready to move on, but I forced my hands to pull at the cold floor and drag my body out.

I wasn’t shaking I was quaking unrestrained. That had been too close. What was it I needed to do? Flip the breaker. I bumped my face with the camera as I tried to lift the visor and view exactly where I had stumbled into.

Another storage room. Spare beds and sheets for the patients, lockers, and some filthy laundry bins. I tried to stand but my legs wouldn’t hold my weight, so I shuffled along to a door at the other side of the room. At this point I felt my masculinity melting. Get it together Miles.

With some help from the shelf and the doorknob I was able to haul myself up. I stood a moment taking deep breathes and renewing my resolve. I was okay as long as I could outrun him. Flip the breaker, restart the power, get the fuck out. This would be easy.

The door was locked.

I could’ve held up the camera and seen exactly where I was going, but I wanted to feel the walls, the frigid damp brick and the shelves as I staggered around them. I was not too solid on my feet just yet but once I stepped out into the corridor, I had my camera out like a bad habit.

No sign of the man. No sound of him either. I took it slow, glancing out through the light in the doorway before returning my eyes to the path ahead. On the wall was a plaque with an arrow.

Generator

I followed the corridor, hopping over more debris that had been shoveled into the hall. When I reached the end I picked up the soft footfalls, the moment before he turned the corner. There was a doorway to my right I slipped into, but wish I hadn’t.

Bodies tethered to the ceiling like butchered cattle, organs spilling off the shelf, the translucent skin glimmered in the NV of the camera. I didn’t have time for revulsion, he was right behind me. I slid under the bed and pressed my face into my shoulder, the smell, I will NEVER get used to that smell.

He strolled in from the doorway and glanced over the room, I had my camera held beside my face at an awkward angle to prevent the gleam of the visor from reflecting too much. Despite the discomfort I wouldn’t repositioning it to document his habits. Leave the room, just please leave the room.

Then he did something very madman like. He folded to his knees and smashed at the floor with his club, the strikes hard enough to shatter his weapon, I’m amazed it didn’t. Then, he leaned over and pressed his…ear down. He was facing me at that point, but I was too flabbergasted to register the potential threat. It was probably best I didn’t, otherwise I might’ve squirmed and drawn his attention.

After that he rose to his feet and walked out muttering about shadows.

Once it seemed he left for good I wasted no time in crawling out from under the bed, the stew of rotten organs among the metal legs was too much for my tattered sanity. I sat in the dark absorbed in what little light was put off by the visor. Which way had he gone?

My question was soon answered when he passed from the right, the way I was headed initially. I didn’t move though I was in plain view, he was out of sight by the time the thought registered. The dark had concealed me fully.

I was taking my camera for granted, if I wasn’t looking through the visor everything was a black slate with no texture, no form. Empty. It could drive a man insane, or more so, give him some company.

When his footfalls faded, I shuffled to the door and looked around the edge. He had found the door that was locked and made himself busy trying to tear it down. I was fine with this, it wouldn’t keep him occupied for long. I shut the door as I left the room.

Was I becoming desensitized by what I saw? It was easy to forget in this hall what I had previously been subjected to, but if I dwelled on it for too long I could feel my heart flutter. I need not think on that, keep focused on my objective - to get out of here I needed to flip the breaker and open the main doors. That was the only way out. Try not to think of what lay in the rooms, or what else could possibly be waiting for me. I would escape, I would be fine. My thoughts felt natural, but this worried me as well. A crazy man thought he was normal because the only thoughts he knew, were those of his own, he had forgotten the way a sane man thought.

When I escaped, would I go mad too?

Of course I wouldn’t, what was I thinking? Keep it together Miles, this place was getting to me and I would acknowledge that before it began to eat away at me. I wasn’t going mad, my brain was just filtering so I wouldn’t go mad. Once I was out, I would call up my therapist and get this water under the bridge settled.

Having a therapist was kind of awkward, people got the wrong impression. I was advised long ago when I received my license, that I would come to appreciate a good therapist. No lie, I have seen some of the worst that the world could offer, and even if I didn’t think it phased me it was still a good idea to have someone that I could talk to. Help me cope.

The corridor came to a T, I decided to check my right first, only because I could see the shimmer of water the other way. It felt like the hall was never ending, aside from a mishap of ruined desks that broke up the repetition. At the end was a crushed pallet, along with the door I sought.

The knob gave with one twist, it cracked and fell apart in my hands. I frowned down at it, before I tossed the pieces aside and inspected the door. I could still push it shut but it wouldn’t slow anyone down. I turned my camera to the rooms interior and scanned over the shelves dotted with chemicals and some tool, a trolley, more lockers (why did a facility need so many lockers?) Fuse boxes hugged the furthest walls, the soft glimmer of the backup light blotted out the NVs range. This had to be it.

Directly ahead was a familiar looking handle. The breaker the ‘Priest’ had pulled that cut the power in the first place.

I crossed over to it and forced the lever up. Just had to reactivate the power and find my way back to the ground floor.

As I was heading down the hall I was somewhat distracted, but I quickly caught the soft steps and retreated backwards in a noisy shuffle.

“Hey! What the hell is that?”

He saw me! He saw me! I pivoted and ran back to the room, I didn’t even bother to shut the door behind me I needed to hide.

But damn these lockers, what was I doing wrong? There was no lock on it, it couldn’t be jammed.

The latch popped and I climbed inside, the last worry on my mind was whether I could get this model open from the inside. He didn’t seem to have a problem getting them open.

I slowed my breath when he entered, the door creaked as he shoved it against the wall and the muffled snaps of the wood chair leg striking his palm came closer and closer. I shifted, it felt like the locker jarred on its foundation. Oh god, just hold still and be quiet. He won’t find me. I’m not here.

“Who is that?”

He didn’t see me. He did not see me. I fixed my grip on the camera and leaned back from the cutout vents. The door beside me opened, then slammed shut. I put my hand on the latch and held it. There were three lockers, weren’t there? Or two? I let out a soft sigh as the tension climaxed, where was he?

“Up to heaven, went away!” He wandered out of sight tapping the shelves, and once he had satisfied his fancy he departed.

I waited in the silence just breathing as everything settled, my heart, my haggard breathes. I was in a dead end, I couldn’t afford to get pinned her again. I worked up my nerve and opened the locker, grateful that it hadn’t stuck. Before I went on I made sure I understood how the latch on these worked, then moved to the open doorway and looked out. The corridor was silent but this didn’t set me to ease, he was still here.

At the intersection I paused to zoom the camera and check the far hall, what might be there. I could make out boards and an archway, but I couldn’t decide if this was the other side of the archway passed before entering this area.

I was nearly out anyway, what did it matter?

All the more reason to use caution, from this point on. I stepped lightly along the hall watching my cameras feed, so far no sound. I expected at any moment he would charge out at me, or I’d feel his hand slap me on the shoulder right before my skull splint in two. Shuddering, I swallowed and tried not the think about the foul odor burned into my mind.

Just needed to reactivate the power. The power, so I could open the front doors and get the fuck out of here. My resentment for this place was natural, I didn’t fight it, nor the repetitive state my mind had elapsed into. It was easy to keep repeating my current goal through my thoughts, keep focused on that rather what I had seen. It felt clean. I wanted to feel clean.

I passed the shut door, not bothering to pause, not giving it another thought. Breaker, security, then out. As I neared the light from the entrance I heard his voice. At least I knew where he was.

Thankfully he had torn the second door down, I stepped inside and moved along the shelves, making sure I didn’t knock over anything this time. The battery in the NV was getting low and the visual was dimming. After I removed the battery I thought about tossing it down the hall, distract the variant that way. In the end I decided this was a bad idea, best not draw attention to any area I was near or in. If he wasn’t certain of my whereabouts, it might clue him in with sudden noises. I also did not need to stir him up, he was insane and that was apparently enough to get my face smashed in.

Down to two batteries.

I moved to the other doorway and peeked out, just as he faded from the nightvisions range somewhere down the corridor. I couldn’t see him, but if I ventured into the light I would be vulnerable for a splint second. He would see me. Unless he wasn’t facing me.

One, two, three, and four steps into the entrance corridor. I paused for a beat to listen if he made note of me, but I heard nothing aside from the echoing steps growing distant. It was unnerving.

I continued into the cold water and crossed to the access panel. Before I hit the switch I took a deep breath and prepared myself, this was it. With a firm punch the generator kicked to life, the lamps overhead flickered and blazed white clarity. I shut my camera off and glanced around, which door had I entered from?

All I could see were broken doors, where was…?

I spun about and saw my entrance, the stairs and the arch I originally entered from. I sprang up the steps, despite the protest of my ribs and ran the full length of the hall with the water frothing around my legs. When I reached the small crevice I slipped through, I spied just beyond it a cracked desk a folder forgotten atop. Enough light made the last part of Confidential evident. I picked it up before squeezing through the gap.

Once I felt safe and heard no steps, no screaming man chasing me, I paused to calm my breath. That had been too close, if I hadn’t of gotten out from under the bed when I did…. My close call ration was dwindling down. I could only feel closure with this event, knowing that I had gotten out of there without getting myself killed, and with my camera still in functional order.

I paused a moment to look it over while I had some light. After the fall I hadn’t noticed, but a hairline crack had formed along its case. Another battle scar, it had many. The corners were rubbed clean from constantly shuffling it between the pack and my hands, and the symbols on the buttons were worn away from years of use. To operate my camera I had to work it from memory. Like me, it had been through hell before we reached this place, and it’d receive more abuse before I retired it. That wouldn’t be for a long time, I promise.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction

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freddy-ryland · 3 years

Note

⏰ 25

Where you can find knowledge, you can find a friend.

It seemed to be the idea behind Ravenclaw, and years later after being told that Freddy couldn’t help think that it was true as she stepped out of the Library of San Francisco, the shimmer of the door tingled her magic. Her visit with Quinn was as usual, the best, but she really had to get back to her job. Standing in the busy street she tilted her head back and took in the scent of rolling fog and sea-salt, the hot dogs from the women pushing rolling carts and the jumble of words around her.

Freddy let her Sight take hold, quick flashes of what she was looking for.

Alcatraz.

The Rock.

The greatest prison known to man, and the site of a very powerful curse. Powerful enough that MACUSA had put a reward out that anyone who breaks it gets a hefty reward and the praise. But that call had gone out in her 7th year, and was still not yet broken. She’d heard awful tales, bodies sucked into blackholes, crusebreakers spat back onto shore while the muggle locals tutted over seafaring tourists testing the waters. MACUSA had at one point tried to hand out tests to qualify, but with no-one coming back to tell the tale of what was happening, then they couldn’t exactly test it.

So the challenge remained, who would escape the rock alive?

Quinn had raised her brows at the unusual challenge, but had only offered to help her research in a show of support. Her unwavering faith as deep as it was in Hogwarts. Freddy had spent a year after Hogwarts touring the world, having met a lovely Ranger in London during one of her excursions who owned a magical circus of all things. With her Library Card and access to the world at large Freddy had begun to use her Sight properly, and Unspeakable Cassandra had thrown a fit when their offer of ‘employment’ was thrown back in their face. It caused quite a stir, but with a Lib-Con card in hand, and the world at her feet Freddy raced for an unknown finish line. Today the finish line was this curse, and she knew exactly who to meet up with.

Madeline Sunby was sipping a boba tea and scrolling through her phone when Freddy found her, the bouncy blonde hopping up to press happy kisses to her cheeks and leave the sticky scent of macha on her skin. If anyone knew something about this Maddie would, her brother had been an Unspeakable and Finlay Sunby had maintained his sister was far more brilliant than him despite being a squib. The important part being she wasn’t a squib. She was a ward breaker, she could reach into magical wards and unscrew them, crack them open like a fissure, slice them in half, all with a turn of her wrist and some very focused magic.

“What have you got to tell me Mads?” Reaching out to Maddie Sunby was always a risk, she ran with a tough crowd, magical Covens operated as Gangs out here, Freddy knew that the one Maddie was in was a little less harsh but handing out trade secrets was a no-no. So they were tugged into neutral territory, FiDi was hated and this boba spot in the Tenderloin remained unclaimed turf.

“It’s a 7 pronged curse I can tell you that,” she wasn’t a curse breaker per-say, just wards and locks, trying to break curses was Freddy’s thing and Maddie knew better than to deal in curses, “Got some real Indigenous flair to it to, I suspect it was something they left after they took over the Rock in the 70′s.”

Indigenous magic. Freddy didn’t deal with that often, and it was rarely taught.

“I don’t think whatever is in there was hidden in the 70′s though, too new, someone had a Curse Key and laid it out.”

“So it is breakable.” You didn’t have Curse Keys if you didn’t want to get in.

“Yeah. Not sure how though.”

“Thanks Maddie,” the bell rang and a tall Indian woman stood in the doorway, flicking her head at Maddie, “I think that’s your cue.”

“Yeah, we got a fight night down in Sutro Baths, if you don’t get killed make an appearance and ask for the Golden Girls Coven. They’ll seat you where you won’t get blood on your posh skirt,” the blonde put on a terrible accent while Freddy laughed and she flounced out the door.

Taking a boat to Alcatraz was as easy as forking over 45$ American dollars and ignoring screaming kids. Getting to where the curse was, now that was even easier, slipping from the tour guide and downing an invisibility potion and slinking under towards the catacombs of the old prison. There were a ton of ghosts, it made Freddy wistful for Linden of all people they’d probably love it. Maybe she ought to write a letter, Freddy had dealt with a water spirit trapped behind a curse a few months ago the Slytherin might be interested in, but the Hufflepuff packed that thought away. It didn’t take long for night to fall, and for the trail to the curse was open.

Freddy was met at the door by a hooded figure, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, were you going to try and break it tonight.”

“Name please,” the man pulled his hood back, covered in piercings he looked more like a groupie for Cthulhu, “I’m from MACUSA, we always record who came down here to die, so we know where to send the blood.”

Pleasant.

“Fredricka Ryland,” she flashed a Library card, “I work with Lib-Con, and do my own cursebreaking for hire. Heard you guys were hiring. You can send my winnings to my account at Gringotts, in English galleons of course.”

“Of course,” she could hear the sarcasm drip off his forked tongue, before stepping aside, “All who enter here find only death, and await destruction.”

“Thank you!” she brightened at him before bounding down the steps while he shook his head.

The curse was annoying to look at, all fine layered lines and pictographs. It was odd, very odd. Freddy stuffed her hand into a small pouch at her waist, it was fine grain chalk, bright white and spelled to cling to magic. Holding it up to her lips she blew, and the powder settled in the air.

It was a 3 dimensional curse, 7 interlocking spells, you had to break all of them simultaneously to break the curse.

Tricky. Tricky. Tricky.

Freddy walked the half circle around it, tilting her head this way and that. The curses were for blasting, hypothermia, a... life-support curse? Freddy continued to follow the powdered strings of the magic as they looped into a detailed image of a spiders web. What in the world.

This curse wasn’t designed to keep people out.

It was meant to keep something in.

Freddy lifted her hands and held her wand in one hand, and her conduit in another.

Then she began to write, counter runes and counter lines, settling the fine black magic until it ran concurrent with the lines in the air, holding the magic only a centimeter from where the curse pulsated.

This was the hard part, matching the resonance of the curse with the resonant of her counter. One wrong vibration or timing and Freddy would be crushed under the weight of backfired magic. Eyes open wide she let out a steady whistle and the black lines began to vibrate, higher and higher she continued the sound until the lines were trembling so fast they seemed still. Then with a sudden shrill uptick and a twist of her wrists the counter fell onto the curse.

Freddy held her breath and then in a shower of grey embers, cold and dusting over her skin, the curse broke and the magic slunk away. The rock she previously thought was a rock began to melt, to reveal a finely crafted mouth and pitched brows, warm dewy skin covered in the grey frost she’d created, exposed to the freezing Bay area air. Her hair was braided neat and tight, there was a line of red ocher over her eyelids and then they blinked. Freddy leaned over, and smiled.

“Hi?”

The woman blinked and went to move, but her muscles trembled.

“Where... am I?”

“Alcatraz.”

The girl blinked and huffed, “So they did it huh? They really fuckin--” Freddy’s head began to ache just as she touched her and her eyes began to glow. The other woman gasped as Freddy pitched forward.

It was a fight, the girl but dressed this time, surrounded by several people. Each of them vicious, each other them swinging something cruel, chains and bats Freddy could tell were spelled conduits before they pounced upon her leaving the girl a bloodied mess on the ground. Freddy blinked and stared at the girl.

“You were attacked, this,” Freddy rubbed the grey frost between her fingers, “was something meant to heal you?”

“I think so, I don’t remember. My Coven,” oh she was a Coven member, “has this girl who does healing charms, but they probably don’t exist anymore. The Coven wars were in full swing when I... how long have I been out?” she finished in a rush. She was probably right, Coven wars often ended bloodied and fast, her family probably assumed her dead once they learned she was running with one.

“When was the last thing you remember? TIme wise that is.”

“Someone tried to assassinate Biden?” Freddy whistled low.

“Ya, its been around 8 years for you then,” Freddy hummed under her breath, “What's your name anyway?”

“Tullulah Youngblood.”

“Are you related to Orenda Youngblood perchance?” Freddy laughed as she pulled the girl up, who quaked on no doubt aching legs.

“My cousin how did you--”

“I worked with the Rangers for a while after I graduated Hogwarts. Listen, lets get you out of here. Think you can stand some apparation.”

Tullulah smiled and looked Freddy over, her stomach fluttered, hard and fast like when she used to look at Danai.

“I think I’ll go anywhere with my savior.”

Freddy flushed, “Flatterer, hold on,” then with a tuck in her navel, and the taller woman tucked into her neck she flashed into the room she’d rented. Depositing the sickly girl on the bed Freddy sent a missive off to MACUSA, she’d broken the curse, but somehow, as she watched the girl stretched out on the bed, still wonderfully naked and grinning. Well, maybe she didn’t care for the prize.

“So you worked with the Rangers?” Freddy turned and began to shuck off her cursebreaking clothes, or as her friends liked to call them her Indiana Jones fit and found the girl wrapped in a blanket. “Mind getting us food?”

“Yeah I’ll order, Um....” Freddy tapped out on her phone ordering pizza, meatless included. “Worked with the Rangers, I’m a freelance cursebreaker, work with Lib-Con, I was a fortune teller.” The other woman's’ eyes continued to leap up her face.

“Shit, tell me everything.”

So Freddy did, and began to weave her life in pieces, trying to ignore that fluttering in her stomach, and the way her eyes began to itch, but she shoved it down.

No, she didn’t want a vision to tell her where this was going.

She wanted this adventure to be a surprise.

#Anonymous #//I am gonna be real #this is kinda half set in my universe with my own character for a book im working on #anyway #this is 0 pain all fun things

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