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stillness-in-green · 3 years

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No, Re-Destro Is Not Destro’s Literal Son

and

Yes, I Will Die On This Hill

I have a number of small, persistent quibbles with some of the widespread misapprehensions I see included in BNHA fanfic, quoted as fact in meta posts, even cited on the wiki. Quirk cancellation restraints, what the 20% quirklessness data point means in practice, when Kurogiri comes into existence relative to the time of the Shimura Family Massacre, things like that. My biggest one, though, is as the title suggests: the idea that Yotsubashi Rikiya is Yotsubashi Chikara’s son.

I don’t entirely know where this confusion comes from. As far as I can tell, the early scanlations didn’t get it wrong—one rendered the line in Chapter 218 about Destro having a child he didn’t know about as being children, plural, but otherwise, they were all accurate enough. It seems people just assumed that the child mentioned in 218 must be Re-Destro, who was, after all, right there on the panel. Even though the scanlations never said it, even though the official translation never said it, even though ample evidence in the manga disproves it, the idea still got around that Rikiya is Chikara’s son.

I have and will maintain that this is obviously wrong if you stop to think about it for even a moment, but unfortunately, most people don’t. The error can be found on less well-tended parts of the fandom wiki[1]; it’s in tumblr meta posts about the villains; it’s in fanfic.

And now, god help me, it is on the official anime website, too.

“Stillness-in-green, maybe you should consider that you might just be wro—”

I will face BONES and walk backwards into hell.

But if you want, you can come with me, and I’ll explain on the way. Hit the jump.

Dialogue + Narration

There are two places where the relationship between Chikara and Rikiya is explicitly addressed—the lead-in to the dinner scene in Chapter 218 and the fight between Clone!Shigaraki and RD in Chapter 232. If you include the Ultra Analysis databook, the number goes up to four: once each in Re-Destro and Destro Classic’s character blurbs.

Let’s take a look at each of those places, shall we?

The relevant Japanese text here is in the first narration box: 子ども, kodomo.

Kodomo is not gendered. It literally just means child. The key kanji is 子, ko. Like most kanji, it has a lot of potential readings, and you can add other kanji to it to modify it. Add 息 and you get musuko, son. Pronounce 子 as shi instead of ko, and you get a term that is frequently, though not exclusively, used to refer to boys. Add 女 to that reading and you get joshi, woman/girl. 子 is in a lot of words, many of them gendered! Used for kodomo as Hori does here, though, it does nothing to indicate a gender one way or the other.

Also too, it does nothing to indicate that Rikiya is the child in question; it simply states that there was such a child, somewhere in the world. Now, the natural assumption for anyone who knows how the graphic novel medium works and who understands basic literary analysis would be that the significant character we just met is, in fact, the child in question—except that everything else we learn about Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army here makes it entirely impossible.

I’ll do a full breakdown on why that is in the next section. In the meantime, here’s the next reference:

Here, we’re looking at the phrase the Viz translation renders as, “His blood runs through these veins.” The literal Japanese there is, Desutoro no matsuei chi o tsugu mono! In a literal translation, chi o tsugu mono means, “one who inherits the blood,” or, more loosely, “blood successor.” It’s matsuei—末裔—that’s the key word here.

Japanese has several words to express the concept of “descendant.” Matsuei is one word; the data book uses shison. So what’s the difference? Well, I’ll talk about shison in a moment, but I had an inkling of it just from looking at the kanji in matsuei—“end” and “descendant” respectively, leaving me with an impression of something like a final descendant or the terminus of the bloodline. Further research confirmed it: shison can refer to any lineal blood tie, but matsuei refers to a bloodline’s final inheritor, the person at the end of a long line of many, or even countless, generations. It’s the difference between being able to point to a grandparent and the kind of painstaking genealogical research that lets you[2] point to a famous royal from eight hundred years ago—matsuei is a word that very much assumes the existence of those countless generations.

So not only does Rikiya’s line there not imply that he’s Chikara’s son, but his specific word choice also tells us that he cannot be Chikara’s son. That’s, uh. Pretty conclusive, I would say.

Lastly, though, there’s also the data book. This is, perhaps, the actual closest you’re going to get to a manga equivalent of those character blurbs on the anime website, at least until such time as Hori deigns to give the MLA types character profile pages. (I live ever in hope.)

There are two relevant bits of text, one in Re-Destro’s entry, and the other in Destro Classic’s. The first describes how Re-Destro organizes the MLA as Desutoro no chi o tsugu mono: the same phrase he uses for himself in the manga, minus the matsuei. @codenamesazanka (the one who told me about the databook references among other citations, bless) rendered it as “Destro’s blood successor”; I have also seen it given as “the successor of Destro’s bloodline.” Note again, the lack of reference to a father/son bond.

Chikara’s entry uses that other descendant word I mentioned before, 子孫, shison. Notice that the term uses that ko kanji from kodomo before? As it does in joshi, 子 here reads shi. The other kanji, 孫, means grandchild. Thus, literally, grandchild-child—or, in the vernacular, simply descendant.

And then we have the anime website.

So, for comparison’s sake, the anime website uses 息子—the same combination of kanji that I said earlier gives you musuko, son. Heck, it even uses 父, chichi, for Destro—father. It’s as explicit as it’s possible to be, and I just don’t know why or how the anime website could fuck that up so bad when absolutely nothing in the manga describes the two Yotsubashis that way, and, indeed, one specific word choice actually rules out the possibility.

So, that’s all the manga says directly. It’s not the only evidence there is, though. In fact, the next piece makes it even more clear how colossally and impossibly wrong a father/son connection for Destro and his modern successor is.

Timeline

The long and short of this section is, “Since Harima Oji was Sako Atsuhiro’s great-great-grandfather, there is no possible way that Destro—who pre-dated Harima—can be Re-Destro’s father.” If you read that sentence and nodded your complete understanding and agreement, feel free to skip ahead to the last section. If you’d like the full explanation it takes to reach that sentence’s conclusion, though, read on.

So, aside from the word matsuei, the timeline is the most telling piece of evidence to my eye. I address it secondly rather than firstly because it’s less direct than the explicit narration; it relies on drawing conclusions based on things we’ve been told elsewhere rather than on the immediately relevant text. Oh, Mr. Compress’s relationship to Harima is explicit enough, but on what am I basing my claim that Destro predates him?

Regarding that, there’s no explicit year relative to My Hero Academia’s current events given for when Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army were active; the same is true for Harima Oji’s escapades. However, we are given some broad-strokes information, relative not to current events, but rather to the history of heroism as a legal institution in Japan.

We know that there was a widespread, lengthy period of chaos following the rise of quirks—called meta-abilities in those early years. At some point, however, people began to search for a way for meta-humans to live in peace with non-metas. The compromise that was reached was the foundation of professional heroism in Japan—while the use of meta-abilities would be legal in private settings, it was only by becoming licensed by the state as “heroes” that people could use their quirks in public.[3]

The legislation curtailing the use of meta-abilities—and the appropriation of a dead woman’s language to popularize a law establishing exactly the opposite of what she used that language to call for—is what catalyzed the rise of the original MLA. Thus, we can position Destro as being alive and active around the same time that heroism as a legal institution was being formed. Since we further know that he committed suicide in prison, we can assume that his child was conceived at some point prior to his capture. Ergo, Destro’s child, were they alive today, would be as old as Japanese professional heroism itself.

Next, consider Harima Oji, the Peerless Thief, a criminal who targeted the riches of “sham heroes.” We’re specifically told that he was active in the days in which the current system was settling into place—e.g. he only became active once the Hero System was established enough to have produced corrupt heroes. We’re told he preached reformation—he wasn’t just some pre-existing criminal who saw a shiny new target in heroes; he had specific grievances which he wanted addressed by the system, and which the system was not addressing.

The earliest Harima could possibly be active, then, is concurrent with Destro—Harima fighting against the corrupt people who had found their way into the new heroic institution, and Destro fighting against using the institution of heroism to oppress non-heroes. What I think is more likely, though, is that Harima came after Destro—Harima needed to have had time to realize what kinds of fakes had been drawn to this shiny new career path, maybe even to spend some time trying to change things the legal way.

I don’t suspect they were separated by very long—I would imagine Destro was easily within Harima’s living memory, and might well have influenced why he chose the path of protest that he did—but I do think they were separate.

Moving forward, then, Mr. Compress is four generations distant from his famous ancestor. Thus, even if you assume that Harima is of the same generation as Chikara, that’s what you’re looking at for Chikara’s child: someone who, were they alive today, would be old enough to be the great-grandparent of a thirty-two-year-old man.

Re-Destro’s probably a few years older than Mr. C, sure,[4] but that man doesn’t have Ujiko’s slow-aging quirk. Unless you want to start pulling theories about cryogenic stasis the story for some reason never saw fit to mention out of thin air, Re-Destro is in no way old enough to fit the bill.

This is backed up by one other piece of the timeline as well, and one more place we can look at language:

The small child at the center of the image is Rikiya, so young that he’s in schoolboy shorts for a meeting otherwise so formal that he’s been made to wear a tie. He’s, what, six to nine here, tops? And the adults speaking to him say that they’ve been in hiding for generations—代々, daidai, the kanji for generation followed by a kanji that just means, “See that kanji written right before me? Yeah, just read that one again.”

The original MLA was active for only a handful of years, and, per Chapter 218, they didn’t dissolve until Destro was captured. Thus, we can assume they have been in hiding since then, but not before then. With that in mind, this is another line that renders a father/son relationship impossible.

Remember, Chikara already had a child in the world circa his capture. If Rikiya were Chikara’s son, then Destro’s capture and his army’s subsequent dissolution could not have happened any farther back than nine months plus however old Rikiya was in this exact moment of his youth. Rikiya, who we see here as a child of less than ten.

Ten years in hiding doesn’t make one generation; it damn sure doesn’t make multiple ones.

Now, you could make theories about cryogenic statis that would explain this ludicrous discrepancy, sure. You could also theorize about e.g. artificial insemination,[5] or time stop quirks, or any number of other possibilities in the vast panoply the HeroAca world offers. The point is, though, that you don’t need to. There was, in the manga, no discrepancy that needed to be explained. It is only fanon misinterpretation and a glaring disinterest in the series’ villains from official sources that have presented this issue.

I’m praying that it’s all just a misunderstanding on the part of whoever maintains the website, and that the anime itself will render the relevant bits of dialogue correctly. Given the extreme cuts and alterations that My Villain Academia has been subjected to thus far, though, I’m sure you can appreciate my being concerned.

…So that’s the meat of it. The idea that Rikiya is Chikara’s son is wrong simply on the basis of what’s said in the text, and it’s doubly wrong on the basis of the timeline. There is, though, one other thing I think points towards Re-Destro being exactly the descendant he says he is, not a son playing down the connection out of humility or something. This one is a lot more headcanon-y, though, so I saved it for last.

MLA Social Dynamics

It’s quite simple. We have, in the MLA, a group of people that venerates Destro’s bloodline to an obviously unhealthy degree, putting up portraits of him wherever they can get away with it, tagging his successor with a “Re-” as if to invoke reincarnation or miraculous return, entirely willing to throw their lives away for what they think was his cause, and others’ lives if those others say anything too scathing about the words Destro wrote, quite as if they treat Destro’s memoir as some sort of holy writ.

They venerate Destro that much, and you’re trying to tell me that they wouldn’t just call a spade a spade and acknowledge RD as the son of their great leader? Come on.

Since long before I turned up the matsuei factoid in researching this piece, since long before Mr. Compress gave us such a helpful generational comparison, I’ve held the opinion that, given a group that holds their leaders in such high esteem, with such particular regard for bloodline, the only reason Rikiya does just call himself a descendant, rather than citing the specific term for what he is, is that the specific term is distant enough that it actually does sound more impressive to just say “descendant,” rather than something like, “great-great-great-grandson.” That kind of thing just begs the question, “What took you guys so long?” or, “You and how many other people, buddy?”

Mr. Compress may have the panache to carry off a line like that, but Rikiya’s a different story. If he had something so amazing up his sleeve as, “I am the son of the great Destro,” I have to think he’d just say it proudly, not fall back on the impressionistic vaguery of something like chi o tsugu mono. Even if I had no other evidence to work with, I’d think the same—all the evidence you need is right there in the character writing of who Rikiya and the MLA are and how they talk about the man whose dreams Re-Destro was raised to carry.

A closing note: I will allow that Rikiya is being overdramatic when he uses matsuei and its connotation of countless generations. There are a few other things we can use to trace the history of heroism—Ujiko’s age, and the 18-years-or-less periods that One For All was held by its pre-All Might bearers—and running those numbers leads me to believe that it is, in fact, entirely possible to count the number of generations between Rikiya and Chikara, and the number, while higher than one, is probably not all that high. Certainly matsuei is being more dramatic about it than is entirely warranted, hence the poetic flourish of the official translation’s, “His blood runs through these veins!” The theatricality only makes me fonder of him, however.

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FOOTNOTES

[1] It was changed and reverted on Re-Destro’s page at least twice before it finally stuck in January of this year. Chikara’s page took until July to be corrected, and it’s still wrong on various other subpages.

[2] Or your kids, if you have those. Only the last generation in the bloodline is the matsuei, but that’s a moving goalpost as long as the bloodline is still propagating.

[3] This summary of events combines what we know from both My Hero Academia proper and the Vigilantes spin-off, which I recommend to anyone who’s at all interested in finer-grained worldbuilding on Hero Society Japan than the main series makes time for.

[4] I personally headcanon him as 42.

[5] To which point I would refer back to the word kodomo, and note that that word choice indicates that Destro had a child in the world. Not a sperm sample kept in a freezer somewhere, waiting for the right would-be mother: an actual child. Some quick research on my part says that the farthest that term stretches is in using it to refer to yet-unborn children, fetuses still in the womb. Seeing as Japan doesn’t even allow inmates conjugal visits in real life, much less in a setting where villains are so dehumanized that Tartarus is an acceptable punishment for them, the line about Destro “having a child out in the world” takes us right back to a date of conception no later than Destro’s final night of freedom.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #yotsubashi rikiya #yotsubashi chikara #re-destro #destro bnha #meta liberation army #my writing #i have thoughts on the anime's nonsense too but #hahawow #that's gonna take a little longer to get coherent #preview: it's not about capitalism #it's about fear

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after-witch · 3 years

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Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you--so why is your stomach in knots?

Word Count: 3144

notes: yandere, sexism, emotional abuse

You shouldn’t be this nervous. Really. Ransom has been nothing but generous with you, and in turn you’ve been patient--maybe too patient, maybe too forgiving, sometimes--with him. It’s only fair that he extends that patience to you, especially with something as serious, as important, as your future.

So why does the thought of telling him about your plan to switch to a new college make you feel like you’re going to throw up?

You puff out your cheeks and stretch your arms across the breakfast table, leaning down and wishing you could ask someone else to tell him in person. But the thought is ridiculous, and you push it away in favor of rehearsing what you’re going to say for the millionth time since you made up your mind.

You will tell him about the need to change your degree if you want to ever be in the contending for a museum curator position in the future. You will tell him about the fact that the best place to get this specific degree, the one that will put you right in the open arms of the internship that leads to your dream curator field, is in California. You will tell him about the apartments you’ve already inspected. You will tell him about the fact that he can visit anytime, that you will visit him, that you can text and video call and vacation together. You will tell him that you love him and you want to make this work.

You will tell him all these things… and yet. Yet while you can rehearse the words, rehearse how you’ll push your printed out papers showing exactly what you need to do and why towards him so he can see you’re telling the exact truth, you can’t rehearse how Ransom will react. You try to imagine, but all that comes up is a blurry, grey blank.

Is he going to freak out? Get pissed? Or worse--not care at all? Maybe you’ve overestimated how much Ransom has invested in this relationship. Maybe he’d rather cut you loose than deal with a long distance relationship. Maybe the second you mention that you’ll be moving to California, he’ll be mentally checking a list for someone local to hook up with the minute you’re gone.

You’re not sure which reaction would scare you more.

But you don’t have much time to think about it, because you hear him padding down the stairs, hear the din of some video he’s still watching, probably whatever he put on while he was in the shower. You can’t bear to look up, and you thumb aimlessly, nervously around your phone’s apps while you listen to the sound of him scraping the eggs and bacon you’d cooked onto a plate.

He plops down in the seat across from you and you glance up. He catches your eye and gives a tight-lipped, tired smile. He was out late. But he’d texted you about staying out late earlier in the evening, so you didn’t feel you had the right to be mad--that’s the condition you’d given him, after all, when he’d accused you of being controlling. When he’d called you a nag and accused you of being jealous of other women, women he had no feelings for.

“I just want to know when you’re going to be out late so I don’t stay up half the night thinking you’re dead somewhere.” And so he did--let you know--and you swallowed down your feelings of suspicion at his late night adventures.

Maybe… maybe this is a bad time to tell him. Maybe you should wait for a day when he’s had more sleep. Maybe you should run your thoughts by someone else, get a second opinion. You’re focusing on the table, on the light from the phone screen, anything to avoid looking up and starting the dreaded conversation.

“What’re those papers for, babe?”

Shit.

Your hands tremble just a bit when you set the phone down, and the way it vibrates against the table mimics the way your stomach feels right now. You suck in a breath and look up, but you can’t make eye contact just yet and you push the words out, stumbling and breathy and rapid, without stopping to breathe until you’ve said your peace.

“Ransom this is really hard for me but we need to talk about something and I don’t want you to be mad but I need to change schools if I’m ever going to get a shot at a curator position and the best school for this is in California and I know it’s going to be hard but I love you--I love you and we can make long distance work if you want and if you don’t want well--well I don’t know what I’ll do then but I just wanted to let you know now because I’ve got to turn in my application next week and please please try to see this from my point of view because it’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

You take a shaky breath and hold your hands together on top of the table, clasped and shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. You look up at Ransom with trepidation, hoping that he’s not mad--or indifferent.

But he’s neither. He simply looks… confused.

He simply stares at you for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he processes all of the words that just came rapid-fire out of your mouth.

“California?” Is all he says, finally.

You take the opportunity to push the stack of printed papers towards him. “These are… it’s… well, emails from people in the industry, some important articles about getting positions at museums. About where you have to go. Oh, there’s apartment listings there, too.” You even printed out detailed information about the qualifications for acceptance, and put them in a neat little table next to your own academic and experience record. You were a shoo-in, and you didn’t feel the need to be humble about it.

He grabs the stack and starts thumbing through, not saying another word as he seemingly thoroughly reads everything you’ve printed out. Your stomach feel like floating lead, heavy and flipping. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and he’s not giving you anything but a concentrated look at he looks through the statements, the listings, the plan you’ve outlined so neatly.

He finally sets the stack back down and simply stares at it for a few moments. Taking it in. Taking his thoughts in. Finally, Ransom looks up at you and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look mad. He looks--and you hate it--disappointed, sad even.

“Look…” He sighs, eyebrows lifting as his gaze drifts away before settling back on you. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. Jesus, babe. California? Four years?”

“It’s no--” you interrupt, but he holds up his hand and you stop.

“But. But, but,” he lightly pounds his fist on the stack of tables, an almost nervous gesture in your eyes. “It’s what you want? What you need for your career? There’s no other way for you to get this--” he waves his hands around, “museum gig you’re after?”

You nod, unable--no, afraid--to speak, in case your voice is too tight with emotion.

“Then I guess I can deal with it.”

“What?” You blurt the words out. You expected… an argument. Or for him to blow you off, make it seem like you weren’t serious. Or, as you’d admitted to yourself earlier, for him to throw you away and find someone who wouldn’t make him wait around. Not… acceptance.

He laughs at your reaction and your stomach feels lighter, the tension in your body starting to fizzle away. “

“It’s not like I have to worry about getting the money to come visit, right? And hey,” he continues, “if you need someone to put in a good word to this school… maybe throw some cash at a dean or something…” He raises his eyebrows, wiggling them a little in a way that makes you snort.

You lean forward and nab one of the lukewarm pieces of scrambled eggs from his plate and pop it into your mouth. “Since you’re offering to help, I could use someone to check over my application…”

The envelope is too small. It’s way too small. Why did they make the envelope so damn small? Maybe the acceptance letter was sent on its own, and all of the other information--the giant packet telling you where to send payments and sign up for courses--would be sent to your email. But the thought of checking your email and seeing nothing makes you feel sick, so you keep your phone next to you on the table.

“You gotta open it,” Ransom says, soft and casual. He doesn’t move from his place beside you on the sofa, watching you with a neutral look. He probably knows why the envelope is too small, but he won’t say the words out loud--just like you won’t. If you say it out loud, then it’s true.

There's nothing else for you to do except confront the truth, and you rip open the envelope and pull out the folded paper with far too few printed words on the page.

Rejected. Outright. Completely. Not a fit for the school or the program.

If you weren’t sitting on the couch, you would have fallen over. As it is, you feel like the world is collapsing, like the sofa underneath you is melting into the floor and taking you with it.

“I don’t understand.” You can only manage to whisper, voice small--reflecting the way the rest of you feels. Small and falling and stupid.

Ransom takes the paper from your hand, and you don’t bother keeping a grip on it. You register the fact that he’s put an arm around your shoulders, but you can barely feel it through the numbness of rejection.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice louder next to your ear. It makes you shrink in more, even though his anger isn’t directed at you. “What the fuck.”

It’s you want to say, what you would say, if you had the strength. The energy. But the absolute, complete way that your future has suddenly become an unknown blank has left you stuck and heavy.

It doesn’t make sense. Your transcript was perfect--should have been perfect. You should have gotten in. You got top grades and references from professors and a list of relevant experiences that most students wouldn’t have until the end of their degree.

“I’m going to call them and find out what-the-fuck,” Ransom says suddenly, getting up with a jerking motion and walking towards the kitchen, where his phone rests on the counter. “No,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Better yet. I’ll call my grandfather. He’ll know how to convince this so-called top school that they made a big mistake.”

The thought makes your head spin. “Ransom, don’t.” You’re not a child. But you feel like one, like you just failed a math quiz and your dad is calling to find out why the teacher doesn’t know the quiz answers from his ass. “You can’t just call a school and make them accept someone.”

Your legs feel wobbly when you stand up, and Ransom practically swoops back to your side to hold you steady. He leads you back down on the sofa and you feel yourself accepting the loss, accepting that your dream is gone, or at least altered.

He squeezes an arm around you when you finally begin to cry, and for the moment you feel better, less worthless, less hopeless. It was just one rejection. One egg. You can’t put every egg in one basket, as they say.

You rest your head against his shoulder and sigh into it, enjoying the warmth and closeness. A feeling of luck pings at your heart. You’re really lucky to have a guy like Ransom. He’s not perfect, and sometimes you fight, and sometimes he does things that hurt you, but--are you perfect? Do you do things that hurt him, too? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

With comfort comes clarity. The world isn’t ending. Your future isn’t blank. There are other options.

You feel almost perked up when you speak: “I guess I can apply to other schools. Maybe it won’t be the exact one I wanted but… there’s some in Chicago, even Michigan, that might work.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around you, slightly but firmly enough to notice.

“Babe, you’re not serious.”

You pull back enough to look up at his face.

“What do you mean?”

You can see Ransom fighting with his annoyed expression, trying to soften it up. You dimly recognize that you should be grateful--you know how snarky he can get with others when he’s not putting on a filter.

“Your transcript was fucking impeccable. I saw it! I sent it in for you! And you still didn’t get in. You think these other schools are going to accept you….” He trails off, leaning his head back, looking disappointed of all things. Disappointed in you? Or the school? You can’t tell. All you know is that it makes you feel low again, like you’re nothing, falling into the floor with a sense of worthlessness.

“I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he says, and there’s a flicker of doubt in your mind about the truth of that statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. I don’t want you to have to deal with getting rejected from all those other schools, too. You know what I mean?”

You swallow down against the tightness in your throat. “Their standards might not be as strict. I know they’re not as strict. I could get in.”

He looks down at you, the same intense gaze from the morning that you told him about your plan on his face. The gaze that let you know he believed in you and would do anything--even go long distance for almost half a decade--for you. A gaze that let you know he was serious, honest, giving you his thoughts with an open heart. “Keyword. Could.”

It’s like a slap to the face.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to get in anywhere?” You start to pull away, but his arms don’t let up and so all you can do is turn your head away, cheeks hot with humiliation. “Don’t you support me?”

“Jesus, no--and Jesus, yes.” Annoyance is bleeding into his voice and you wish you’d just ripped up the envelope and avoided the entire conversation. You keep your eyes on the floor, humiliating tears blurring your vision as you stare at the sliver of a stain from soda that you never got out of the cream colored rug.

“You are the smartest chick I know,” he says, voice a little softer, now. At least he’s trying to stop being an ass. “Seriously, you are. Maybe you’re just a--a different kind of smart. A kind of smart these schools don’t give a shit about. Do something here with that smartness, then. Stay where you’re at. Fuck, talk to the dean and tell them you want to to an independent degree or something. But don’t get your heart broken a million times when you could just make the most of what you’ve got here.” He squeezes, affectionate. “What we’ve got here.”

It’s not what you want. It’s not viable. You can’t get to where you want to be if you stay where you are. But he’s right--he’s right, isn’t he, because if you can’t get into a school with a nearly picture-perfect record and recommendations and experience oozing out of your ears, will there be any school that accepts you?

And if you stay here, Ransom is here, and you’re already in school here, and maybe you won’t get anywhere near a curator position (but you want to, it’s your dream, why give up on your dream?) but you can do something else, surely. Ransom will help you, like he always does. You might fight and argue and sometimes it gets intense but he always lends you a shoulder to cry on, doesn’t he? He’s always honest with you, even when it hurts. Even when it hurts like this, crushing and disappointing and sharp.

He pulls you closer to him, and this time you don’t fight as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“So?” He starts to gently stroke your hair, the way he knows you like it.

You nod, sniffling against the last of the tears, unable--afraid--to say anything.

“That’s my girl,” he says, before gently flicking your forehead and reaching for his phone. “Hey, let’s go see a movie tonight. My treat.”

You nod against his shirt, unable to do more than mumble back, “Okay.” Okay, okay, okay. It’s a soft, unceremonious end to your California dreams.

#yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

208 notes · View notes

svnflowervol666 · 4 years

Text

Crisp Trepidation (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Author’s Note: Here she is! The promised “Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready” fic. I ended up liking this a lot more than I thought I would, so I hope you all do as well! Take care and TPWK.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I don’t, actually. I’m being honest when I tell you she is the cutest baby I have ever seen in my life. Those curls! Are you kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers.

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Lisa, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it correctly into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

She lovingly squeezed the extra chub around her thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, but it’s even better to breastfeed when you can. Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?”

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Harry’s giant head, though, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Lisa laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, knowing good and well what Y/N meant. She scribbled notes onto the file attached to her clipboard, checking off the baby’s progress and coinciding what the nurse that came in before her documented about her length and weight.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Harry’s really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Lisa re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Lisa’s head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Harry been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Lisa was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, she thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Lisa was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Lisa’s face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

Harry came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the curry that she’d been oh-so so excited about earlier in the week and swaying along to the playlist they’d curated together as she stirred a pot filled with vegetables was. Their grocery store had been out of coconut milk for several weeks and she’d nearly tackled him to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with it the night before, so he found it awfully strange that she’d yet to start cooking it. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Her coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?”

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times.

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Harry could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff that was teetering on the line of becoming a full blown beard to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. Or maybe she was keeping to herself peacefully somewhere else in the house and she was being so quiet that he just couldn’t hear her.

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the wooden door tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife.

Good. She was sleeping.

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings about his tour schedule that forced him to dress nicely.

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects about his everyday life with his family like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Or maybe it was the understanding that by this time next year, he’d be halfway across the globe and physically unable to hold her in his arms. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his rings into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quite yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Honey? ‘S that you?” Harry peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door.

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“Ye’ sick? Can hear ye’ snifflin’.”

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Harry cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Harry tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for her again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk t’ me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Harry could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so.

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Harry asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib.

“‘S she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Harry worry.

“I was telling Lisa about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list.

“And?” he asked after a solid sixty seconds of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Harry whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, H,” Y/N quipped.

“‘S not what I meant,” Harry fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many curly-headed babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present was going to be the gift of being a big sister.

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. None of tha’,” Harry shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her shoulders tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of joy and celebration and relief after having tried for what felt like years. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled blouse, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“Wha’ do yeh mean, pretty? Of course yeh can. I’ll move some things around and we’ll make it work. We’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her back in attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Harry.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“You have to move everything around. You’ve already been gone for almost two years. This sets you back at least another. You can’t keep pushing shit back.”

“Erm,” Harry paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Yes I can? I couldn’t care less about tour...Did yeh think I was gonna leave yeh here on your own with a fuckin’ newborn?”

“No. I didn’t think you were just going to leave,” she almost sounded annoyed, which didn’t sit quite right with Harry.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there t’ do? Tour can wait.”

“People are counting on you, Harry. Millions of them. We’re not the only ones that matter in this situation.”

“Will you please tell me what yeh gettin’ at, because I’m starting t’ get upset.”

Harry’s lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this?

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And yeh think I’m not? ‘M tryin’ my best to keep it together for your sake if yeh haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending how the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one carrying our fucking child. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to push a football-sized human out of your vagina and just lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Harry was yelling now.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting tha’ it was. ‘M not sure what it is that yeh want me t’ say though. I’m sorry? ‘S that it? Sorry for gettin’ yeh pregnant? Sorry for havin’ a job that were well fuckin’ aware of when yeh met me? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fuckin’ planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Harry,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not makin’ any fuckin’ sense! Are yeh tellin’ me yeh don’t want t’ keep it? ‘Cos I never fuckin’ said that yeh have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands.

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Harry’s hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe f’ me. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Harry peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just encountered had stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Harry’s hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Harry’s hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Harry the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with chocolate brown curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Harry’s. Her nose? A perfect, narrow line down her face that led to a button-shaped tip akin to Harry’s. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of bubblegum pink as Harry’s. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother were the color of her eyes, which was funny considering that was the one thing she’d wanted Harry to pass down to their daughter; Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Harry before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. He had changed out of his dress clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of joggers that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistant on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it, nothing sexual or erotic whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Harry loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Harry’s continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“‘M sorry for yelling at yeh,” Harry started.

“It was uncalled for.”

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“’S not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one havin’ the baby. It’s you that’s got t’ do all the hard stuff. Should’ve listened to you more.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?”

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Harry could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his.

“I love you so much. Yeh know that? I know it’s difficult always having t’ think about everyone else, but you’re what’s important t’ me. I’d drop everything for you if I had to. End it all today.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“Well, just know that I would if yeh wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want t’ be here f’ you. For her. Don’t want t’ miss anything. I finally got my shot at bein’ normal when I met you and I hate myself for even thinkin’ about going back on the road and leavin’ yeh.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“You’re a good person, Harry. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Harry’s chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Lisa to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his jumper against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face.

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Harry jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Harry spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She clearly wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known she was pregnant up until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have t’ have one birthday party ‘cos they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go t’ the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Based on the fact that you’ve already picked out the outfit this one is wearing on her first birthday that’s still six months away, I highly doubt you’ll stay keen on them sharing a party.”

Harry pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the garment he’d spotted during one his fittings with Gucci that he vowed to have for his daughter.

“Guess you’re right about tha’.”

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Harry could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Harry’s heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together, but it’s possible that the topic might not have even come up if he had been in the room with her and the pediatrician.

“Found coconut milk at the store the other day, remember? Want me t’ make that curry for yeh?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately purked up at the thought of warm spices and rice.

“Starting to wonder if curry was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?”

Harry giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought tha’ was a bit weird that yeh wanted it so badly, but I didn’t dwell on it too much.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“‘Ve got it, mama” Harry quickly refuted.

“Take a bath or somethin’ and I’ll bring it up t’ yeh when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Harry used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now.

Of course, she wanted more children with Harry. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did.

With two babies.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader #harry styles writing

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missing-marvel · 3 years

Text

The Shape of You (Pt. 4)

Pairing: Vision/Reader

Part 3, Part 5

Words: 5698

A/N: *shows up several months late with coffee and a new chapter* What’s up y’all, who’s ready for more metal husband?

You awoke feeling sluggish and hazy, practically choking on dust and resisting the need to sneeze. The feeling quickly shifted to panic as you opened your eyes to even more darkness which only worsened when you tried to move, something blocking the space in front of you as well as tangling around your legs. It wasn’t until you rolled to the floor with a loud ‘thud’ that you remembered falling asleep on the sofa. You didn’t remember grabbing a blanket, however, which had gotten wrapped around your legs in your sleep.

You recognized Vision’s silhouette as he appeared hurriedly from the other room. You couldn’t see much in the dim light, but you could recognize him by his eyes alone. They glowed softly in the dark, that electric-blue bringing some familiarity to your surroundings.

The lights came on and you were momentarily blinded, shielding your eyes with your hand as they adjusted. “Sorry,” you said, blinking the last remnants of sleep away. “I just fell off the sofa. I’m okay.” You took a good look around the room for the first time since arriving, still not bothering to get up off the floor. It looked like a fairly basic living space. There was a patterned rug, a coffee table, some shelves with a few random knick-knacks, the usual. You did notice the lack of a TV, however. You supposed it wasn’t worth investing in one if no one would be living here ninety-nine percent of the time.

Still a bit groggy, you almost didn’t see Vision walk over to you and extend a hand to help you up. To be completely honest, you were perfectly comfortable on the floor but you weren’t going to turn him away. You uttered a quick ‘thanks’ as you got to your feet.

You had absolutely no idea what time it was but it was definitely dark out. Not a speck of light filtered in through the drawn curtains. Whether it was evening or early morning, however, you hadn’t a clue. “What time is it?”

Vision pointed to a digital clock sitting on a bookshelf close by. It read 6:30.

“I only slept for a few hours?” Well, more like several hours, by your estimate. It was broad daylight when you’d arrived. Still, that was surprising given that you’d basically passed out as soon as you got indoors and hadn’t slept in like two days.

Vision shook his head, however, cutting off your train of thought. He held up one finger on his right hand and put it down before holding up nine in total. It took you a second to understand what he meant, thinking he was saying ten before realizing.

“Are you saying I slept nineteen hours?” Vision just nodded and you let out a sigh. That explained why you felt so stiff. That much time on a sofa, even a surprisingly comfortable one, would take its toll. One other thing struck you, however. “Wait a minute, so it’s six in the morning, then? It’s awfully dark out.” You chanced a peek out the window to actually confirm that it was, in fact, dark outside.

You turned back when you heard the familiar scratch of pen on paper. It looked like Vision had found a new notepad somewhere. By the time you walked over, he had finished writing. “Clock is an hour ahead. Haven’t fixed it. Only got power back on a couple hours ago.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.” This time of year, it was perfectly normal to be dark at 5:30. However, it was also cold outside and you were beginning to notice that in here as well. You picked up the blanket off the floor and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tight around yourself. “Is there heat at all?”

Vision wrote his response as quick as possible, handwriting still impeccable as always. “It’s on but not very strong. Building isn’t in best condition anymore. There’s fuses missing so I prioritized some things. A few lights aren’t going to work.” He stepped aside and gestured somewhere down the small hallway behind him. On the wall was an open panel.

“Wait this place still has a fuse box? The Avengers couldn’t afford someplace with circuit breakers?” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your own joke, if you could really call it that. You were just happy your custodial knowledge was relevant for once.

“Old SHIELD building,” Vision quickly noted. If this place had been built by the Avengers, it would be far more modern, probably to an unnecessary extent. Tony Stark would only stand for the best, even if it was a safe house that would almost never get used.

“Shield? Are they still around?” You only sort of understood what SHIELD was. No more than any other member of the general public. They were a kind-of, sort-of government agency or something like that. They always kept their stuff super secret so most people never really knew what they did. Then there was the whole deal with Hydra which nobody understood. You decided a long time ago it wasn’t worth worrying about, much like most of the American populace. Perhaps you should have paid closer attention.

Vision simply tilted his hand side-to-side in a gesture that implied that the answer was complicated and really not worth getting into. He shifted the conversation to you instead. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that. You weren’t doing so well yesterday.” You tried not to let the worry in your voice show, though you weren’t sure what good it would do.

You thought you saw a hint of a smile cross his face as he turned back to his paper. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.”

“Vision...” You recalled back to the other night, when you’d told him nearly the same thing after a couple solid days of no sleep. Before you could retort, however, he’d turned and headed toward the other room, gesturing for you to follow.

The small office space was an absolute mess. The only reason you called it an office was the papers and folders scattered around the room as well as the computer tucked away on a desk in the corner. Underneath a blanket of dust, it looked almost exactly like the first computer you’d ever owned. Actually, it might just be the first computer. You were pretty sure it should be in a museum.

Vision navigated the difficult terrain with ease as he made his way to the desk. You, on the other hand, felt like you were doing a balancing act as you tried to limit your steps to the few parts of the floor that were visible. You didn’t know what all these stacks of papers and folders were exactly, but you figured it was best not to mess with them.

“There’s no way that thing works,” you said once you’d cleared a spot to stand by the desk, your own little island of shag carpeting amongst the sea of paper.

Vision pried open a panel on the side of the computer, carefully removing a CPU board with all the expertise of a seasoned technician. The actual monitor was half buried in a pile of miscellaneous cords and plugs next to the desk. After a brief moment of inspection, wherein he must’ve decided all appeared fine, he went ahead and booted the thing up.

It chugged to life like a patient coming out of surgery, slowly and with great difficulty. It made sounds you were pretty sure should only be coming from a lawn mower but all the lights eventually blinked on in time. As it did so, you braved the sneeze-inducing dust pile for the monitor, the air turning cloudy as you shifted all the junk that had been untouched for years. “I’m guessing you’ll need this?” You hoisted the dinosaur of a monitor up onto the desk, Vision taking it gratefully and nodding a thanks your way.

For a minute after he plugged it in, it seemed the screen wasn’t going to work. Only after staring at it did you realize it was working, albeit extremely slowly. A symbol was appearing on the screen, the shape becoming more discernible the longer the machine whirred. As far you could tell, it looked like some kind of government emblem, like an eagle with a crest in the center. It wasn’t until it had spent a solid minute loading that you were able to read the text surrounding it. “Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement... Logistics Division? What on Earth does— wait, that’s what SHIELD stands for?”

Vision nodded in a way that suggested he wasn’t overly fond of the acronym either. You were beginning to think he wasn’t so difficult to read after all, not like you thought when you’d first met, at least. It just took time, much like reading the decades-old monitor had.

“I think someone just really wanted the initials to spell out shield.” You gave a breathy laugh, more air than sound. “What’re you going to do with this old thing? Can it even get internet?”

Vision shook his head and reached for his paper from the edge of the desk. “Not that kind of computer,” he wrote. You resisted butting in as he tore off a new sheet, still not used to the pauses in conversation that resulted from the rather roundabout method of communication. “It’s wired directly into an old SHIELD system and by extension, hopefully, the Avengers emergency system.”

“Really? I would’ve guessed this place predated the Avengers.” As you spoke, Vision got the keyboard hooked up which had been stuffed into one of the desk drawers. It was missing at least a quarter of its key caps, the really chunky, old kind that made a satisfying click-clack when pressed. Apparently they’d prioritized actual computer hardware over keyboards considering there were offices at your job that still had keyboards just like it. Correction: your old job. You’d almost forgotten.

“SHIELD software was integrated with Stark tech after the Battle of New York. In theory, we should be able to put out an emergency signal on a secure Avengers server from here.” You almost hadn’t noticed Vision writing again as you zoned out a bit.

You would’ve been more excited over good news, but you’d learned over the years what happened when you got your hopes up. “So when you say in theory, I’m guessing the odds aren’t exactly...” You trailed off, unable to continue without sounding horribly pessimistic.

“It will work,” was all he wrote, a noticeable firmness in his grip as he held the pen. You didn’t say anything else but moved closer to the desk, directly by his side now. There was what could only be described as a hint of doubt in his expression before he turned back to the monitor as green text cluttered the screen.

“We can only hope so.” You let your hand brush his shoulder as you navigated back towards the door, no longer particularly caring to avoid crumpling the paper on the floor.

You weren’t sure how long it would take Vision to finish what he was doing, especially with the tech he was stuck with. You found it more than a bit ironic that possibly the most advanced machine on the planet had to use a decades-old computer to call for help. It felt weird to think of him as a machine. After what you’d been through in the past 24 hours alone, you’d begun to think of him as just another person. Well, not just another person, that wasn’t what you meant. How to put it...? You just couldn’t explain it. There was no precedent in your mind for a situation like this. Vision was a living being. As alive as anyone, maybe more so. That much you could say confidently.

Trying not to get too lost in your thoughts, you busied yourself investigating the rest of the apartment, not that there was much to find. Living room, connected kitchen, hallway with the office and stairs that led up to a bedroom and bathroom. All pretty standard. All of it looked fresh out of the 80’s. Well, maybe not fresh.

Just as you completed your lap of the place, you were interrupted by a low grumble from none other than your own stomach. That was a problem. There was definitely not food here. You had no other choice really than to shove the feeling to the back of your mind for now. You got yourself a glass of water to make do. At least the plumbing worked.

By the time Vision came back, it had been less than twenty minutes. “That was quick. Any success?” You sipped your water, ignoring the slight metallic tang it had.

Vision wrote as he crossed the room to stand opposite you from the island counter. “The beacon is active. Now someone just needs to hear it.”

Despite his lack of vocals, you sensed a definite lack of confidence in his words. “How long do you think that’ll take?” You hoped not too long. You were concerned about your food situation.

He didn’t bother writing a response. The expression on his face made it clear; he had no idea. Maybe never, if no one was out there to hear it. You only hummed a response, neither confirming nor retorting. The sound of you sipping your water seemed immensely loud in the heavy silence of the room.

“Well, what do we do now?” You were becoming anxious again. You didn’t like being forced to sit and wait. At any minute, you felt like law enforcement would start breaking the door down.

“We wait. There’s nothing else we can do.” He seemed apologetic. He wished he could give you a more concrete answer, some sort of assurance that this would all work out, but he couldn’t. Not truthfully, anyway.

It looked like you had some time to kill. You weren’t sure what all there really was to do. Still, it wasn’t all bad. At least you had company. “I wonder if there’s a better way we can communicate,” you mused, turning your mind to less dire matters.

Vision seemed to brighten up a bit as he was struck by an idea. “You don’t happen to know any ASL, do you?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately, no. I assume you do?”

He responded by holding up his right hand in a closed fist and sort of nodded it up and down.

“I’m guessing that means... yes?” It wasn’t a far stretch. You’d actually thought about learning ASL before but never gotten around to it. There were more uses for it than people realized. Too bad work left you too busy and tired to make the time for lessons. Well now you had nothing but time.

Vision just nodded his head in the more familiar interpretation of the word. He grabbed the pen and paper again off the counter. “I could teach you some. At least the important parts, if you want.” He hesitated a split second between sentences, just a bit nervous, though the pause was nowhere near long enough for you to notice. It was barely a stutter in his programming, a single digit skipped somewhere in his code. Nothing to be concerned with.

“Yeah,” you said, maybe just slightly too enthusiastic. “Yeah, that’d be great! I— I mean, it would be useful, you know? Way more efficient than pen and paper. Uhm...” You were struggling to ask how he wanted to start when your stomach growled, providing a convenient segue into another topic. “Heh, sorry. Didn’t realize how hungry I was.” You tried to pass it off as no big deal, although you really were starving. You hadn’t eaten anything since before setting Vision free. It had been well over a full day since then.

He looked surprised for a moment, which he was, before he began writing. For a genius super-computer, he could sometimes be very forgetful of the needs of his human cohorts. They were very fragile things, humans. The need for sleep and food was something Vision never had to worry about, something he realized he took for granted. Something akin to guilt began to gnaw at him when he too realized how long it had been since the escape. He should’ve brought up the matter earlier. “We need to get you food,” he wrote very matter-of-factly. It wasn’t something up for debate.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of cash on me, Vis.” You flinched at the nickname, quick to move on before he could call you out on it. It had been merely a slip of the tongue, just shortening his name for the sake of convenience. It could have been a gesture of friendship towards the android, though you weren’t sure you’d quite earned the right to call Vision a friend, even if you were fond of him. “I’ve got like 10 bucks, tops.” You pulled a few crumpled bills from your pockets to emphasize your point. You obviously couldn’t use your credit card, either. You’d seen enough movies to know that.

Vision thought a moment before coming up with an idea. “It’s not the most ethical thing to do, but I could get cash out of an ATM. It’s technically a matter of survival, after all.” He demonstrated exactly what he meant by phasing his hand through the paper as you read, something that could just as easily be done to a cash machine.

It wasn’t so much the legality of the idea that bothered you. After all, you’d stolen multiple cars. It was the matter of Vision’s safety. Not that he couldn’t protect himself but he would be spotted quite easily if he went outside. That was just a matter of fact. And if someone called the police on a strange magenta man or anything along the lines of ‘robot,’ you could pretty much guarantee trouble. “I don’t know... What if someone sees you? The last thing we want is to compromise the safe house. I can just wait awhile longer, I’ll be fine.”

Your stomach chose that moment to grumble again, completely undermining your point. Vision shot you a look that more than sufficed to communicate what he was thinking but he wrote it down anyway. “It would seem we don’t have much of a choice.”

You sighed, all but forced to agree. Although, it would be nice to get some actual food before your stomach started eating itself. “Fine,” you relented. “But we wait until it gets dark out. It’s safer that way.”

Vision wasn’t about to argue.

Memorization wasn’t really your strong suit, but you seemed to do surprisingly well with the start of your sign language lessons. It helped that your teacher was so patient.

Vision thought it would be best to start with a few simple phrases for the sake of saving paper. Common things such as ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you.’ You had the benefit of only really needing to recognize them as opposed to being able to do the signs yourself, since Vision could obviously hear you, but you took it upon yourself to mimic the gestures anyway.

It had been a few hours and your head was starting to ache but you insisted on continuing. You were certain you were doing well and you wanted Vision to be impressed. Not only could you remember how to spell your own name, you could spell his as well. The rest of the alphabet may not have stuck as much but oh well. For now, words and phrases were more important.

“That’s... someone?” You guessed as Vision held up his index finger and waved it in a sort of circle. He’d been quizzing you for a few minutes now, to which you’d done pretty well. He shook his head this time, however, and tried not to look amused by the almost comically offended look on your face. “What? Yes it is! I’m certain that means ‘someone!’” You were insistent on the fact. Vision hadn’t tried to trip you up yet but he must be this time. You tried to mimic the motion, repeating the word as if that would change anything.

He shook his head again, not bothering to hide his smile this time. He reached for your hand, raising it higher to show you that there was, in fact, a slight difference between what he was signing and what you were. For a moment, you looked almost startled, like a deer in headlights. He didn’t miss the hint of color that tinged your cheeks. His assumption was merely that you were embarrassed by your mistake, though it was an easy one to make. He switched back to paper in order to explain. “This,” he repeated his first gesture. “means ‘always’. What you signed was ‘someone.’ See the difference?”

You nodded in understanding although your attention was beginning to drift. You felt like you were cramming for an exam in a class you hadn’t been attending. You may or may not have actually had to do that before. The point was, you’d learned just about all you were going to for the day. And just in time, it seemed, as you glanced toward the curtains, no longer backlit by the afternoon sun. You’d managed to kill most of the day, between checking that the computer was still working and just generally talking with Vision. There wasn’t much else to do, not that you were complaining. You were quite enjoying the android’s company and not just because you were stuck with him. And to top it off, you’d managed to distract yourself from how hungry you were. Until now, that is.

“How about we call it a day on the lessons, hm? I’d say now’s about the best time to head outside. There’s just one thing we have to do first.” You turned and exited the room without explanation, only saying you’d be right back. You ran upstairs to the bedroom, hoping you could find what you needed. You hadn’t voiced your plan to Vision, although you saw no reason for him not to go along with it. It was a smart idea if you said so yourself. At least that’s what you told yourself as you began rifling through drawers.

Vision wasn’t sure what to think at first when you came bumbling down the stairs again with a messily folded bundle in your hands. But your intention became clear quite quickly once you’d returned, immediately holding out the clothes to him before bothering to explain.

“I hope this isn’t rude but you kind of… stand out. I just thought, maybe it’d be a good idea to disguise yourself. Just for safety. Is that okay?” You hoped there was no offense taken by the gesture. In truth, you were glad Vision was going with you and not just because of the money thing. You didn’t feel particularly safe walking the streets alone at night, especially when you didn’t know the area. But having Vision by your side made you feel nigh invincible. There was just the small issue of technically being wanted criminals.

He smiled, more to himself than anything. It was just strange, he thought, how concerned you were with his opinion. Of course he wasn’t offended. It was a smart idea. He chuckled a bit, although it was a strange action given his physical state. The motion of a laugh was there, his shoulders shuddering as any human’s would despite his lack of need to actually breathe, but there was no sound. It was one of those mannerisms that was ingrained in his programming, though he wasn’t sure quite where it came from. Not from Jarvis, certainly, since the AI had no physical form, and Ultron likely hadn’t been terribly focused on such gestures at the time of his creation. In reality, it was simply something he’d picked up on his own, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

You let out a breathy chuckle of your own as he took the clothes, glad to see he agreed with you wholeheartedly. He got dressed quickly, leaving only his face visible when he was done. Luckily, it was cold enough outside for him to get away with wearing gloves, a scarf and a hat. The clothes were a bit old-fashioned but in a professional way. The long wool coat and slacks in particular gave the impression of a scholarly type, perhaps even a professor. You couldn’t help but think it was a good look for him.

“Well don’t you look just dashing,” you teased. You’d found a coat for yourself as well, deciding your own jacket wasn’t going to be enough. You silently thanked whatever SHIELD employee set this place up for supplying a myriad of spare clothes. “Oh, one more thing.” You turned to the coat rack by the door, grabbing a scarf that had been left hanging there. “Just in case.”

You hesitated at the front door. Despite the fact that you were merely going to look for a convenience store or something similar, your anxiety spiked as though it were a dangerous mission. You could just imagine all the ways you could get caught. It was almost enough to make you stay here, slowly starving to death waiting for something to happen. Vision noticed your apprehension, however, and did the first thing that came to mind to soothe your worries. He gave you a warm smile, holding out a bent arm for you to take. He thought you might find the somewhat old-fashioned gesture funny and he was right. You laughed, taking his arm anyway. It was a nice reminder that the odds of anything bad happening were tremendously low, which you mentally repeated to yourself as you stepped outside.

Everything had gone off without a hitch. There was a small grocery store a few blocks down which you’d run into just before closing time so the store was nearly empty. Vision had waited outside near the ATM, which had provided the funds you needed. Other than the bored clerk at the store, you hadn’t seen so much as a single soul this whole trip. By the time you and Vision were walking back, burdened by just a few days worth of groceries (which would ideally be more than enough), your previous worries had all but melted away.

You only wished the weather matched the feeling. Nothing was melting in this cold. In fact, a few snowflakes had begun to fall. They were almost mesmerizing under the blueish haze of the streetlights, whipped into a frenzy by the faintest of gusts. The sight wasn’t enough of a distraction, however. You couldn’t help it when a shiver wracked your body, your coat not doing nearly enough to prevent it. Vision noticed this, however, and stopped you both in your tracks.

He was quick to reach for the paper and pen in his coat pocket, a look on his face of more concern than you thought necessary. It was only a little chill. “Are you cold?” The question wasn’t particularly necessary, the answer being obvious. Still, it was polite to ask.

You tried to shrug it off, noticeably tensing to suppress a second shiver. “I’m fine. Let’s just hurry back.” You turned to keep walking, knowing there was still a decent walk ahead but he stopped you, putting a hand on your arm for the briefest of seconds. He just looked at you a moment, seeming to forget about his paper. You caught the faintest hint of conflict in his expression, though you didn’t know why. “What is it, Vision?”

Realizing he’d made you worry, Vision seemed to snap back to his senses. He gave you a reassuring smile and reached for his scarf, undoing it quickly. You were facing him, standing close enough to see the circuitry in his eyes. He paused again, however, debating his next action. For a being that didn’t have nerves, he sure felt nervous and didn’t fully understand why. He moved at a pace far slower than he was used to, hesitantly wrapping the scarf around your neck for you. His touch was light as a feather as if he were afraid to touch you. You could do nothing but watch him, lost in the details of his eyes and face as your grip on the grocery bags began to loosen involuntarily. There was a moment where neither of you moved, his hands still lingering on the loose fabric of the scarf.

Your heart skipped a beat at the gesture, mind racing to find a logical conclusion that didn’t concern such things as the vague and confusing emotions that spiked in your chest just then. It was cold, so Vision gave you his scarf. Your hands were full, so he put it on for you. But what you couldn’t answer was why he lingered the way that he did and more importantly, why your chest began to feel tight in a way that wasn’t as unpleasant as you’d think. The most sensible reason you could think of was that he was simply a gentleman, and perhaps a little unfamiliar with personal boundaries. That was the only possibility you had the strength to consider. Anything else would open doors you were afraid to even imagine.

Footsteps scraping heavily against the pavement cut the tender, if rather nerve-filled moment short. You turned toward the sound, though Vision remained facing slightly away, bowing his head somewhat in an attempt to conceal himself. You froze when a figure emerged from the alleyway; a heavy-set man whose posture listed to one side, most likely from some kind of injury. His clothes were noticeably old and ragged, most definitely not warm enough for this weather. You would’ve asked him if he needed help were it not for the knife he brandished at you.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he said, his voice wavering. Funny, you were just about to say the same thing. Clearly, he wouldn’t be doing this unless he was desperate and in a bad situation. Unfortunately, you weren’t much better off. “I saw you, I know you have cash. Just hand it over and no one gets hurts.”

Under normal circumstances you would’ve complied but you’d used up pretty much all the cash you got and you couldn’t risk giving him your wallet. If your ID found its way into police hands there’d be government agents swarming this place before you ever got the chance to bail. “We don’t have any money left, I swear. Please, just walk away.” You moved slowly, setting the grocery bags on the ground and raising your hands in surrender without making any sudden movements that could set him off. You weren’t as afraid as you probably should’ve been, choosing to try and reason with the man rather than flee, which would probably be the smarter option.

The man stepped closer to you, his grip on the knife visibly tightening. He was nearly within arm’s reach now which wasn’t ideal but you held your ground. Vision caught the man’s movement out of the corner of his eye, his hand reflexively grabbing at your arm protectively. The man furrowed his brow, glancing between the two of you in confusion. At this distance, even without Vision facing him, he could almost definitely tell something was strange here. Having given you his scarf, the only things covering Vision’s face were a hat and upturned coat collar. You spoke up again, drawing the man’s attention before he could get too close of a look. “This doesn’t have to get messy. Please… ”

You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stood there, time frozen around you. The only things that moved were the snowflakes that had grown more frequent in the past couple minutes. The man finally shifted, albeit barely, one foot scraping harshly against the concrete as he braced himself. He glanced between you and Vision again, jaw clenched tightly. “I ain’t walking away empty-handed. I can’t. Just gimme your damn wallet.”

Vision tugged gently on your arm. You weren’t sure exactly what he was trying to say, either trying to pull you closer to him or signal that you should run. You didn’t think running was a good idea. You feared Vision’s injuries acting up again and you didn’t want to test your own speed either. You turned back to the man, desperately pleading at this point. “I can’t …”

“Then I’ll just have to take it from you.” He didn’t give you another chance to argue, immediately lunging at you haphazardly. He couldn’t even get close to hitting you, however, as Vision’s reflexes were far superior to the man’s. The android grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully to the side and forcing him to drop the knife. The man yelped and threw a punch at Vision, who dodged it easily. The man didn’t seem to understand just how drastically outmatched he was, not even now that he had a clear view of Vision’s face. Whatever was going through his head, he still seemed to think fighting was his best option. He took another swing at Vision who, up until this point, had no intention of fighting back. But he was left with few other options. He pushed back against his attacker, sending the man sprawling to the ground with a painful ‘smack’ as he hit the pavement. There was genuine fear in his eyes when he looked back up at the two of you.

“Vis, we gotta go.” It was you holding his arm now, pleading with him to leave. He nodded quickly, completely in agreement. The two of you paused only long enough to scoop up the dropped grocery bags before making your escape. The man didn’t dare follow you as you disappeared down a side street, desperate to avoid any more prying eyes. This was the exact sort of thing you’d been afraid of when you’d left the safe house. You could only hope the man kept his mouth shut about what he’d witnessed tonight but it seemed luck may not be on your side.

A/N: I want to mention that I don’t personally know much ASL and had to rely on videos, etc. so if anything at all is wrong, I apologize. Feel free to call me out.

#vision/reader #vision x reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

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spnasylum · 4 years

Text

My notes while listening to Misha’s comments on the podcast: (grab a snack!)

In light of the most recent fandom drama I decided to listen to *that* podcast and take notes as I went along about what was actually said and then give my take on it as objectively as possible. This is basically an essay so strap in!

He complains about not getting a trailer on set that’s the same as Jared and Jensen’s. Even though he has one that can accommodate 3 people. This was the first point of discussion inspired by opening up the interview with a brief chat about Misha currently being in his camper van and how he’s sleeping in it even though he’s still home in Bellingham. The whole hour and 26 minutes has an undertone of complaining and ego stroking by all involved.

Says he’s sad he didn’t get to be there for the final days of filming.

Seems a little nervous about if friendships made during the shows run will last now it’s over.

Admits he has no plan in place or anything coming up career wise and he’s unsure of his future. This is where he brings up Walker and The Boys and says if he had shows like that to go to he wouldn’t feel SPN ending was so monumental. It is said with a slight tone of bitterness.

Side note: the hosts Alaina and Malik seem to be fine with running with the narrative that Misha was part of the show it’s entire 15 year run. Misha clears this up eventually by saying he joined in season 4.

Misha says that he realized about six years ago that SPN could run as “we” wanted it to, implying he has any say in keeping the show going or not. He asserts that he would have been on the show up until the very end in any case. But he didn’t feel that way the first few years he was on the show. So that makes me think something or someone involved gave him the feeling he could be confident in being in the cast for however long SPN aired. Maybe this was after Sera left? Maybe this was when he agreed to a significant pay cut and demotion? Either way it seems he felt SPN = job security.

Misha doubts he’ll have the feeling of job security again.

Says from around age 11 he wanted to be a politician.

Says he saw “successful, untalented” actors and decided “I can do that”. He realized that was naive and it’s actually not easy to be that successful and by the time he got his career going he was basically just in it for the fame it’s not anything he took seriously.

We find out his wife did a doctorate in gender history... for some reason.

That Marilyn Monroe was some sort of baseline for him about creating a public persona (🤷🏽‍♀️) except for getting cosmetic surgery he points out.

Talk about how he got started. Acting classes, improve groups. Moving between Chicago, DC and LA.

Discussion about the differences and similarities between Hollywood and Washington.

States he got a consultant to help him cultivate a fan base and image to connect with an audience after getting on SPN. Admits that was a double edged sword because an anonymous public start thinking that they really know you and things start getting weird.

Mentions trying to find a balancing act of being authentic and having a private life but still keeping your fans.

He admits that the fan base he grew for himself by seeming accessible has caused him to attract people who don’t have any boundaries. This is when he claims the “dialing it back” in regard to how much he shares and mentions his kids specifically as something he doesn’t feel comfortable with putting out there. Uses the word “unhinged” to describe them.

Malik mentions “crazy fans” who seem to know too much about you and finding out where you are etc. Using the example of fans turning up at an airport wanting autographs and you wondering how they even knew you’d be there and what flight you taking. He asks Misha to share experiences about his own crazy fans.

This is when Misha uses the example about having fans who think that when he tweets something out he’s communicating with them personally.

Alaina then says that in the Supernatural fandom people fight each other to protect Jared, Jensen and Misha and it’s “very bizarre”. She volunteered that people think Misha secretly hates Jared and that it’s not true. Not sure why she decided to direct the conversation to a place that would cause drama and give Misha a chance to play victim.

And then...

That’s when he claims that he was public enemy number one with super fans of the show because he’s taking attention away from Jared and Jensen.

That’s when he brings up the alleged organized attack to take down his Facebook account. He says they reported him for... *pauses... claims to not know what. But that whatever it was “Facebook bought it and took it down”. Facebook deleted/deactivated his account but he eventually got it back.

Side note: Facebook (like all social media) have always been bias when it comes to people with leftist views and let them have free reign on the platform. So he must have done something that they would decide to suspend him. I don’t think J2 fans can be blamed for the content he posts and if it violated any ToS. As we know he can post some inappropriate things on social media.

He then brings up the allegations of him taking money out of his organization. Stating it’s “categorically untrue” is all he brings forward as evidence to the contrary.

Side note: I don’t know why then that there’s no receipts or transparency. Why is his mother a beneficiary, why do people who mention he owns Stands get blocked, why set everything up in Delaware and have your for profit and so called non profit interests so entangled etc etc) I guess fans are just supposed to have faith and take his word for it.

He says that ALL of them (Jared, Jensen and himself) have people who hate them in the fandom. But overall the fandom is lovely and supportive of the cast and each other. Makes an attempt at stating there’s no kind of competition or animosity between he and Jared. I think this is like the 3rd or 4th time in the interview either he or Alaina bring up Jared but keep the focus on how Misha is the one facing “character assassination.”

Finally says that all of them have nasty things done to them and they all have had to consult security because of threats to their families etc, doesn’t specify which faction of the fandom that’s coming from. Mentions people filing police reports in the fandom but doesn’t say regarding who or what. Alaina reacts like it’s the first time hearing of this happening. Misha just goes “yeah!” Then they move on to talking about living situations.

Apparently Alaina and Misha were neighbors in LA but didn’t take advantage of that. She doesn’t live in LA anyone, wants a new adventure.

Misha mentions Bellingham is another thing about his future he’s unsure about and how his kids flourished there.

Brings up not being present with his kids even when he’s home because of work and side projects and that the one thing he’s enjoying right now it spending time with them. That he used to operate from a place of guilt because his kids felt like they only have one parent. He and Malik briefly spoke on how their careers have negatively affected their love lives.

Misha says he’s not really involved with Random Acts or running it anymore. (Ummm... what)

He and Alaina discuss Haiti and Nicaragua for a while.

Says he may try to get into directing. Says he likes having creative control. Mentions he likes doing his art installations.

Admits that getting a bit of success made him very entitled and wanting of special treatment. But claims he’s trying to keep that in check (where?) and he’s just like everyone else (well duh!). But he “trades on his celebrity” to get stuff and it makes him feel dirty (I think everyone with any kind of following does that though so nbd)

Talk of how TV/film is more diverse in telling minority stories these days.

Was asked by Malik if he has any kind of chip on his shoulder career wise and Misha says the chip on his shoulder is being bored. But says he needs to work on being more engaged.

He then abruptly wants to end the interview. Saying he has to pick up his kids. Malik wants another question. He asks how Misha has been hurt or healed by his career.

Misha then brings up the movie Karla. Again admitting to becoming more like Paul psychologically irl. But says knowing he has that type of evil in him somewhere (and says that we all have that in us) made him more empathetic to the human condition.

They then say their goodbyes. End of interview.

——

My takeaway. The worst thing he can think to say the people who don’t like him in the fandom did was trolling to get his Facebook deactivated? Also that people can see the suspicious nature of his businesses? It would be really easy to settle that with actually being transparent about the finances, which they aren’t and not having close family as benefactors though. Also, I can only speak for myself. But I never hated him. I actually loved Castiel (before his character was there just to be there in recent seasons and Cass wasn’t Cass anymore. I think Misha’s need to pander to shippers/stay on the show was a great disservice to Castiel and his arc) I was a huge Misha fan, and participated in RA and Gish a lot. I absolutely adored Misha, I led myself to believe he was the most amazing person in the world, obviously that’s the reaction he wanted to cultivate from us. Unfortunately I learned too much, experienced first hand and heard too much to be able to keep cheerleading for him. I feel bad for the people still under the spell of feeling like it’s their job to keep being defensive and unreasonably loyal to someone who you can’t and don’t really know and only have a superficial “relationship” with. Seeing the ever more unhealthy and toxic lengths people feel they need to go to to prop up his ego etc. The constant investment emotionally and financially that goes into it and the “sunk cost” if you let reality in makes it hard to let go I guess. Even he knows that what he’s done to gain and maintain relevance has attracted what he called multiple times an unhinged fan base he has to try and balance without losing his influence. I think he maybe had or has good intentions but his fame hungry drive and narcissistic personality traits win out in the end. The Heller’s seem to have, as always, taken what was said and blown it out of proportion, twisted things and created their own narrative. I do see them using key words from the interview a lot suddenly though to bully for him. So, I guess the dog whistle to the sycophants worked out. I hope that a time comes where they can have a more healthy relationship with the media and public figures they choose to gravitate towards. We can all get over zealous with things but there’s lines that shouldn’t be crossed. For some that seems sadly unlikely. I hope that Misha does indeed one day get himself in check as he calls it and I can feel comfortable to support him again. But so long as he’s being enabled and not held accountable again that seems sadly unlikely. Even though I do occasionally find myself being drawn in by the facade again a little and quickly retreating because the issues remain the same. There is a problematic dynamic in the Supernatural fandom for sure. That’s why for a long time I opted out and just watched the show separately from fandom. It’s why when I found out it was ending I had this odd sense of relief I wasn’t expecting to feel and it made me sad. I hope that now the show has aired its finale we can all reflect on things, hopefully be more self aware and objective and most importantly honest about what really has gone down and why. When things started turning sour there have been plenty of times it could have been nipped in the bud yet wasn’t. People who used this silly yet special show in selfish ways, times when walking away would have been better than sticking around trying to make things and people into something never intended to be, giving into tribalism while claiming we’re a family... for that I think we all hold a little piece of responsibility.

You can listen to it yourself on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0m07her5JUf0JGGtDVohtJ?si=c-RdyZzFQmSzffgNzZhkQg

#anti misha #anti misha collins #misha collins #supernatural #fandom #anti destihellers #strap in its a long one again #opinion #trying to be objective #alaina huffman #malik yoba #anti minions #misha #collins

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flutteringdreams-matw · 3 years

Text

Out of Time (13)

First/Last

Read on AO3

Word Count: 6532

Previously: After a brief team up between Vlad, Valerie, Dani and Danny against Dan, the evil spectre goes after the Fentons. With Danny injured, the others rush off to find his family. Just when Danny starts to think he can recover he remembers the last person involved in the original future - Mr. Lancer.

Now: Fentons and friends v. Dan duplicates. Fights, observant parents enraged Dan and some relevations...maybe.

Please let me know what you think! Feel free to drop a reply or reblog whatever. Next chapter will be out on Sunday (link will be in the replies!)

Jack frowned as he destroyed two more of the shadow ghosts. In the confusion of the attacks and recognition that Danny was finally back in the city, he barely noticed when most of the ghosts disappeared. "I know you're there!" the man yelled angrily. "Show yourself before the might of Jack Fenton!" His frown deepened when nothing jumped out at him. It was too quiet. Jack brought the Fenton Bazooka down to his side and searched the skies for a familiar black and white blur. Even the fighting above the city had stopped. The worried father's left hand turned on the switch on the Fenton Phone. "Tucker, what's happening?"

The line of the Fenton Phone crackled to life. "There's still shadows around the town," his son's best friend told him. "But a lot of them are leaving to go attack the perimeter. Ethelwulf's out there, so they're probably trying to take him out."

Jack's chest tightened slightly. "And Danny?" he asked fearfully.

He heard Tucker sigh worriedly. "Gone - he's not coming up on the scanners," Tucker replied. "It's like he vanished again - but he must still be here somewhere. Clockwork lost sight of him when he, Danielle, Plasmius and the Red Hunter were fighting Dan. I don't think he would leave again without checking in with us."

Jack hummed in agreement, scanning the skies again. "There's something else going on," he said murmured. "It's too quiet."

"Agreed," Tucker confirmed. Jack heard a small beep on the line before the teen spoke again. "Mrs. F - how does your end look?"

"I've got no hostiles," she replied quickly. "Though the Red Hunter's here - they said we're in danger."

Jack frowned as he heard Tucker swore under his breath. "Does Red know where Danny is?" He heard Maddie relay the question to the ghost hunter, getting a muffled reply before she responded.

"The office building off of Third Street," Maddie told them evenly, trying to mask her worry in the face of the hunter. "Jack, how close are you?"

"Very," he replied, holstering the bazooka and taking out the scanner. There was still no sign of Danny on it. "I'll get him, Mads."

He heard some more muffled noises on the other end before his wife spoke again. "Jack, Phantom said Dan is coming after us. Be careful."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled from here Mr. F," Tucker added. "Just get to that building. I don't know why Danny isn't coming up on the scanner, but I have a bad feeling about it."

"Will do," Jack replied, hearing the line of the Fenton Phones go dead. He looked down at the scanner, changing it to scan for ghosts above Danny's ecto-levels. It pinged, showing three entities on the scanner - none of them were at that office building. "Come on Danny," he murmured to himself. "Where are you?"

"Dad?"

:-=-:

Maddie heard the line disconnect, turning to the mysterious Red Hunter with a frown. "What else did Phantom tell you?" she asked, trying to mask any emotion that would give away her concern. Jack will find him. He'll be okay.

"Not much," Red's robotic voice replied. Maddie still couldn't figure out their age nor their gender. "Just that Dan was coming for your family."

Maddie nodded, again pushing aside her worry. She needed to prioritize. "Okay. How stocked are you? I need to reload a couple of my bazookas after the shadow attacks. I think I have a couple extras if you need them." Red nodded, and Maddie led them back to the RV. "I saw you fighting up there," Maddie commented, attempting to make conversation. "Must have been intense."

"You have no idea," Red said darkly. "Dan uses this sonic power - think Phantom called it a wail?"

"Ghostly Wail, yes," Maddie agreed. "Phantom has that too."

Red stopped. "Phantom has that power too? Along with those electric attacks?" they exclaimed.

"Yes," Maddie answered. "Wait - electric attacks?" The mother paled slightly. "He was using his core powers?"

Red cocked their head to the side. "Core powers?" they said weakly. "You know what - I don't think I can handle another surprise today."

Maddie chuckled fondly. "With Phantom involved - I take it there were many." She beckoned Red onward, turning the corner to where the parked Fenton RV waited for them. She opened the trunk, tossed a bazooka to the hunter and rummaged for a Fenton staff.

"Mrs. Fenton," the Red Hunter started apprehensively.

"Yes dear," she replied, still looking for her staff.

"Your truce with Phantom started last summer right?"

Maddie stopped her mission and looked at Red. "That's not the question you want to ask," Maddie retorted, "Is it?"

Red looked at her, startled. Maddie noted that they must be young if her question made them falter. "No," they said. "But honestly Mrs. Fenton, I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

Maddie smiled wryly. "Oh, you'd be surprised." She turned back to the RV with a triumphant cry, reaching inward and grabbed the Fenton Staff. "Phantom is… well he's remarkable. The more I learn about him, the more I realize how wrong Jack and I were about everything. All we needed to do was listen." She grabbed more ammo from a drawer on the left and started to change a couple empty cartridges. Maddie glanced at the Red Hunter as they looked on apprehensively. "So, have you been listening? Or did you go in guns blazing like my husband used to?"

Red shifted guiltily. "More like…observing," they said. "Phantom told us to take a shot if we had it." Red started to reload their weapons also. "And we were going at it - Dan duplicated himself into 4. I was struggling then Phantom… Phantom got hit real bad. Phantom said to take it..."

Maddie swallowed nervously. "Did you?" she asked.

Red shook their head. "There was this light - something that leads me to think… Mrs. Fenton I don't think Pha- "

"Mom!"

:-=-:

Jack's head whipped up at the voice, mouth hanging open as Danny walked towards him. There wasn't a scratch on him; blue eyes looking at him confused and a bit of something else. "Danny!" Jack called out, rushing forward in relief. "We've been looking for you! What happened?"

Danny's head tilted to one side, still confused. "I don't remember," he said. Jack stopped a few feet away, confusion and scepticism growing at the boy's response. "The last thing I remember is going to bed last night."

Patience Jack he reminded himself. "R-really?" Jack asked. He watched 'Danny' closely, realizing that he seemed to have shrunk an inch or so from yesterday. "Nothing at all?" the boy shook his head.

Jack frowned slightly, left hand inching toward his side for a smaller ecto-gun. "We're fighting an evil version of Phantom," Jack said evenly, watching the teen's reactions in front of him. Blue eyes were narrowed at Jack's left hand. He swallowed slowly, more alarm bells ringing in his ears. "From the future; he has most of Phantom's powers. But Phantom will stop him."

The boy's eyes flashed red for a second before settling back to blue. "Will he?" Not-Danny asked darkly. A Ghostly Wail sounded in the distance, a look of annoyance crossing the imposter's face as he faltered slightly. Jack pushed aside any worry from the wail and pointed the ecto-gun toward the teen in front of him.

"He will," Jack told him simply. "Just like how I'll stop you from hurting my family."

Blue eyes widened slightly before he laughed menacingly. Not-Danny's face contorted into one of anger and frustration, full of malice as he stared at Jack. "Your family? Don't you mean our family?"

"You aren't my son," Jack told him darkly. He fired the ecto-gun, hitting the imposter in the chest. The teen faltered slightly, red eyes now glaring back at the man in front of him.

"But I was your son," he replied sinisterly. White rings of light appeared around his waist, transforming him into a much taller figure. Blue skin, flaming white hair, long cape and piercing red eyes stared back at Jack. Dan Phantom had made his reappearance. The ghost frowned at Jack's lack of reaction. "You know... I pictured this going differently." He raised a hand lighting it in green energy before he was knocked to the side by a small white and black blur.

"You stay away from him!" Danielle yelled, sending a large ecto-blast toward the downed ghost. "Jack! You okay?"

Jack smiled in relief. "Better that you're here kiddo! Want to give me a hand?"

Danielle smiled back. "Oh - you have no idea."

:-=-:

Red and Maddie both turned at the exclamation. Danny Fenton was running toward them with a giant grin on his face. "Mom! I'm so glad I found you."

Red started to move toward the boy, but Maddie grabbed the hunter's elbow. "Danny?" she called out. "What are you doing here?" Red noticed how rigid the woman went and how her eyes moved as if she was characterizing a threat.

"It's - wait is that the Red Hunter with you?" Danny asked, looking between the two.

"Didn't know your son was a fan," Red said jokingly.

Maddie frowned. "When you last left Phantom," she whispered urgently. "What condition was he in?"

"Mrs. Fenton?" Red reacted.

"Mom?" Danny asked again, continuing toward them.

Maddie moved quickly, pulling the Red Hunter behind her and drew her ecto-gun, aiming it directly at her son. The boy stopped, putting his hand up fearfully. "What was the last thing I said to you," the mother asked threateningly.

"Mom? You're scaring me a bit," he said.

"Mrs. Fenton! That's your son!" Red yelled, grabbing the woman's arm.

"What was the last thing I said to you Danny?" Maddie repeated, putting her finger on the trigger.

"Wait! Mom, this is crazy!?" Danny yelled out to her. "It's me!" When Maddie didn't budge, he turned desperately to the hunter. "Valerie! Tell her she's crazy!"

Valerie stiffened, turning to Maddie with wide eyes. The elder Fenton nodded, narrowing her eyes at 'Danny.' "Dan, I presume?" Maddie questioned.

'Danny' blinked, before blue eyes became red and a nasty smile came across his face. It looked so alien on her son's face. "How'd you know?" Dan asked menacingly. His eyes drifted toward Valerie. "Oh right, you didn't know I knew. Whoops."

"Among other things," Maddie replied coolly. She turned to the teenage hunter. "Valerie Gray right? 9th degree black belt and a wicked ghost hunter?" Valerie nodded absently. "Valerie - I need you to focus right now okay?"

"He knew?" she whispered in surprise. "All this time?"

Maddie cursed internally as Dan's hands lit up in green energy. "Valerie, that isn't Danny," she told her urgently. "Dan is manipulating Danny's image - I swear to you that isn't him."

"Well - not anymore," Dan drawled, looking at his hands with fake interest. "Then again, not like either of you ever paid attention to me."

Maddie's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare blame us for what happened to you - that was your choice."

Dan chuckled, holding out his hand toward them. "Don't you mean… it was his choice?" He fired an ecto-blast directly towards his mother and Valerie.

:-=-:

The ghost growled at the newcomer, pushing aside his cape as he stood. "You're teaming up with a ghost?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his father.

"Danny and the Fentons have had a truce since last year," Danielle said smugly, launching herself at the ghost again. Dan dodged, only to be blasted by Jack Fenton.

Dan snarled as he got back up. "A truce huh?" He flew at the orange clad man, dodging a few of the attacks and landed forcefully in front of him. "Did he tell you who I am then? How I came into existence?" Dan stood tall, smirking into the man's gaze. "How he destroyed the entire world?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "He'll never become what you are," he told the ghost of his son. "Never. Danny promised us he'd defeat you - just like he did last year."

Dan stood up straighter, cocking his head to the side as red eyes studied the man in front of him. Danielle flew protectively in front of the father, ecto-blast at the ready as they both glared at the evil ghost. Dan's eyes widened finally, taking a few steps back in shock. "You know?" he breathed, looking between the ghost in front of him to his father. "You know my secret?"

Jack's eyes softened slightly as he saw a small glimpse of his son in the evil spectre. Danielle frowned between the two men, her arms still ablaze with green energy aimed toward Dan. A kaleidoscope of emotions came across his face, as if he was having more than one conversation before it disappeared. Dan threw his head back as a deep unsettling laugh erupted from his mouth. Jack and Danielle tensed as his eyes focused on them again.

"He told you," Dan said, his body shifting his stance into one more animalistic. His body was hunched, red eyes looked deranged and hungry for something. "He had the guts to come clean and you and Mom accepted him?" He smiled cruelly. "Oh, this is going to be good."

:-=-:

Jazz dove behind a car, dodging another ecto-blast that came her way. She clutched the bazooka tightly, peering upward to locate Dan. "Where is he?" she murmured, teal eyes scanning the skies.

"Come on out Jazz," Dan drawled. She heard him land as she ducked behind the car. "All I want to do is catch up with my dear older sister… well I guess younger sister now."

Jazz frowned, recognizing something off in Dan's dark tone.

"I know you're listening," Dan continued. Jazz jumped as he made a car explode with an Ecto-blast. "Isn't that what you always told me? 'I'm here for you Danny,' 'Talk to me Danny,'? Well I'm talking!" Another explosion, closer this time made Jazz turn, watching as a flaming car rolled across the road.

She swallowed, mind racing. Why does he want to talk? Why is he so fixated on me listening? Jazz frowned again, ignoring her pounding heart as Dan's footsteps came closer. He's referring to me as his sister… the last time he spoke about us it was in past tense. Jazz's eyes widened. Could it be? Jazz gasped as the car she was hiding behind was lifted into the air. The red-head scrambled upright and away, staring up into the face of the older Phantom.

"Found you," he sneered, throwing the car to the side.

Jazz raised the bazooka and took aim. "You were saying," she said, eyes narrowing.

Dan scoffed. "Really Jazz? The bazooka? I thought the peeler was more your speed."

Jazz put her hand on the trigger. "You said you were talking," Jazz repeated. Her adrenaline and nerves were squashed by her burning curiosity and theories as she looked the ghost over. She felt slightly vindicated to see that he looked injured. Danny must have gotten him. "So talk."

Dan's eyes widened incredulously, tilting his head to the side. "Braver than I thought," he said darkly with a small chuckle. "It won't help you. Don't you want to know where your Danny is? I can see those wheels turning in that big brain of yours."

Jazz's glare faltered for a second before she shook her head. "It's not Danny I'm thinking about," she said evenly. "It's your sudden change of tense." Dan looked at her in confusion. "Your timeline doesn't exist anymore - but you don't belong here. Your friends and family died."

Dan snarled in her direction. "And yet you're right in front of me!"

"But I'm not your Jazz," she said gently. She saw what she was missing now. "I'm his big sister. Not yours."

Dan roared, making Jazz flinch as he released a blast behind him. "He'll lose you too. He doesn't deserve this timeline - what good did he do to deserve this? Not cheat on a test? He should suffer, just like I have!"

"You're different people," Jazz continued. "Danny made his decision a long time ago. He's come a long way from the darkness you caused."

"I caused? I caused!?" Dan shouted. His ghostly aura flared at her words. It took everything in her not to run away. "This was all his fault. Danny Fenton - playing the hero. He's no hero Jazz. All that good you think he's done? He'd throw it away in an instant if it was hard work. Why'd you think he never told Mom and Dad?"

Jazz moved backward slowly, bazooka still aimed at Dan. Come on, use your research and knowledge of the subject, she told herself matter-of-factly. This is still a version of your brother - you know his insecurities, his fears. "You might not have," she told him. "But my brother did."

Red eyes widened at her words. "What?" he whispered. Something shifted in the air around her, making Jazz shiver. "What did you say?"

Jazz swallowed again. "Danny told them last summer," she said, confirming her theory. "We've been fighting as a family ever since."

Dan's wide eyes looked through her, the blue flames on his head flaring dangerously as his temper rose. "Why does he have it so easy?" he roared, ecto-energy exploding around him.

Jazz was thrown back at the display of power, skidding across the road with a yelp. Her ankle twisted beneath her as she fell, bazooka sliding a few feet away. She was right - Dan was jealous of her brother. She reached for the bazooka and finally fired, hitting true. Dan didn't register that he was hit, dark red eyes staring directly at her. She moved to get up, wincing as she felt a twinge of pain in her ankle. Dammit. Her teal eyes widened as Dan smiled cruelly, walking toward her. I'm a sitting target!

"He will pay for what he did to them," Dan vowed menacingly. "He's barely much of a threat now anyway. Once he watches you all die, he'll be too broken to stop me."

"Not today Phantom!"

:-=-:

Maddie pulled Valerie to the ground, dodging it before returning fire. Valerie, finally breaking out of her stupor, summoned her sled and pulled the Fenton onboard. She turned, flying away from Dan.

"Hang on Mrs. Fenton!" Valerie yelled, making the sled go faster. Maddie frowned, turning back to see the now familiar white light come alive around Dan's waist, before transforming him into his true form. The ghost snarled as he took off, giving chase behind them. Maddie fired, watching Dan dodge as he gained.

"Valerie, we need to split up," Maddie said.

"Nope - not happening," the girl retorted. "That thing wants you dead remember?"

"I do," Maddie replied. "But we need to divide his attention. I hit him low, you hit him high?"

Valerie turned; head tilted a little before she understood. "Got it." Valerie dived, coming close to the ground as Dan let out a volley of attacks. The teen dodged them, nodding to Maddie. The elder jumped off the jet sled, skidding across the ground and hit a clean shot at Dan.

"I'm right here!" she yelled, shooting rapidly at the incoming ghost. "Why don't you come at me?"

Dan growled, dodging a few blasts as he landed heavily. Red eyes found violet, an eerie smile forming. "You don't even know half of what Danny's been into, have you?"

Maddie dropped the ecto-gun and took out the Fenton Staff, twirling it in place. "Perhaps - but you're not Danny!"

Dan chuckled, mocking her with a hurt gesture. "Now, that stings a little," he said sarcastically. "Just because I killed my weaker half and destroyed the world, I'm no longer a Fenton? Like I don't have any of my memories?"

Maddie's eyes softened a bit, but her voice still had an edge to it. "No," she said. "It's because you forgot who you are."

Dan faltered, eyes widening at the implication of her words. Maddie took that as an opening, rushing forward with her staff. She used it to jump up into the air, moving it fluidly to strike. Dan was thrown back with a grunt as Maddie continued to attack. Eventually, he managed to hold up his arms to block, growling in annoyance. His hands alighted in green energy as he thrust them outward, pushing Maddie backward.

"You knew?" Dan asked with wide eyes. "You knew whole time?" Maddie pursed her lips, eying Dan warily as he continued to process. The evil ghost shook his head. "No, there's no way… I would have-" he broke off, suddenly looking far away.

Maddie frowned, standing straighter and putting a hand on her ecto-gun. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Valerie coming in for an attack; she needed to stall him. "I found out last year," Maddie said. "Danny told us everything."

Dan's eyes glowed red, turning back to the mother with a small smirk. "Oh Mom," he spat menacingly. "Not everyth-"

"Eat this Phantom!" Valerie cried out, shooting one of her blasters and hitting Dan in the back. He disappeared mid-sentence, leaving a trail a smoke from where the blast hit.

Maddie let out a relieved sigh as Dan disappeared, nodding as Valerie flew back toward the ground. "Nice shot."

Retracting her sled, Valerie lifted the tint in her visor, letting the woman see her smile. "I've been waiting to do that." She inclined her head toward Maddie. "You okay? Did he say something to you?"

"Nothing that I didn't know already," Maddie replied quietly. She looked out in the distance with a frown, bringing her hand up to the Fenton Phone in her ear. "Jazz? You there sweetie?" No response. "Jazz?" she tried again, worry starting to creep up for her daughter.

Valerie frowned also. "Phantom was worried about her too," she said. Maddie's head turned quickly at to the girl's face. "He sent Plasmius over to her."

"Why Plasmius?" Maddie murmured to herself, dread creeping up within her.

"He said she was the most in danger I think?" Valerie answered. "Mrs. Fenton - Plasmius and Phantom are probably the only ones that can take that ghost one on one. With Phantom injured - Plasmius in the next best thing. She'll be fine."

Maddie was silent for a few moments. "Think you can track him?" she asked the hunter.

"Plasmius?" Valerie asked. Maddie nodded. "What are you thinking?"

Maddie rubbed her arm absently. "If Phantom's worried about Jazz and sent on his arch-enemy to protect her, then she might be in more danger than we realised."

:-=-:

Dan turned to be blasted by a magenta blast of energy.

Jazz gasped in surprise as Plasmius flew at Dan with such intensity. "Vlad?" she questioned.

Noticing the young girl, Vlad promptly duplicated in two, leaving one to clash with Dan and the other to head in her direction. "Are you alright Jasmine?" he asked.

Jazz attempted to stand again, but faltered as the pain in her ankle flared again. She winced, rubbing it as she looked up at Plasmius. "Think I sprained it," she said.

Dan roared as he traded punches with Plasmius' duplicate, getting both of their attention. Jazz frowned, noticing that Dan didn't use any of his ghost powers.

"He's getting tired," Vlad said, answering her unasked question. "Dan has been duplicating non-stop and clashing with all of us. About damn time too; don't know how much longer any of us can keep him at bay without that shield."

A whine of an ecto-gun made both of them look up as both Valerie flew into the fray, Maddie on the back of her sled with bazooka raised at Dan. She fired, hitting both Plasmius and Dan, making Vlad's duplicate disappear. Valerie continued the onslaught with a barrage of missiles toward the Dark Phantom. Dan looked up at them both, snarling before he stopped, glaring at the four foes.

"To be continued I think," he said snidely, smiling. His eyes met Jazz's, gleaming with malice. "Let's see if your precious Phantom is stronger than me." Dan disappeared, making Jazz frown.

"Jazz!" Maddie called out. Valerie flew over, retracting her sled as both women touched down. "Honey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jazz confirmed as Maddie ran over to her. "Just twisted my ankle." The mother nodded, letting out a small breath before she glanced at the older hybrid and nodded. Vlad gave her a small smile that she did not return.

"It's not like him to retreat," Valerie said, breaking up the reunion.

"He's not retreating," Plasmius said quietly.

Jazz shook her head. "He's jealous," she corrected. "I thought it was something like human envy but isn't that." She winced as Maddie helped her up. "That evil Phantom was born out of his worst failure and never recovered. Our Phantom managed to overcome that failure to get to where he is today, and has all of the future Phantom's deepest desires - or at least the desires he had when he was 14."

Maddie frowned. "So he wants to destroy Phantom?"

Jazz paled. "Not just destroy," she said. "I think he's trying to punish Phantom." Jazz locked eyes with her mother. "Mom, we need to find him. Dan's unstable and has 10 years on our Danny Phantom."

"Your father's on it," Maddie assured, hugging her daughter tightly. "Phantom will be okay."

Valerie exchanged a worried frown with Plasmius. "I know you all know Phantom a bit better than I do, but I doubt he'll be up for a fight if it comes his way."

"Ms. Gray is right," Plasmius confirmed. Valerie scowled in his direction as he revealed her identity to Jazz. The red head barely blinked at the admission. "Daniel will try to lure him out of the city by himself to try and keep you out of the way. He won't make it."

Maddie bristled at that man's assessment. "And how would you know what he can and can't do?" she snapped.

Vlad's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Really, we're going to do this again?" he retorted. "How many times do I have to tell you, we're the same Maddie."

Maddie pursed her lips. "You are not the same!" she argued. "The choices he made? Miles different than what you chose."

"And yet here we are, fighting a future version of him that embodies everything that you believe me to be," Vlad replied coolly. He sighed tiredly. "Do you even know, truly know, how many times that boy barely makes it out of these fights alive?"

"Plasmius," Jazz warned, frowning in thought as she looked between the two adults. Maddie gestured for Valerie to take Jazz, storming up to Plasmius furiously.

"How dare you," she accused. "Of course I do."

Vlad shook his head. "You've seen the recoveries, Maddie," he said softly. "You've never seen him in mid-battle. You've never seen what he had to go through to make it back."

Maddie stood, fuming silently. "And you have?" she asked at last.

"How do you think he survived Pariah?" The three women stiffened at his words. Vlad sighed again. "You've known the truth for less than a year, my dear. It's not your fault that you didn't know. The only reason he's alive right now is because I created the ecto-enhancers." Maddie frowned in confusion at the name. "Daniel is not going to stop if he believes you all are in danger - and trust me when I say that Dan will kill him without our help."

Maddie swallowed, ignoring Jack's voice in her ear as he called for anyone to respond to him; she could hear it in his voice. "If you cannot figure out how to separate their ecto-signatures, even with Plasmius' help, then you must be prepared to accept what Danny decides to do. Along with the consequences that come with it." Clockwork's warning rang in her mind as she stared at Vlad. She knew Vlad was right; Danny was going to fly into battle regardless of what was best for him.

"I believe in him," Maddie said softly. "I may not have been there for him, but I'm here now Vlad. I know what he'll do, what he thinks he'll need to do. If he's going to lure Dan out of the city, then we're going after him. Jack and I are going after him."

The adults stared at each other in grim understanding before Jazz gasped.

"You know," Jazz said softly. "Mom, you know don't you?"

"Know what?" Valerie asked, questioningly. A second later, she gasped too. She turned to Jazz. "Wait, you both know?"

Jazz furrowed her brow at Valerie's question before her eyes widened.

Vlad turned his attention to the teen hunter. "How'd you figure it out?" he asked quietly.

"What was it? 'For such a smart girl, she's very easily led.'" Valerie quoted angrily.

Plasmius sighed. "I guess there's not much to say about that then." Valerie opened her mouth to retort. "At least for now. If we're going to help Daniel, then we're going to need to get past the shadow ghosts and take out as many as we can so we don't leave the town defenceless.

"And how, are we going to do that?" Valerie asked irately. Her answer came as the ground rumbled beneath her feet and the massive energy of the Fenton Shield took over the town.

:-=-:

Jack's eyes widened, making a move to attack but Dan disappeared with a faint pop, leaving him running into thin air. "Danny," the worried father said, turning to Danielle. "Where's Danny?"

Danielle's eyes widened, realizing what Dan's disappearance meant. "I left him at an office building," she replied, pointing off in the distance to a building a few blocks away. "Follow me!"

Danielle flew, Jack following quickly behind - ignoring the burning in his legs from the amount of running he had to do. Get to Danny. "How was he?" he asked, frowning as ran.

Danielle's mouth grew thin, looking down with familiar green eyes as she answered. "Not up for a fight if one comes his way."

Dread crept up into Jack's stomach again, quickening his pace. "Then we have to find him before Dan does." They turned a corner, Danielle pausing for a second before nodding and heading right. As they came up to the building, Jack stopped, out of breath as he looked at the damage to the downtown core. The amount of debris was only amplified by broken windows, gaping holes in brick buildings and large burns above them. "Some party," he joked, narrowing his eyes as he caught his breath.

Danielle smiled a lop-sided smile - so eerily similar to Danny's that another pang of worry hit him with full force. Danielle continued, oblivious to his turmoil. "You had to be there," she quipped, her smile fading slightly. "Come on - he should be around floor 3 or 4." She flew upward, leaving Jack outside with a small frown.

"Sure - leave me to the stairs," he said bitterly, kicking the door in as he broke into the building and headed up the stairs. "Not like I'd appreciate the lift or anything." By the time he reached the top of the third flight of stairs, he huffed deeply, grabbing onto the wall to steady himself. Definitely need to train some more. He rubbed his face tiredly, remembering that he barely slept over the last few nights before adrenaline kicked in again. Danny; he had to find him.

"Danny!?" he yelled into the office. It was bitterly cold - someone had cranked the air conditioner. Odd - there's no one here. "Son! It's me!"

"Jack!" Danielle's alarmed voice made him race over to her. He saw her floating ahead of him, back toward him as she blocked a row of cubicles. As he reached her, he stopped looking at the floor in front of them.

Various bottles of water littered the floor along with an ice bucket that was half melted. Dried ectoplasm smeared the wall and part of the cubicle. A few scorch marks of thin lines were against the wall. He swallowed thickly, trying to hold back his emotions as surveyed the scene.

"He was right here," Danielle whispered softly. "We - we told him to wait here - That we would protect you from Dan."

Jack stepped forward a little bit, looking at the marks on the cubicle as Danielle kept floating in shock. "Danny," he whispered, putting his hand out to touch a bit of ectoplasm. Jack turned his head to Danielle, who stared at him blankly. "He wasn't taken," he told her matter-of-factly. He turned back to the rest of the floor, walking toward another cubicle and seeing a smeared handprint of ectoplasm along the top. "It looks like he moved this way."

"Jack," Danielle whispered, getting the man's attention. "Danny wasn't okay when I left him," she told him thickly. "He… he couldn't... Dan had him by the throat and then his hands lit on fire." Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him worriedly. "Something's wrong with his core - something about it overheating. We need to find him."

Jack's mind raced with the implications of her words. Immediately he brought his hand to the Fenton Phone in his ear. "Does anyone have eyes on Danny?!" he said tersely, moving quickly through the office to retrace his son's steps. He stopped at the giant hole in the wall, finding no other evidence that Danny was still there. When static reached his ears, Jack's frown deepened. "Maddie? Jazz? Tucker?" Danielle flew towards him, mirroring his worry and impatience. "Fenton 2 to base! Do you read me?" Again, static reached his ears, anger getting the best of him. Jack's face darkened as he turned abruptly.

"Jack?" Danielle called nervously, floating behind him.

To hell with being patient. "We were wrong," Jack said with self-loathing. "Danny needs us - now. Where would he go?" He turned to Danielle, the girl flinching under his intense gaze. "What else did he tell you? He told Red that Dan was going after us, where would-" Jack stopped, eyes widening as another thought catching up to him. "Jazz. Who's with Jazz?"

Danielle bit her lip. "Danny told Plasmius to go to her. Said she was the most in danger."

Jack growled. "That has to be it. He must be going to Jazz - Danny doesn't trust Plasmius."

Danielle's brow furrowed in thought. "He doesn't," she agreed slowly. "But this is bigger than them. Plasmius saved Danny back there. If it wasn't for that jerk, I don't know if -" Danielle gasped suddenly, a deep rumbling from beneath them cutting through their conversation. Jack turned to the broken wall in the building to see a deep green shield appear around the town. It flew outward, stretching over the downtown area, past the part and stopped just shy of Elmerton.

Jack's eyes widened, recognizing what the shield meant. He took out the scanner, setting it for a lower level of ghosts and saw quite a few ghosts being pushed out of the town. Small optimism came back to the man as he turned to the confused half-ghost behind him. "Come on - he's must still be in the city. We'll find him."

:-=-:

It was chaos in the Fenton Lab.

Tucker looked up from the control console in a daze, watching Frostibite bandage one of the Far Frozen's ghosts from the battle outside. There was still no sign of Danny's ecto-signature on the scanner, and still no word from Mr. Fenton on if he managed to find him.

Why aren't I out there? He thought angrily as he looked at the shield code again. He sighed, resigned before he looked over to Clockwork. "Any sign?" he asked the Time Master, who still sat on his chair glancing at the screens.

Clockwork shook his wearily.

"Damn," Tucker swore.

"Tucker of Tech - I need your assistance," Frostbite called over.

Tucker sighed, rushing over to Frostbite and another injured Far Frozener. "Can you hold this still?" Frostbite asked, gesturing to a large splint on the furry ghost's arm. Tucker nodded, looking queasy at the small sight of ectoplasm from the broken arm.

The ringing phone of the Fenton's lab made Tucker jump. Shooting a quick apologetic glance to the injured yeti, he turned back to the Master of Time. "Clockwork - can you get that? It might be important."

Frostbite froze the ghost's arm, creating an ice cast as Tucker hastily retracted his hands. The ghost nodded in thanks, and Frostbite gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Now to find some more gauze," the yeti leader said.

Tucker nodded, walking back toward Clockwork. "Who is it?" he asked the Time Master. Clockwork shrugged in respond. "What do you mean you don't know who's on the phone?"

"You asked me to get it," Clockwork replied. "I have it."

Tucker looked at him incredulously. "Did you answer it?" he asked, frustrated.

"I was supposed to it?" Clockwork retorted.

Tucker let out a long sigh. "Clockwork, you're the Master of -" Tucker broke off as he noticed movement at the workbench with unmodified prototypes. "For the love of all things technology Frostbite don't touch that!" Frostbite jumped, dropping the Ghost Gabber and breaking it. "Seriously, the Fentons haven't adjusted all their weapons yet! You're lucky it's just the Gabber. Check the infirmary for more gauze - Mrs. F has them stacked." Tucker sighed, inwardly vowing to never be left alone with so many ghosts without Danny present. He took the phone from Clockwork, who red eyes twinkled as he hovered by his side. "You've reached FentonWorks Base Operations."

"Sound and the Fury - Mr. Foley!" Mr. Lancer's voice exclaimed from the other end. "What are you doing down there?"

"Mr. Lancer?" Tucker asked in disbelief. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and exasperation. "What - you know what, never mind. The Fentons have me manning coms while they're out 'kicking ghost butt.' What's wrong - there's kind of a lot going on at the moment." His eyes drifted across the lab and back to the scanner. Nothing yet. Where are you Danny?

"More than whatever evil ghost we're facing demolishing the entire town? Or rather, the school?" Tucker could hear the sarcasm in the teacher's voice and was willing to bet he had his disappointed teacher face on.

"What!?" Tucker exclaimed. He pulled the phone closer to the chair, rolling himself back to the console. He checked the scanners again. "Damn, he must have duplicated again without us knowing. You okay Mr. Lancer? How did you escape?"

Mr. Lancer started to answer, but a different voice beat him.

"Tuck."

Tucker stiffened, eyes widening. It was quiet, raw but unmistakably his voice. He didn't dare to breathe, worrying that it may his mind playing tricks on him, but he wanted to desperately believe it was him; that he was okay. Eventually a soft whisper escaped Tucker lips.

"Danny!?"

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scripttorture · 3 years

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Hey there! I'm writing a scene where my character gets electrocuted as torture, but I don’t know how to describe what's happening because I don't know what he's actually being electrocuted with. What is the "safest" way to electrocute someone? Something that produces a high voltage, but not enough to kill them. Is it better to use a car battery with jumper cables? Electrodes? And where is the best place to put them on the body? The only thing I know is that the current can't cross the heart.

Well nowadays the most common way this is done is by repeated use of a Taser or stun gun. It’s also worth noting that most people use the term ‘electrocuted’ to mean a lethal amount of electricity. You might want to use something like ‘electric shock’ instead to avoid confusion.

There is still a significant death rate but I can’t really say whether it’s higher or lower then for older electrical tortures (like using a car battery or more commonly a telephone magneto) because there aren’t any statistics on death rates for those older tortures.

If you’re writing a story set anywhere in the last… I’d say roughly four decades (possibly a bit longer in some countries) then a Taser or stun gun is mostly likely. Older then that, or in particular places, a field telephone magneto could also be possible. And if you’re talking about say early 1900s, World War 2 or the wars in African and Asian countries to secure independence from colonialists: field telephone magnetos.

This isn’t so much to do with the death rate as it is to do with what’s readily available. Even if a magneto was ‘safer’ you don’t really find them lying around anymore. Whereas a lot of places sell Tasers and stun guns, many police forces issue them as standard equipment.

A lot of the deaths and serious injuries from Tasers and stun guns come from falling injuries. Basically; the victim is shocked while standing, they fall and because they can’t move to protect themselves they hit their head. Which can cause brain damage and death in worst case scenarios.

I appreciate what you mean as a writer asking ‘what’s the safest way to do this to my character’ but you do have to accept that torture of any kind is not safe. All of these practices come with a chance of death. That doesn’t mean you have to kill off the character.

Personally I think that as long as the character surviving doesn’t imply a torture is ‘harmless’ (or much less harmful then it is) then there’s nothing wrong with deciding a character got lucky.

And while there have been a lot or deaths, far more then people tend to think, many many people have survived electrical torture. There’s nothing wrong with deciding your character is one of them.

If you’re set on using something with electrodes in your story then uh… think about why the characters have a magneto? I mean even the portable ones are pretty heavy. And they’re huge by today’s standards. And they’re not really useful anymore. Unless you have also experienced the joys of staying somewhere where blowing up the local powerstation is practically a national sport. (Visiting my grandparents was always fun and, as my yaiyai would say, if the power is off go play outside.)

Even then there isn’t really research I can point to that says shocking particular areas is ‘safer’. Shocks above the heart, whether they’re from a Taser, magneto or anything else, can cause heart attacks. But plenty of people get hit with a Taser in the chest and do not have a heart attack. Conversely there are cases where people have been shocked in the back, in the legs, in the side and ended up dead.

There isn’t proper research on this: because the experiment would involve killing people.

My impression from what I’ve read about Taser fatalities is that it is repeated shocks, rather then the specific area, that are more likely to cause death.

In torture scenarios, most torturers avoid the face and head because it’s more likely to leave obvious marks. Torturers commonly target the genitals, hands and torso, including the chest.

I’m going to leave you with a couple of links that I suggest you read.

The first is the masterpost on the common psychological effects of torture. Next is the post on common misconceptions (to be clear there’s nothing in this ask that strikes me as ‘bad’ but it’s better to be aware of the common pitfalls especially if you’ve not written this before.)

The third is Alleg’s The Question which is an account of his torture by French forces during the Franco-Algerian war. It contains a lot of descriptions of electrical torture using a magneto. It’s an old book and available in a lot of languages fairly cheaply. (If you absolutely can’t access it message me and I’ll copy over some relevant passages I typed up, but I think you’d get a lot from the book.)

Finally you might want to take a look at Reuter’s piece on Tasers, mostly because it’s relevant, free and shorter then Rejali.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #clean torture #electrical torture #tasers #stun guns #magnetos #electricity #clean torture going wrong #writing torture #effects of torture #death from torture

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

Okay Part 5

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping, fire, PTSD ish?

Word Count: 2,304

Summary: After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007 // @louiselikeswriting // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na

Working your way back from the second crime scene to the first had been the plan for the day, keeping your radios on in case you got a call. The rest of truck had no problem with it; although you and Casey were the most invested, you knew the others wanted the same thing as you. To catch whoever was responsible and protect Lily.

Jay was waiting when you arrived, Hailey too. Voight had thankfully spared them, Jay had told you over the phone that they may have to leave at a moments notice depending on how the case they were working with Intelligence went. They’d leave a few unis there though.

Pulling up in the truck you saw just how much damage the fire had done, whatever accelerant this guy was using spread quicker. Kerosene Kelly reckoned, more combustable than flammable, meaning more likely to explode rather than just ignite.

You and Casey took up the front, Jay smiling slightly despite the circumstances at the sight of you in uniform. “Hey, what is it they call you? Candidate?” Jay gave you a slight hug in greeting as you rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, what we got?” You asked, following him inside with Casey to survey the damage. There was police tape everywhere, but it had been cleared by CSI already.

“This is where we found the mom and friend,” Jay told you both, the rest of truck waiting outside. He was pointing in the dining room, three places set up around the table where most of the damage had been done.

“Ignition point?” Casey asked, lingo you knew but would still have to get used to saying. Surveying the scene, all you saw was carnage, fire blasted walls and the charred remains of a nice home. But Casey was seeing something different, as was Jay.

“We had OFI here earlier, you just missed them attending that collision this morning, but they said it was somewhere... here,” Jay gestured near the patio doors, the wall nearest the entrance black, the carpet practically gone as it had spread and you could definitely see why they suspected a combustable accelerant. “Lock was broken on the door, but there are no prints besides those you’d expect.”

“Three places,” you noted, glancing to the table, “Lily was supposed to be in here, you said she was found upstairs?” You didn’t look at Jay as you asked, too busy inspecting the room. Both the men in there with you may have been seasoned at what they did, but you hoped that your fresh eyes and new perspective might spot something the others missed. ‘Hoped’ being the key word.

“Yeah, don’t know why, she’s barely spoken as you know,” Jay answered, “but there was food on the plates.”

“Timer?” You and Casey spoke up at the same time, glancing at each other as Casey grinned your way. Guess you were picking this up quicker than you thought.

Jay looked between you with an unreadable expression before nodding. “Destroyed in the blast, but it was near the patio doors, automatic.”

Casey nodded thoughtfully, looking to you even though you could see the ideas forming behind his eyes. He wanted to see what you thought.

“It was supposed to kill them all,” you said, “for some reason Lily wasn’t at the table, maybe she went to grab something, go to the toilet... maybe her mom saw that she hadn’t washed her hands yet and made her go back upstairs to clean them like our mom always did with you,” you told Jay, who glared at you slightly as Casey chuckled under his breath.

“She’s escaped death twice now,” Casey said, following your eyes to her place at the table, “but why? We already know she must be the target, but how many enemies does a 7 year old have?”

Jay clenched his jaw, clearly wishing he had some kind of answer for you. “We’ve tried every angle we can think of,” Jay said somewhat helplessly.

“What about the charger?” You asked, remembering the car Intelligence had been looking into when you’d arrived at the hospital last night.

“Got a BOLO out, but our best guess is that either the cars been ditched or the plates have been swapped,” he replied, tone laced with frustration.

Casey ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the room, but it was clear to everyone that there was nothing solid here, or even some smoke to follow. So with a sigh Jay signaled for you guys to leave, the next stop was the first fire, where you and Casey had found Lily.

You sat next to Casey on the drive, the rest of truck discussing the case. Even though you tried to listen, you kept zoning out, the dread in your stomach getting worse with every passing second. You had nothing to offer this girl, no idea what was going on, and you hated feeling this useless.

Casey noticed your quite and nudged you with his leg. “You good?” He checked, trying to meet your eyes.

You shrugged and put on your best fake smile, “sure,” you said unconvincingly. But there was no time to challenge you, the truck was pulling up behind Jay’s car at the scene of the first fire.

The door was still taped up, Lily’s mom hadn’t had a chance to properly come back to the house to salvage much before she died. It felt strange being back here, seeing the remains in daylight when last time you’d seen it it had been burning in the night. With a breath you climbed out the truck, Jay saying something to an officer in a squad car on the otherside of the road, positioned there in case anyone tried to enter the house.

“Does Lily have any family?” Casey asked Jay as he joined you both on the front lawn. You were listening, but you found yourself unable to look away from the building, the peeling paint, the burn marks, the destruction...

“Grandparents in New York,” Jay replied, “and an estranged dad in Colorado, they split up a few years back but he’s on his way now, should be here soon.”

You realised that the other two had made it to the front door and strambled to catch up, carefully stepping over the threshold and into the house with them. Memories of smoke and fire came flooding back as you walked, the smell of the ashes making you feel nauseous. You couldn’t explain, you’d been fire at the other fires since this one... mostly. There was something about this one that sent you back to that basement, maybe it was because you’d had a panic attack here, or maybe it was Lily and how you related to her.

Whatever it was, you tried to push it down as Jay walked you around the house. There had been no broken locks in this house, compared to the broken patio lock in the friend’s, and the fire had started up stairs. Sort of.

“It looks like it was poured down,” you realised, staring at the wall below the banister. The others agreed with you, eyes following the burn pattern as it then spread across the floor once it reached the bottom. “So someone came in while the mom was next door, some how managed to get Lily behind the desk, and then poured the kerosene down the wall?”

“Leaving enough time for them to head down the stairs after they lit the match,” Casey added, but you shook your head a little.

“If they’d lit the match from the top, they would have had enough time, but they would have had to leave through the front door then, and most of the fire damage was down stairs,” you said half distantly as you followed the trail.

Casey looked proud, “you’re right, looks like this goes to the back door,” he pointed. This was all well and good, but it wasn’t helpful. Jay suggested you try upstairs next, leading the way.

You got half way up before feeling a little faint, images of your panic attack flashing through your mind as you forced yourself to continue on upstairs. Casey was a head of you too, so he didn’t notice at first, but as soon as you both reached the top he looked back, pausing as he saw the way you gripped the banister at the top.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything when Jay was there, but you could see the concern on his face, and the seriousness. It hadn’t exactly been at the top of your to do list recently, but you’d known it was coming. He was still your Captain.

“So this was where you found her, behind the desk?” Jay asked, gesturing towards the open office, where you could clearly see the moved desk inside, the little room behind it visible.

You nodded, still taking a minute to breath and steady yourself while trying to act normal. Jay didn’t notice, but you didn’t blame him, he didn’t know what Casey did.

“Was there anything else in there, anything you might have not thought relevant at the time but might mean something now?” He asked.

“We’ve already been over this,” you said a little too harshly, giving Jay pause, “sorry, just, a little stressed, haven’t been sleeping much recently,” you tried to shrug it off. Jay was about to reply when he phone went off, excusing himself as he headed outside. He’d think you meant because of this case, and while that was true, you didn’t tell him exactly what ‘recently’ meant.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Casey pointed out after Jay was out of earshot, knowing that you knew what he meant. What was there to say? You trusted Casey, and you’d been getting closer since you’d started at the firehouse, you’d probably spent more time with him in the last week than anyone else, but he was still your Captain, and you didn’t want him to think you were unfit for duty.

“Been a little busy,” you shrugged, eyes flicking from his face to the office behind him.

“Y/N...” he struggled to find what to say, “has this happened before? Or, since even?”

You nodded a little, “before yeah, a few times after the fire, but I was fine in the academy I swear, I haven’t been hiding something that would endanger the rest of the house, if it had happened since I promise you I would have told you Matt,” you poured out. It was the truth, and thankfully he believed.

He relaxed a little, clearly afraid of something worse. “Okay, but you need to talk to me Y/N, or... someone, I don’t want you to go through this alone, I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted, the way he said it causing your breath to hitch a little bit.

“Don’t worry, it’s not going to get in the way of the job,” you assured him but he shook his head at that.

“That’s not the way I meant it Y/N-” he began, an expression on his face you didn’t have time to figure out before you were interrupted by your phone.

It was Will. “Hey what’s up?” You answered as Casey cleared his throat, backing up and getting professional again. What had he wanted to say? You’d think about that later, you told yourself, putting the phone on speaker so Casey could hear. It was a fair assumption that it was about Lily.

“Hey Y/N, just thought I should let you know that Lily’s dad has just checked her out the hospital, it was against Nat’s medical advice but she’s technically fit to leave and he said something about her recovering better with family,” he informed you both, you and Casey casting each other confused and slightly concerned looks.

If it seemed off to you both, that’s because it was. Jay came running up the stairs as if on queue. “What’s going on?” Casey asked, taking in the alarm on Jay’s face.

“Lily’s dad Paul arrived on a flight from Colorado about half an hour ago,” Jay said.

“Yeah we know Will has just been telling us-” you started, holding your phone up with Will still on the line to show Jay.

“No, you don’t understand, we didn’t pick it up until he came through, but Adam found a passport under a different name that came from Colorado to Chicago last week and left back last night,” Jay tried to explain, “the ID photo matches Paul’s, and a credit card under the same name bought over half a dozen products containing kerosene from a handful of different stores near both fires.”

Your jaw went slack, shocked as you tried to process the information. “So he went back to Colorado under his fake ID last night, and got a flight out with his real one this morning, so it’d look like he’d been there the entire time?” Casey read your mind, fists tight at his sides.

“An iron clad alibi...” you muttered, “Will, stop them from leaving!” You called over the phone, knowing he’d heard everything Jay had just said. You heard Will run, breathing heavier as he tried to catch up with Paul and Lily, none of the three of you breathing at all as you waited.

He seemed to reach an exit, having a conversation with someone you couldn’t quite make out before running again. The atmosphere changed, it sounded like he was outside. Then he stopped.

“They’ve gone,” he said angrily and Jay swore, “only just though, I ran out to see if I could stop them but they were already driving away, and Jay - I just saw their car, it was a black dodge charger.”

You paled, what were you going to do now?

#matt casey #chicago fire #chicago pd #chicago med #jay halstead #will halstead #one chicago #matt casey x reader #matt casey imagine #chicago fire imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago med imagine #matt casey imagines #chicago fire imagines #chicago pd imagines #chicago med imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #okay

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret

MASTERLIST

New fic time! This was heavily inspired by the interrogation scene from Date Night and Cat in general, except in this world Cat Adams and the network of hit men from the show doesn’t exist. The reader is just like a Cat Adams though and obviously she’s a bit more of a downplayed villain than Cat, but it’s the same kind of idea. You guys will understand when you start reading. Enjoy all the Spencer feels you will probably get from this because I sure got enough just from writing this.

Special thank you to @multifandommandy as well for inspiration and ideas that I used in this :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (Smut)

Word Count: 3,341

Your hands were behind your back, handcuffed together. A strong hand gripped the top of your arm as the elevator ascended the floors of the FBI headquarters in Quantico.

A normal person would’ve been scared out of their mind at this point.

You?

Well, you were different than most people.

The elevator dinged, coming to an abrupt stop, announcing the arrival of your designated floor.

The crystal clear metal doors slid open, revealing a small group of people standing in the hallway. Clearly, they were expecting your arrival. You didn’t expect anything less.

The agent who’d brought you in stepped forward out of the elevator with you, the grip on his hand not easing any.

“Take it easy, Grandpa, I bruise easily.”

You shot the gray haired agent a withering glare before returning your gaze to the group of people. The majority of them looked at you with contempt, but you noticed something peculiar in the look of the agent who’d initially arrested you.

Interesting, you thought.

His lips were pursed as his gaze flickered down your frame before flitting up to your face again. He pressed his lips together before pulling them inward, his eyes quickly darting away.

Well that could definitely come in handy.

•

You sighed impatiently as you were seated in the interrogation room, your handcuffs being unfastened. It was a small victory as the chains clasped around your waist and ankles were cuffed to a metal bar of the table.

“Is this really necessary?” you scoffed, “It’s not like I’m here to do bodily harm to any of you.”

“You killed four men, Y/N,” Agent Grandpa said, “You really think we’re going to let you parade around here like we invited you here to have brunch?”

“Brunch sounds good,” you tilted your head, “I could go for some bacon.”

He ignored your comment and kept staring at you. You rolled your eyes in response.

“I only killed them ‘cause it was part of my contract. No big deal.”

You had been a new addition to a group of assassins that operated through the dark web. It was a small organization, but it was still a hidden one. Law enforcement wasn’t even aware of the group’s existence until just recently.

There were several different assassins in the group, most of which you’d met. Each had their own specialty and their own clientele. There was one who had a knack for poison, another who was more hands on with their kills—strangulation seemed to be their kink, another that was nicknamed “The Framer”. He could make any of his hits look like someone else did it, usually a close friend or family member. He was one who really believed in his research.

Your speciality was infidelity and abuse, mainly abuse. You were surprised how many women turned to a hit man to kill their abusive husband instead of law enforcement. One of your kills had been a jaded wife of a politician who was tired of dealing with her husband’s plethora of affairs.

So basically, your speciality was assholes who deserved to die.

“You’re aware that murder is still a crime, right?”

You tapped your fingers on the table.

“I thought we were here to interview me for more information on the group? Not to talk about me.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“Nuh-uh. I’d like to talk to Dr. Reid,” you smirked.

He raised one of his thick eyebrows at you, but didn’t say anything in response. He stood for a moment before turning and leaving the room, the door closing behind him.

Now the fun could really begin.

•

You were examining your nails when the door opened again and with it came Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I heard you’d only talk to me. Why?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his navy suit pants. He stood in front of the table, looking down at you.

“Why don’t you sit down? Make yourself comfortable. It might be a while,” you grinned slyly, tapping your temple with your finger, “You know. Lots of information up here in the noggin to share.”

He pulled out the chair, sitting down in it.

“I’ve got a secret for you,” you said.

“Oh? I have a secret for you too. You’re going away for possibly 25 years to life unless you help us with this case.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?”

You shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m here to help, but I’d like to do it on my terms.”

You rested your chin in your hand, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah? What are your terms?”

“One, for every few questions you ask I get to ask a question of my own.”

“Why would you-”

You held up a hand, stopping him.

“Ah, I’m not done. Two, you take these chains off me. I’m not gonna hurt you or any of the federal agents I’m sure that are watching. Besides, I’m getting a cramp.”

He watched you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“Three. If I give you everything you need, you’ll have my sentence reduced to ten years, not fifteen.”

“Give me a minute.”

He stood, heading to the door.

“Yes, go confer with the other six little ducklings. I’ll just be waiting here,” you called.

It could’ve been half an hour later, you had no idea, but he finally returned. A thick file was in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. It wasn’t until he came towards your side that you noticed he had the key to your prison chains in his hand.

He bent down at your side, unlocking your restraints. You bit your lip gently, watching him. When he looked up, his face wasn’t far from yours.

“Thank you.” Your voice was a breathy whisper and he quickly cleared his throat, standing back up.

“Whew, I thought I was never going to get blood flowing back into my leg,” you said, stretching it out and wiggling it.

He returned to his seat in front of you, opening the file. You turned in your seat to face him.

“Then again I bet you know all about blood flowing to certain areas.”

It was no surprise when he disregarded your comment and started asking questions.

“I’ll go easy on you to start with, how many assassins were in the group?”

“What a shame,” you tutted, “I’d rather you be rough with me.”

“If you’re just here to waste my time, then we can call this whole thing off,” Spencer threatened.

You studied him for a moment.

“Eight,” you finally answered, “That I know of.”

“And you met them all?”

��Those eight, yes.”

“What did they specialize in?”

You yawned, already bored with this tedious process.

You chewed on your lip, pretending to be in deep thought before counting off a few on your fingers.

“Number six did her own thing, but she dealt mainly with drugs. Seven liked to choke and we aren’t talking about some good BDSM play either.”

You smirked as a flush spread across the good doctor’s cheeks. He was so easy to read.

“Eight liked poison. I don’t know their clientele.”

“So what-”

You cut him off yet again.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question now.”

He sat back in the chair, crossing his arms, clearly amused.

“Go ahead.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” you asked casually.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to this.”

“Hmm,” you let it slide without an answer, “I’m sure it will before this interview is over.”

“So when did you join the group, Y/N?”

“A few months ago, around the end of January.”

“You killed a politician and three average husbands. We found out that Johnny Perez and Thomas Mitchell were abusive to their wives. Benjamin Wood abused both his wife and his daughter. Senator Nathan Pearson had many mistresses and affairs. Is that why you killed them?”

“Wouldn’t you?” you shot back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” you retorted, smirking.

He decided to switch tactics.

“Did any of the others ever work together?”

“Not that I know of.”

You crossed your legs, leaning closer to him across the table.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” you questioned.

He looked up from the note he was writing, looking baffled.

“No, why?”

You hummed, “Explains a lot.”

“Is there a spot where they meet often? Somewhere we can catch the rest of them?” Spencer asked.

“It’s not exactly like we met at McDonalds for chicken nuggets and board meetings.”

You twirled a lock of your hair around your finger, watching him closely. He glared at you, his patience growing thin.

“Was there or not? I’m not here to play games.”

“Oh honey, you already are,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said if there was, it was probably far,” you lied, “You know far away. They could get paranoid.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you were recruited, didn’t you?”

You sat back in your chair, licking your lips and smiled devilishly at him.

“Yes, Doctor,” you purred.

You could see him tense, his jaw tightening as if he was clenching his teeth.

“Are you always this tense?”

He circled back to you, focusing his questions on you.

“Why did you kill those men, Y/N?”

“Assholes like that don’t deserve to live.”

You weren’t going to deny that you did it because you had and you would again, but you weren’t going to hand them any ammunition to use against you. Being mysterious was the name of your game.

“So you were a vigilante assassin? Hired to make things right?” Spencer questioned, eyes following you as you stood from your chair.

You strolled around the table, fingers trailing along the tabletop.

“People like that deserve the bad things that happen to them, like those men. Imagine if you could right the world, one step at a time.”

“I already do that. I catch serial killers everyday. Killers like you,” he responded.

“See, I’m not like most people,” your hand rested on his shoulder, sliding ever so slightly across it.

“I don’t enjoy killing. I don’t get pleasure from it.”

“Don’t you?”

He’d gone rigid under your touch. Your fingertips grazed across his back as you leaned down and over his shoulder from behind him. Your hand slid down the front of his dress shirt, across his chest.

“I get pleasure from other things, Spencer,” you whispered lowly in his ear.

You pulled back, returning to your seat, but you didn’t miss the small shiver he’d tried to repress.

“I’m not answering any more questions until you answer some of mine.”

You crossed your arms on the table, leaning forward on them.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because of that secret I mentioned earlier. Remember that? I know you better than you think I do, Doctor.”

Your voice dripped with seduction and you knew it was getting to him. You could see just how much you were getting under his skin and frankly, it pleased you greatly.

“Is that so?”

He cocked his head, challenging you, trying to call your bluff.

But you weren’t bluffing.

“I’m good at reading men and their signals. I mean,” you shrugged with one shoulder, “A girl has to be in this line of work.”

“Uh huh,” he goaded you.

“I know your dirty little secret,” you faux whispered, leaning closer towards him.

His face hardened in an attempt to not give any of his true emotions away.

“And what would that be?”

“I know you fantasize about me, Dr. Reid.”

Your words hit a nerve. Even though his face showed no change in expression, the slight widening of his eyes gave him away. If you weren’t so good at analyzing, you probably would’ve missed the small movement all together.

“You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were delusional.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you chuckled dryly, “I’m not answering any more questions until you admit you’ve had dirty thoughts about me.”

“Then we’ll be here for a long time.”

“Spencer, please. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m good at telling when a man is attracted towards a woman. Tell me,” you smirked, scraping your teeth across your bottom lip, “Do you touch yourself while having those thoughts of me?”

He stood, gathering the file haphazardly.

“If you’re just going to waste the FBI’s time, then this interview is over.”

“What, is your ego bruised because I don’t get off to you? Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself. They’re pretty sexy, if I do say so myself, but nothing beats the real thing,” your eyes moved up his body, “If you know what I mean.”

He was out the door mere seconds after your last word was spoken.

You had him just where you wanted him.

•

“What is she on about?”

Thankfully the observing audience had dwindled down to just Rossi, but Spencer brushed past him, shaking his head.

“Ignore her. She’s full of it.”

He dropped the file on the first desk he saw, walking out the door into the hallway.

He knew he had to get out of there quickly because the room was suddenly way too warm. He was angry. Angry and unfortunately aroused.

He practically ran into the first available empty room, closing the door behind him. He only needed a few minutes to clear his head before he finished this interview. He leaned against the closed door, stomach rolling in his desire. He swore, the tightening in his pants that much more visible. He knew the moment he felt the tingling in the pit of his stomach that he had to make a quick escape.

Y/N’s words rang in his ears as he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself.

They’re pretty sexy if I do say so myself.

The thought of her getting off to him did nothing to help his erection and he groaned. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own and was palming the bulge, making him whimper slightly.

“Fuck it.”

•

The door swung open to the interrogation room with a bang causing you to jump.

“I got rid of the other agents, so it’s just you and me now, no one watching.”

You raised your eyebrow, intrigued.

“How did you know?” Spencer practically growled.

“Know what?”

He yanked you up roughly by your arm, making you stand to face him.

“How did you know that all I want to do is slam you against this wall and fuck you as hard as I can?”

Your mouth went dry, all bravado you’d had before suddenly missing. Heat pooled in your stomach. If you could tear off your clothes right now and let him have his way with you, you would.

He didn’t let you answer because he did just as he said he wanted to.

Your back hit the wall roughly, his lips meeting yours haphazardly. His kisses were wild and filled with all the frustration he held against you, emotionally and sexually.

His hands were that much larger against your hips, pulling them closer to him so you could feel his arousal against you. You moaned into the kiss in response.

His fingers threaded in your hair, gripping it, his tongue swirling with yours. He pulled back just the slightest bit, his teeth scraping your bottom lip.

“Fuck, I hate admitting just how wild you’ve driven me,” he groaned, undoing his pants.

You wiggled your hips slightly, trying to push your pants down along with your underwear as he sucked roughly on your neck, his hands massaging your boobs through your shirt. You were pretty sure he could make you cum before he was even inside you.

Barely registering your struggles, one hand yanked down the bottom half of your clothes, kicking them aside with his feet while his mouth still explored yours.

Hooking his hands under the back of your thighs, he hoisted you up, holding you against the wall. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you, not giving you any warning.

You moaned loudly. The feeling was better than anything you’d ever fantasized. Your hips thrust outward from the wall to meet with him causing him to growl. You could probably spontaneously combust at this point. You never could have imagined Dr. Spencer Reid had such a sexy, dominant side. If he wanted to fuck you against this wall until you were raw, you’d let him and probably still beg for more.

“Ohhh my god, yes,” you moaned, your head knocking against the wall as he did magical things to you.

His body moved roughly against yours, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, his grunts and groans giving you tingles. You would’ve tried to be witty right about now, but you discovered your brain was nothing but static. Words couldn’t and wouldn’t come.

“You moan this loud for me when you touch yourself?” he grunted, his rhythm purposely slowing down to a snail’s pace.

You were quite amazed that he managed to have enough self control to tease you.

“No,” you whimpered, trying to pull his hips back towards you.

His hands pushed your hips back against the wall firmly, further separating the two of you.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“No, I didn’t. Spencer, please.”

It was almost torture being so close to falling apart and having him stop almost completely. His hand touched your cheek, his thumb moving over your lips, tugging your bottom lip down just a bit before his lips covered yours again. His hips thrust forward against yours once more, hitting such deep spots that your legs were shaking.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled away, clenching them.

“Oh god, it’s so much better than I even imagined,” he gritted out, pulling out of you slowly, to thrust back in harder.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” you encouraged, your back arching, pressing your chest against his.

Your hand tangled in his curls, your moans coming closer together.

“Make me cum, Dr. Reid,” you requested breathlessly.

His fingers expertly reached down to add to your pleasure, fully intending to rock your world.

Your breaths came in more erratic spurts, mixed with your moans as you came apart, tensing around him.

He came hard too, his groans of pleasure ripped from his throat as his head fell back roughly against the door.

It took a moment for Spencer’s surroundings to come back in focus when he opened his eyes, peering down at the mess he’d made all over his hand. He felt his whole face flush when he realized what had just happened.

He grabbed a tissue off the table, cleaning up his mess and getting resituated, zipping up his pants properly, buttoning them once again.

He cursed himself for the fact he’d just gotten off to her. Even worse, an extremely erotic fantasy of her. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it.

“Dammit,” he mumbled.

So, it wasn’t his finest moment. But at least he felt less tense and more relaxed now.

He picked up the file on his way back in to finish his interview. There she was waiting, fingernails tapping against the table.

•

You saw right through him because the moment he walked through the door again a grin slowly spread across your face. His cheeks were still flushed and a slight sheen of sweat coated his forehead.

Unless he’d just sprinted to and from the nearest coffee shop, you had a good idea what he’d just been up to.

You didn’t say anything while he sat back down in front of you again, opening the file and looking up at you. You motioned him closer with a crook of your finger so he could hear your next words. He obeyed and leaned in close.

“Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

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spectrumed · 3 years

Text

3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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gaylorlyrics · 4 years

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Folklore Songs - what are they about??

This is a developing thread, but I’ve been listening all day so I’m taking a stab at it.

1."The 1"

Common consensus is that this is about Dianna Agron and what they could have been. Telling lyrics are the general idea that the relationship wasn’t truly given a chance (”it would've been sweet, If it could've been me”) and “Roaring Twenties”, referring to the below circus themed party pics with Diana dressed like a flapper

tbh im not totally sold on this - most because it seems more recent with lyrics like, “In my defense, I have none for never leaving well enough alone” sounds like a reference to ME! and “Roaring twenties” sounds like a reference to something that happened this year (2020). Also “throwing pennies in the pool” could be a reference to throwing Penni (Karlie’s agent) in the pool. Finally, Route 1 is the road along California’s coast, where Tay & Karlie drove on their legendary road trip...this makes my lil Kaylor heart worry.

2. Cardigan

This is the first installment in the Teenage Trio, which also includes August and Betty, and is told from the perspective of Betty. It’s about feeling so loved by someone but then being betrayed by them (”Chase two girls [Betty + August’s narrator] lose one”). The line ”And you'd be standin' in my front porch light” foreshadows to James professing love in “Betty”. Potentially Taylor is Betty - but I’m still thinking about that theory.

3."The Last Great American Dynasty"

We <3 a Rhode Island throwback. Here Taylor tells the story of her house in Rhode Island that Rebekah “Betty” (??!?!??!! more on that later) Harkness used to live in. Rebekah married an heir to Standard Oil which made her one of the wealthiest women in the USA at the time. She was also known for making a scene (”She had a marvelous time ruining everything”). Additionally, she founded the Harkness Ballet (”And blew through the money on the boys and the ballet”). After Rebekah’s death Taylor purchased the house and it is now best known as the place of many epic 4th of July parties.

4. Exile

Such a sad song! This is a duet between Taylor and Bon Iver, telling the story of a failed relationship that they have tried to mend many many times. Interestingly, this is also about a love triangle (like the teenage trio) - "I can see you starin' honey/Like he's just your understudy." This line specifically feels like it could be about bearding, and seeing someone else with the person you love, but feeling like - or knowing - it’s fake. “You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out” references and end to the relationship Taylor discussed in False God “Staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town I'm New York City”. To me this indicates that it is about Karlie and them breaking up or going through a rough patch - continually trying to fix things - and eventually being unsure that it could ever be repaired.

5."My Tears Ricochet"

This is pretty clearly about Scott & Scooter - “And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed” and “You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same” seem to be a reference to them trying to exploit her work and how her leaving Big Machine really ruined the business - plus there’s some LWYMMD imagery. “You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me” also seems to be a clear reference for trying to use Taylor’s own work against her, taking the profits, and pushing her out of the deal. As if we needed more evidence “You hear my stolen lullabies” clearly references her stolen masters.

6."Mirrorball"

Big 80s prom vibes from this song. Mirrorball is about being famous and all of her work - her most personal thoughts and dreams - just becoming different ways for other people to see themselves once she releases her music into the world. Part of being an artist is knowing that your work will reflect more of who the viewer is than who you are yourself. Here she uses the metaphor of a disco ball to explore that idea, and worries that she is losing her own identity through it “I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me”. She also alludes to her fears that she will age out of relevancy “I know they said the end is near”, something she discussed in her documentary Miss Americana. Obviously this is internalized misogyny because we love Taylor and will listen to her music always and do not subscribe to the belief that women need to be young to be relevant because if they were a man then they'd be the man, and tay’s the man <3

7. “Seven”

Personally, this is one of my favorite songs on the album. It’s so sweet and pure and lovely. This is about young love, with imagery of summer, toys, and child’s dreams to runaway together. Many people have speculated that it is about the same girl that the two unreleased Taylor songs “Sweet Tea and Gods Graces” and “Me & Britney” are about.

[Side note: initially I wondered if Me & Britney was about Britany Maack, Taylor’s long time friend who recently got married, but the names are spelled differently. Also the line in Seven “I can’t recall your face” indicates that this is about someone who Taylor is not currently in touch with.]

Both M&B and STAAG seem to be about the Seven relationship because there are general parallels with outdoor scenery, childlike wonder, and ( in the case of STAGG) sweet tea. Also all three songs indicate a gay relationship: STAGG - “And you can love like a sinner and lose like a winner”, M&B - “That boy she went ran off with, well, I thought he was crazy. Maybe I was just jealous that he'd come between me and Britney”, and Seven - “You won't have to cry or hide in the closet And just like a folk song our love will be passed on”.

8. “August”

This is the second installment in the Teenage Trio, told from the perspective of the “other woman” who James meets while on summer vacation. The other woman (she doesn’t seem to have a name...unless it is August...which it could be? idk) is in love, but realizes that James isn’t in love with her - “Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you”. The line “Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car" references the same incident which is retold in Betty, but this time with James telling Betty it was just a summer fling that didn’t mean anything.

9. This Is Me Trying

Here we have a break up song, about Taylor trying to win her lover back and feeling completely lost without them, unable to concentrate or be around people, and turning to self sabotage. It’s about the general loneliness that one feels when they’ve lost someone they truly love, and the miscommunication that can happen in a relationship when you’re not understanding each other or receiving love in the same way (hence the song’s title). I think this could be about Karlie, it seems clear that their relationship has not been smooth and that they have had many on-and-off times. It could also be serving a purpose of building the Joe break up narrative, but only time will tell for that.

10. “Illicit Affairs”

Taylor loves her secret love - this song reads like a sad version of “I Know Places”. It seems clear that this is about Karlie Kloss. “Tell your friends you're out for a run” is one of my favorite lines because Karlie started Klossy run club, where you commit to running a certain distance in a month - and she posts about it on instagram CONSTANTLY. But overall, the song details a relationship of a woman being with someone she doesn’t love (kushnerd) and sneaking around to meet up with the person she does love (tay!). The line “Tell yourself you can always stop” is so sad to me, the idea that Karlie got into this and keeps telling herself that it will only be a little longer and she can leave when she wants, but staying in her fake marriage anyway.

11. Invisible String

This is pretty much the only pure love song on the album - about feeling connected to someone throughout your whole life, knowing that that somebody is out there, and then finally finding them. Taylor talks about being in Centennial Park in Nashville as a teen, and then eventually showing her lover around. The song is really self referential, with lots of easter eggs for her past work, including Bad Blood and Delicate. She also references Joe Jonas with the line “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind For the boys who broke my heart Now I send their babies presents”.

Some people have pointed out that there is a similar idea presented in Jane Eyre - when the protagonist says to her love interest “I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you."

12."Mad Woman"

Another Scooter one - “It's obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together”. “The master of spin” is word play referencing the masters records scandal. “Watching you climb over people like me” points out that agents and labels are making money off the performers they find and pushing them around. There’s also a reference to Scooter’s wife Yael and how he cheats all the time, but she doesn’t do anything likely because of her own internalized misogyny - “has a couple side flings. Good wives always know. She should be mad, should be scathing like me”.

13. “Epiphany”

The first verse of this touching ballad is about Taylor’s grandfather in WW2, storming the beaches at Normandy - “Crawling up the beaches now "Sir, I think he's bleeding out"”. The second verse is about a nurse helping patients with Covid-19 - “Holds your hand through plastic now "Doc, I think she's crashing out"”. The bridge here talks about wishing there was some great epiphany, some magical solution for the suffering in the world. The chorus refers to experiencing trauma with others and staying loyal even in the hardest times, even if it means literally dying. Although this seems like a departure from the themes of rest of the album, the whole album examines loyalty and considering what you would do for the people you love - so I really don’t think it’s a departure at all.

14. “Betty”

Obviously this is the gayest song on the album and an early fan favorite. It is the final song in the teenage trio, told from the point of view of James, going to win Betty back after betraying her and sleeping with someone else (August!?) over the summer. The line "Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?”, a line that is very clearly about wanting to kiss a woman, is especially striking (& gay!) when sung by Taylor. The clearest version of this plot is someone begging for forgiveness after betraying the person they love.

There is also a bit of a nod to a line in “Picture to Burn”, a break up song off Taylor’s first album. In PTB Taylor says “So go and tell your friends that I'm obsessive and crazy that's fine, I’ll tell mine you’re gay”. This lyric has since been changed in versions available online, but on the original album that's what it was. This is interesting because she’s calling attention to knowing that someone is gay and hasn’t told their friends...which you would definitely know if you had dated them.

The names “James” and “Inez” are both mentioned in the song, which are the names of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynold’s daughters. James was already featured on a Taylor Swift album, as the lil baby voice at the beginning of “Gorgeous”. Worth noting that “James” is traditional a male name, but that this character is named after a female.

ALSO I have this theory I’m working on that Taylor is Betty and this whole album is in the same world with the same people, but WILL POST MORE ON THIS LATER.

15."Peace"

Ok - this is Archer 2.0 for me, about how she is worried about how no one will ever love her or stay with her because its too much work - “the rain is always gonna come if you're standin' with me” and “No, I could never give you peace” are pretty telling lines about her concerns that people will think it is not worth it to be friends with or in a relationship with her due to all of the baggage that comes with it.

The opening lines - “Our coming-of-age has come and gone Suddenly this summer, it's clear” feed into my emerging theory that all of these songs exist in the same universe and are about the same three characters...but I’m still figuring that one out. The line “And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences Sit with you in the trenches” reference Seven and Epiphany, respectively - further supporting that all of these songs are in the same world.

16. “Hoax”

Out of all of the songs that make my little Kaylor heart ache - this is the most heartbreaking. Specifically the line “My eclipsed sun” refers to Karlie, who Taylor has called “sunshine” on multiple occasions, and her light being covered up by her contract with Kushnerd and Scooter. The line “Don't want no other shade of blue But you” makes it clear that this song is in reference to the muse for the album “Lover” - aka Karlie.

However, this is a song about betrayal and completely trusting someone, only to find that they stabbed you in the back, as is clear by the line ”Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in”.

Additionally, the line“You knew it still hurts underneath my scars” seems to again feed into the idea that all of the songs on the album involve the same characters. This one is a bit more clear, it seems that - if this theory is correct - Betty is the narrator of this song, as she referenced her scars before “Drew stars around my scars” in Cardigan.

OK- I'm going to go deep into song by song later, but I just wanted to get something out there!!! Also def interested in hearing what everyone else thinks!

EDIT: I just found some lyrics from The Lakes in an article from Billboard. I wanted to add them in even though we don’t have the full song because I felt like we really ended on a sad note with hoax and then when I saw these I was like there is hope!!

SO the lyric Billboard included in their review was “A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground / With no one around to tweet it” which is a continuation from the line from “Hoax” - “ This has frozen my ground”. What I’m taking from this is that in the final song Taylor finds hope <3

#folklore #kaylor #Taylor swift #Karlie kloss #betty

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wavesofinkdrops · 3 years

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FenHawke (Dragon Age), Rated: M

"Elves’ ears are the target of much derision from people across Thedas − Fenris knows that. So it's surprising to him when Hawke, on the other hand, can only find delight in them."

A/N: Sorry for the extensive notes at the start, this does need to be said first! Okay so, number one: HELLO! It's been forever, I know, I haven't written fic in at least over a year, maybe more. So if you're still here, welcome back! If you're new to my works, I hope you enjoy any you find! Now for a first disclaimer: I have not played a single Dragon Age game. I hope there's no glaring mistakes in plot or characters because of this, though. Small (more serious) disclaimer on the actual content of this fic. I'm fully aware that much of the comments and discrimination faced by elves in DA is linked to what indigenous peoples face. I am not Native American, and I am not North American in general. I have read up on and stayed up-to-date on indigenous politics relevant to me as well as those of the States, but I can't guarantee my discussion of the themes involved is perfect. I'm not going into my personal identity, so please do not ask about that. If there is something I could have dealt with better or differently, please let me know! I'm happy to grow, but I will not take personal questions. I've tried to deal with the topic in a way that is respectful, with Fenris reclaiming features he's been shamed for his entire life. At the end of the day, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Warnings: Mentions racist comments, internalised racism, and some mildly suggestive content. Overall, though, this is fluff and learning self-acceptance. Without further ado, enjoy!

Fenris knows humans don’t like elves’ ears. They consider them strange. Unnatural. It’s likely why all of the insults and slurs aimed towards them usually have something to do with said ears. He’s heard all of them in all their forms, at this point, so they really don’t phase him—he’s learned to ignore them.

He’s learned to accept he will never be considered on the same level as humans because of such a small feature as his ears. He’s learned all of it over years of living in Tevinter as a slave, and even later as things he’s had to face across the rest of Thedas. Just because Tevinter is the only place where slavery is openly admitted and accepted hasn’t meant it’s much better elsewhere.

And Fenris thinks Hawke has noticed it. He wouldn’t necessarily call it embarrassment over them, they’re just perhaps not his favourite part of himself. They’re not what he wants others to notice first about him, but of course they do. But Hawke has noticed this resignation, this quiet shame.

Hawke’s persistence in ensuring Fenris knows just how much he loves his ears is thus entirely surprising.

That’s why he’s confused when they’re lying in bed and Hawke traces the pad of his thumb across the shell of Fenris’ ear. His movements are gentle, and when Fenris looks at him the only thing he can see is easiest described as love. There’s a small, thoughtful—almost lost—smile on Hawke’s face, his eyes as if admiring instead of disparaging or even curious. Fenris lets him.

That’s when another finger accidentally tickles behind his ear, and Fenris lets out a small noise. Hawke’s eyes widen.

“They do that?”

Fenris furrows his brows in confusion. “Do what?”

“Your ears just… flicked.”

Fenris blinks at him. “Yes, sometimes they do that.”

At that, Hawke’s face lights up with a wonderful smile. Fenris adores that smile—it’s one he sees whenever Hawke has found something entirely delightful. Usually, though Fenris would never admit he noticed it since the thought flusters him, it’s a smile always directed at Fenris.

“Can I do it again?” Hawke asks quietly, now propped up on an elbow, his hand cupping Fenris’ jaw.

Fenris can’t help it when some of his bafflement slips into his words. “Yes?”

It’s not long before Hawke’s fingers are behind his ear, and gently move against the skin. It lightly taps against a nerve, and Fenris’ ears flick again. “Maker…” Hawke whispers. Before Fenris can ask what Hawke means, Hawke’s gathered him into his arms again and pulled him against his chest. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get more perfect.”

Fenris doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just remains quiet. He’s too confused to even notice the blush that spread on his cheeks.

———

It’s another while before there’s another “incident” with his ears. Calling it an incident is perhaps a bit too ominous, but Fenris isn’t too sure what else to call it. So incident it remains.

He’s reading a book, trying to wade through every slow and difficult word, but refusing to back down until he’s finished the chapter. He’s reading out loud to Hawke, which despite the initial embarrassment of stumbling over every word, becomes easier with every step. Voicing the letters helps give them more life.

Hawke suddenly interrupts him. “Fenris.”

Fenris looks up in confusion, certain he’s made a mistake somewhere. Or perhaps Hawke is tired out for the evening. After all, he’s read this children’s story twice already, at least until they find another book for him to read through.

Hawke just smiles, that soft, unbearable smile, one Fenris doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with. “You’re beautiful when you concentrate.”

That takes Fenris by surprise. It seems only to delight Hawke further as he sits up, his smile brightening further.

“Pardon?”

“You’re stunning when you concentrate.” Hawke reaches over, taking a hand between his own. “The way your brow furrows, your nose lightly scrunches when you make a mistake, the determination in your gaze?” Fenris stays silent, not knowing what to say to that. “And even moreso when compliments take you by surprise. Your ears perk up, as if you just… want to pay attention to every second of every word you’re being told. And then they droop gently, when you’re blushing.”

“I hardly blush,” Fenris insists, though the certainty of the words falters even in his own ears.

Hawke kisses the inside of his wrist, a motion that Fenris will never tire of. “None of this is a bad thing. They’re all parts of you—things I love about you. All of them.”

Fenris gives a small huff, accompanies it with an unconvinced smile. “Even my ears?”

Hawke’s unabashed honesty makes the breath catch in his throat. “They’re one of the best parts of you.”

Fenris finds he has no words, after that.

———

They’re in bed again, Hawke presses him deeper into the mattress. The dinner they shared with the others got languid, so they excused themselves and instead headed to a more secluded location to continue the game that had been going on between Hawke’s hand and Fenris’ thigh under the table for the better part of an hour. So now, Hawke’s mouth leaves his own, peppering kisses across his jaw, his cheek and—

Fenris moans, louder than he expects—louder than he’s ever heard himself moan. His hand comes to cover his mouth, his cheeks warm from surprise and arousal. Hawke draws back, a wolfish grin on his face. With any more clarity of mind, Fenris might’ve thought it ironic that it’s Hawke who plays the wolf.

“I’m sorry, you caught me by surprise—” Fenris starts, hand moving from his mouth to cup Hawke’s jaw in an apologetic motion.

Hawke shakes his head. “I don’t want you to apologise, Fenris.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’ve never seen you just… let go like that. If you enjoy yourself, why not let yourself do that?”

Fenris thinks about it for a second, but can’t come up with a reasoning. “Neighbours?” was the half-hearted attempt he gave it.

Hawke laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “Be as loud as you’d like, Fenris, that’s what we’re here for.”

Hawke moves back in, slowly but gently teasing the shell of Fenris’ ear with kisses, before actually lightly nipping at it. Fenris lets a whimper escape at that, the motion making him incredibly aroused. Hawke continues, drawing out various noises as he teases and kisses and bites at his ear, his neck, his jaw. It goes on forever, and Fenris is almost begging him by the time they get to the main act.

Well, maybe he can yet be convinced his ears aren’t awful.

———

He’s tempted to go about it with a fork and a wall. Somewhere, sometime he’d heard that’s an effective enough method to pierce another’s ear. On the other hand, Anders informs him it’s inadvisable, which normally would only have encouraged him. But when Anders describes the potential failures of the plan he takes his suggestion to do it the proper way.

So instead he finds himself sitting on a kitchen stool, Anders passing a needle through a sterilising flame. He’s never been a fan of needles, and it probably has something to do with the ritual that branded him with lyrium, despite his few memories of the event. Anders tells him to lean his head, and Fenris does. With no warning, the needle pierces through the lobe, and Fenris hisses—though he admits that Anders’ lack of warning means it’s over before it really even began. Isabela walks in, a pouch in hand.

“Found some jewellery for the pretty elf,” she announces with a grin, dropping the pouch on the table. “All of them polished and primped and cleaned, don’t worry,” she assures Anders at his look of concern.

“Well, that’s good. Could you pass me a suitable earring, then?” She does, and Anders finishes sanitising the piercing before inserting it.

Anders steps back. “It doesn’t look half-bad, I’ll admit.”

Fenris resists the urge to make a snide remark at Anders, remembering he’s still helping him. He stands, and goes to the small mirror they brought over for him to check his appearance in. The small gold ring in his ear looks… really good, even if he admits so himself. It almost feels… well, like he’s taking back something he’s been taught to dislike.

And hoping that Hawke will appreciate it too makes it all the better.

He turns to Anders again. “Next one.”

Anders raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “We already did one, is that not enough for the day?”

Fenris returns to the stool, shaking his head. “I wanted two or three, in total, so hopefully I can count on you to finish the job. That way I don’t have to ask Isabela to pick up a fork and stab my ear with it. I heard it works—”

“Alright, alright, I do not want to hear Hawke’s rage if he finds out I let you do that. I’ll do two more, then. And we hope they don’t all get infected at the same time.”

“The only reason I’m even here, mage, is because the only thing I just about trust you for is being good with medicine.”

It’s Anders who rolls his eyes, Isabela eyeing the banter in amusement. Anders continues with the process, each time cleaning and sterilising and Fenris hissing with lack of preparedness. In the end, there’s a golden ring at his lobe and one near the tip of his ear, next to a small glittering stone. A chain links from the stone to the lower ring, and altogether, for the first time in his life he finds himself liking how his ear looks.

He can’t wait for Hawke to return.

———

It’s perhaps another two weeks before Hawke returns, and the piercings have begun healing well already. Anders, for all his faults, was a decent healer.

Fenris is there to greet Hawke when he comes back from one mission or another, but he’s taken out the earrings for now. Instead, Hawke kisses him and Fenris welcomes him back, before quietly telling him to prepare for a surprise that evening.

Hawke’s intrigue is obvious on his face, and Fenris just leaves it at that before heading to his own tasks and business. Before long, dusk washes over, and he heads to their bedroom to find where he put the jewellery. It’s only been a few hours since he took them out, but Anders had warned him not to keep them out too long for fear of the holes closing. He puts them back in, before sitting into the armchair in front of the large window, facing away such that when Hawke enters he won’t immediately see the ear in question.

Fenris hears the door to their room open, Hawke humming some tune as he walks in. There’s very little the man does quietly, though Fenris appreciates that—it’s difficult to spook someone when you can be heard coming from a mile away. He’s grateful for it, whether it’s a habit or he’s just picked up on doing it from noticing Fenris prefers it.

Hawke walks over to Fenris, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“So, what’s this mysterious surprise of yours?”

Fenris grins to himself, before standing and facing Hawke as he draws him into a gentle kiss. Then he smiles up at the mage, before drawing slightly back from his face, tilting his head just so that Hawke would immediately notice.

Hawke’s eyes drift to the golden ornaments, before widening and his hand coming up to feel the rings and chain there.

“You did this while I was away?”

Fenris hums. “I wanted to surprise you. You like them so much it’s almost contagious, and I wanted to do something to make them… look nice. Plus,” his grin turns mischievous, “I hear they can also assist other ways.”

Hawke laughs. “You… you are amazing and full of surprises, aren’t you?” He observes the jewellery some more, fingers flicking the chain and Fenris’ ear flicking in return.

“They’re still somewhat sensitive, so gentleness is advisable, but soon enough they’ll be fully healed.”

Hawke merely shakes his head, smiling broadly, drawing Fenris into a kiss. “I didn’t know you could get even more beautiful,” he whispers, tugging Fenris even closer than he already is. “And here you are, doing exactly that.”

“I’m glad you like them, then,” Fenris says softly, hands tracing Hawke’s shirt.

“And I’m glad you do, as well. I want to cherish every part of you until you come to love all of them.”

Fenris shakes his head but can’t help the way warmth spreads in his heart at those words. Perhaps Hawke knows already just how much it means to him. And if his intentions are any indication, perhaps he knows even better than Fenris did.

#fenhawke #fenris #hawke #dragon age #fanfic #my writing #character study #mentions of internalised and externalised racism #suggestive themes

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tarhalindur · 3 years

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Higurashi Gou final thoughts pt. 1

(Spoilers go under a cut:)

Taking this by arc:

Onidamashi-hen: The best executed first cour arc by a significant margin. Probably not coincidentally, it stays the closest to the structure of the OG arc and thus keeps more of OG’s tension ratchet than the other Gou arcs. I have two main issues, and I’m pretty sure both of them can be firmly pinned on the anime staff rather than Ryukishi07 himself. First, it pulls its punch on the stealth sequel aspect. I’m not entirely sure that going for a stealth sequel was the correct decision (it’s a cost/benefit tradeoff), but if you do you’re going for the wham of the sequel reveal, and the anime undercut this by putting the Rika/Hanyuu scene at the start of episode 2 rather than the end of the arc. Second, it overdoes the final Rena fight, making it so over-the-top that it’s difficult to take seriously. Neither of these issues exist in the manga (which has a believable amount of stabbing and has the Hanyuu scene at the end of the arc where it should be), and in the former case we also have a Ryukishi07 interview indicating that this was a change requested by the anime staff, so this goes on them. (Interestingly, by way of contrast I think this approach might actually work well for the Mieruko-chan adaptation that Passione has coming out later this year.)

Watadamashi-hen: The core issue here (above and beyond fridge logic after Satokowaski-hen) is the finale, which landed like a wet fart. It both escalates from zero to 100 *way* too fast and has the worst case of “tell don’t show” in the neo-question arcs - we learn about every single dead body in the arc from Ooishi’s end-of-arc narration. That’s relatively defensible for three of those bodies, which we only learn about secondhand even in OG Watanagashi-hen (though IIRC in OG two of those bodies have foreshadowing from rumors earlier in the arc, and unless I’m forgetting something that’s absent here), but all five? Yes, keeping Keiichi locked away from the final showdown removes fridge logic issues, but you have prominent security cameras - you can at least have him see the aftermath of the showdown on the screens (and freak out because of it). Adding insult to injury, the Keiichi vs. door scenes are also so over-the-top as to damage willing suspension of disbelief. The 0-to-100 issue is harder to fix, because the one thing Watadamashi did right was put the Rika-loses-it scene as an end-of-episode cliffhanger, and “Keiichi et. al. are about to enter the Saiguden” probably wanted an end-of-episode cliffhanger as well for discussion purposes (it might have been able to get away with using the commercial break). The simplest fix is the same one @tsuisou-no-despair floated: cannibalize an episode off of another first cour arc.

Tataridamashi-hen: Amusingly, I think Gou has retained OG’s tradition of having the Tatari- question arc being the weakest question arc. As I see it there are two interlocking core issues here which boil down to the same issue. Tataridamashi-hen goes for a very unconventional method of building tension: it doesn’t, instead relying on the viewer’s realization that something bad has to be coming to do so for it (the old “that can’t be right, we’ve still got twenty minutes left in the episode” reaction I more commonly associate with things like police procedurals). The problem is that this runs into the Endless Eight lesson: even flawless metatext should not be used at the expense of enjoyability of the actual text. And while the arc got some leverage out of “when exactly is this going to diverge?”, there’s a point much like Endless Eight itself when you realize where it’s going to diverge (i.e, not until the end) and that until then you’re sitting through the same events you remember from OG. It works about as well as it did for Haruhi. (Unless you’re a new viewer, but in that case staying too close to Minagoroshi-hen has other issues.) Worse, unlike Minagoroshi-hen itself (which did something similar to build tension but a) non-source readers hadn’t seen it before so it wasn’t foregone the same way and b) you had several more episodes after the subarc for the main event) the arc ends almost immediately after this. (The simplest fix here might have been cutting down on the arc time by speedrunning Minagoroshi events, reducing the amount of time you’d have to wait. You could even have a couple of obstacles collapse faster than expected; this late in the first cour it would serve as foreshadowing for Satokowashi-hen, and would also deal with unfortunate implications concerning the village’s prejudice considering that the staff knew Satoko was going to be the culprit. Trimming an episode would also neatly solve the issue of where to get an additional episode for Watadamashi-hen from!) The good news is that the final confrontation is the best of the first cour arcs (it’s somewhat more realistic than the other two, actually not that far behind some of the more memetastic OG moments except for Teppei’s eyes, and not showing Ooishi’s rampage is forgivable given that they knew they would be actually showing it in Nekodamashi-hen), but that’s damning with faint praise.

Nekodamashi-hen: The best Gou arc. The episode 15 jump cut is the stuff of legends and the best scene in the show by a sizable margin (the one thing the director does well is black humor, it seems), while the rest of the arc isn’t as good, it’s far shorter on demerits than the rest of the show. The one really, really obvious demerit is that they really didn’t need to spend half an episode on the intestines-ripping scene (if Ryukishi07′s comments are to be believed, once again we’re pinning this on Passione), but effects on my stomach aside there are worse issues to have.

Satokowashi-hen: And here we have the other side of the coin; this is the worst Gou arc, and it’s the one spot where I’m pretty sure Ryukishi07 himself gets some of the blame. There’s a few issues here. First, the single most obvious dangling plot thread from Matsuribayashi-hen (Satoshi’s fate) is effectively dropped despite being directly relevant to the other dangling thread that was picked up (how Rika treats Satoko and vice versa); this includes missing an opportunity to show Satoko’s character arc through different responses to learning about Satoshi’s condition. Secondly and compounding, Shion is also dropped along with the Satoshi thread; AIUI this is kind of understandable given final Satoko/Shion interaction in the Matsuribayashi-hen VN (which IIRC never made it into the anime), but dropping her without explanation still leaves something that looks awfully like a plot hole since a single conversation with Shion is potentially enough to stop the events of this arc from ever happening. (”Character X had information that would have stopped the tragedy but never had an opportunity to tell anyone” is a classic tragedy trope, but you should really have a *reason* for that character never having the opportunity as opposed to just having them vanish without explanation.) Finally, there’s just the general issue that while the ending points for both Rika and Satoko are reasonable the path they take to get there just doesn’t quite add up. I can kind of get there via a combination of “blame the director” (the loops montage could and should have easily shown Satoko’s deteriorating mental condition as she watched - using interlaced cuts to her face with changes in facial expression is a classic method) and mind caulk (Rika was exaggerating for effect when she described her desire to go to St. Lucia’s as a long-time thing and it only really kicked in after Matsuribayashi-hen, Satoko originally only planned to suicide in Matsuribayashi-2 and only took Rika out with her as a crime of passion after feeling betrayed, hence the next few loops lacking her murdering Rika) but being mind-caulkable is not the same as actual good execution.

I mean, I’ve banged on this drum before, but... the basic concept works. Really well. Satoko’s abandonment issues and Rika’s treatment of Satoko are two of the major dangling plot threads from OG Higurashi (*eyes both Minagoroshi-hen and anime-only Yakusamashi-hen*). It makes perfectly good sense that the latter comes back to bite Rika, especially in a sequel literally titled “karma”. I already suspected Satoko was on the autism spectrum based on OG, her being ADHD in addition to or instead of that makes perfectly good sense given those conditions often overlap. Rika’s desire to escape the well morphing into a desire to escape Hinamizawa entirely? Sure, just present it as that. Satoko steadily losing her support network as her friends are torn away from her by changing life circumstances, then going to a boarding school that she hates, that strips the rest of her support structure for her and starts to take even her one remaining friend (her childhood friend, no less - and one that Satoko is at this point attracted to romantically in true osananajimi fashion) away from her, and then starting to snap with some prodding from a certain witch? That’s a compelling story idea! But as present it just doesn’t quite work, and that’s on the execution.

(Side note: I wonder if some of what went wrong with Gou was just the kind of production issues endemic to modern anime, amplified by the pandemic. I remember at least one comment/blog post somewhere in the wake of WEP’s issues noting some of the effects that production issues can have on an anime, and one of the things they noted was excessive slavishness to the source material as a time-saving measure; that sounds awfully similar to some of Ryukishi07′s comments about how he didn’t expect Passione to take his script quite so literally, and to my admittedly untrained eye it sure looked like there were a bunch more other animation studios than usual mentioned in Gou’s credits...)

Final score: depends on your exact rating system, but given the range I’m looking at I can’t see how I can give it any score other than 3.4/5 for obvious reasons. (Pending Sotsu, anyways. It’s possible that Sotsu will resolve some of these issues - in particular, Ryukishi07 always has struck me as the kind of author who would get a kick into baiting us into falling for the same twist twice; it’s not impossible that the apparent lack of unreliable narrators so far is a double bluff, and that could affect the “question arc” scores in particular. More on this in a forthcoming solution space post.)

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clansayeed · 3 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby, @tayab12, @saratustra4, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists, @thepotatobleh

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

#bloodbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #serafine dupont #vlad tepes #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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