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headspace-hotel · 9 months

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There, in the sunlit forest on a high ridgeline, was a tree I had never seen before.

I spend a lot of time looking at trees. I know my beech, sourwood, tulip poplar, sassafras and shagbark hickory. Appalachian forests have such a diverse tree community that for those who grew up in or around the ancient mountains, forests in other places feel curiously simple and flat.

Oaks: red, white, black, bur, scarlet, post, overcup, pin, chestnut, willow, chinkapin, and likely a few others I forgot. Shellbark, shagbark and pignut hickories. Sweetgum, serviceberry, hackberry, sycamore, holly, black walnut, white walnut, persimmon, Eastern redcedar, sugar maple, red maple, silver maple, striped maple, boxelder maple, black locust, stewartia, silverbell, Kentucky yellowwood, blackgum, black cherry, cucumber magnolia, umbrella magnolia, big-leaf magnolia, white pine, scrub pine, Eastern hemlock, redbud, flowering dogwood, yellow buckeye, white ash, witch hazel, pawpaw, linden, hornbeam, and I could continue, but y'all would never get free!

And yet, this tree is different.

We gather around the tree as though surrounding the feet of a prophet. Among the couple dozen of us, only a few are much younger than forty. Even one of the younger men, who smiles approvingly and compliments my sharp eye when I identify herbs along the trail, has gray streaking his beard. One older gentleman scales the steep ridge slowly, relying on a cane for support.

The older folks talk to us young folks with enthusiasm. They brighten when we can call plants and trees by name and list their virtues and importance. "You're right! That's Smilax." "Good eye!" "Do you know what this is?—Yes, Eupatorium, that's a pollinator's paradise." "Are you planning to study botany?"

The tree we have come to see is not like the tall and pillar-like oaks that surround us. It is still young, barely the diameter of a fence post. Its bark is gray and forms broad stripes like rivulets of water down smooth rock. Its smooth leaves are long, with thin pointed teeth along their edges. Some of the group carefully examine the bark down to the ground, but the tree is healthy and flourishing, for now.

This tree is among the last of its kind.

The wood of the American Chestnut was once used to craft both cradles and coffins, and thus it was known as the "cradle-to-grave tree." The tree that would hold you in entering this world and in leaving it would also sustain your body throughout your life: each tree produced a hundred pounds of edible nuts every winter, feeding humans and all the other creatures of the mountains. In the Appalachian Mountains, massive chestnut trees formed a third of the overstory of the forest, sometimes growing larger than six feet in diameter.

They are a keystone species, and this is my first time seeing one alive in the wild.

It's a sad story. But I have to tell you so you will understand.

At the turn of the 20th century, the chestnut trees of Appalachia were fundamental to life in this ecosystem, but something sinister had taken hold, accidentally imported from Asia. Cryphonectria parasitica is a pathogenic fungus that infects chestnut trees. It co-evolved with the Chinese chestnut, and therefore the Chinese chestnut is not bothered much by the fungus.

The American chestnut, unlike its Chinese sister, had no resistance whatsoever.

They showed us slides with photos of trees infected with the chestnut blight earlier. It looks like sickly orange insulation foam oozing through the bark of the trees. It looks like that orange powder that comes in boxes of Kraft mac and cheese. It looks wrong. It means death.

The chestnut plague was one of the worst ecological disasters ever to occur in this place—which is saying something. And almost no one is alive who remembers it. By the end of the 1940's, by the time my grandparents were born, approximately three to four billion American chestnut trees were dead.

The Queen of the Forest was functionally extinct. With her, at least seven moth species dependent on her as a host plant were lost forever, and no one knows how much else. She is a keystone species, and when the keystone that holds a structure in place is removed, everything falls.

Appalachia is still falling.

Now, in some places, mostly-dead trees tried to put up new sprouts. It was only a matter of time for those lingering sprouts of life.

But life, however weak, means hope.

I learned that once in a rare while, one of the surviving sprouts got lucky enough to successfully flower and produce a chestnut. And from that seed, a new tree could be grown. People searched for the still-living sprouts and gathered what few chestnuts could be produced, and began growing and breeding the trees.

Some people tried hybridizing American and Chinese chestnuts and then crossing the hybrids to produce purer American strains that might have some resistance to the disease. They did this for decades.

And yet, it wasn't enough. The hybrid trees were stronger, but not strong enough.

Extinction is inevitable. It's natural. There have been at least five mass extinctions in Earth's history, and the sixth is coming fast. Many people accepted that the American chestnut was gone forever. There had been an intensive breeding program, summoning all the natural forces of evolution to produce a tree that could survive the plague, and it wasn't enough.

This has happened to more species than can possibly be counted or mourned. And every species is forced to accept this reality.

Except one.

We are a difficult motherfucker of a species, aren't we? If every letter of the genome's book of life spelled doom for the Queen of the Forest, then we would write a new ending ourselves. Research teams worked to extract a gene from wheat and implant it in the American chestnut, in hopes of creating an American chestnut tree that could survive.

This project led to the Darling 58, the world's first genetically modified organism to be created for the purpose of release into the wild.

The Darling 58 chestnut is not immune, the presenters warned us. It does become infected with the blight. And some trees die. But some live.

And life means hope.

In isolated areas, some surviving American Chestnut trees have been discovered, most of them still very young. The researchers hope it is possible that some of these trees may have been spared not because of pure luck, but because they carry something in their genes that slows the blight in doing its deadly work, and that possibly this small bit of innate resistance can be shaped and combined with other efforts to create a tree that can live to grow old.

This long, desperate, multi-decade quest is what has brought us here. The tree before me is one such tree: a rare survivor. In this clearing, a number of other baby chestnut trees have been planted by human hands. They are hybrids of the Darling 58 and the best of the best Chinese/American hybrids. The little trees are as prepared for the blight as we can possibly make them at this time. It is still very possible that I will watch them die. Almost certainly, I will watch this tree die, the one that shades us with her young, stately limbs.

Some of the people standing around me are in their 70's or 80's, and yet, they have no memory of a world where the Queen of the Forest was at her full majesty. The oldest remember the haunting shapes of the colossal dead trees looming as if in silent judgment.

I am shaken by this realization. They will not live to see the baby trees grow old. The people who began the effort to save the American chestnut devoted decades of their lives to these little trees, knowing all the while they likely never would see them grow tall. Knowing they would not see the work finished. Knowing they wouldn't be able to be there to finish it. Knowing they wouldn't be certain if it could be finished.

When the work began, the technology to complete it did not exist. In the first decades after the great old trees were dead, genetic engineering was a fantasy.

But those that came before me had to imagine that there was some hope of a future. Hope set the foundation. Now that little spark of hope is a fragile flame, and the torch is being passed to the next generation.

When a keystone is removed, everything suffers. What happens when a keystone is put back into place? The caretakers of the American chestnut hope that when the Queen is restored, all of Appalachia will become more resilient and able to adapt to climate change.

Not only that, but this experiment in changing the course of evolution is teaching us lessons and skills that may be able to help us save other species.

It's just one tree—but it's never just one tree. It's a bear successfully raising cubs, chestnut bread being served at a Cherokee festival, carbon being removed from the atmosphere and returned to the Earth, a wealth of nectar being produced for pollinators, scientific insights into how to save a species from a deadly pathogen, a baby cradle being shaped in the skilled hands of an Appalachian crafter. It's everything.

Despair is individual; hope is an ecosystem. Despair is a wall that shuts out everything; hope is seeing through a crack in that wall and catching a glimpse of a single tree, and devoting your life to chiseling through the wall towards that tree, even if you know you will never reach it yourself.

An old man points to a shaft of light through the darkness we are both in, toward a crack in the wall. "Do you see it too?" he says. I look, and on the other side I see a young forest full of sunlight, with limber, pole-size chestnut trees growing toward the canopy among the old oaks and hickories. The chestnut trees are in bloom with fuzzy spikes of creamy white, and bumblebees heavy with pollen move among them. I tell the man what I see, and he smiles.

"When I was your age, that crack was so narrow, all I could see was a single little sapling on the forest floor," he says. "I've been chipping away at it all my life. Maybe your generation will be the one to finally reach the other side."

Hope is a great work that takes a lifetime. It is the hardest thing we are asked to do, and the most essential.

I am trying to show you a glimpse of the other side. Do you see it too?

#american chestnut #hope #climate change #biodiversity crisis #climate crisis #trees #plantarchy #learning to imagine the future

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saintsenara · 1 month

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Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?” He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!” He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.” Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ” Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?” riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #if wizards had the concept of safeguarding it would be a game changer...

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tarjapearce · 7 months

Text

Chapter 2: So Not Ready For This World

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of abortion, emotional distress, unwanted pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, little character background, morally ambiguous characters, enemies to lovers, morally grey characters, slow burn, No proofread.

Summary: The devastating consequences knock on your door.

Previous Masterlist

Chapter's Song:

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A/N: Ngl, proud of this one :'). Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨

Sleep was rather easy to escape your head as time went on. Guiltiness had made your eyes tired, dull and the eyebags a bit more prominent. It had earned you a little reprimand from your upper boss, a reminder that appearances were important and you were slacking.

But how could you focus on something so trivial and mundane when your mind was always gravitating towards Miguel and Dana? Ever since the biting truth unfolded before your eyes those days ago, your head was unable to unwrap around it.

Was this a barbed joke from the universe you weren't aware of?

A tired sigh escaped your lips, hands rubbing a bit too tightly on your enfeebled face. As if such thing would wash away the guilty and hounding thoughts for good.

Miguel O'Hara. He worked in the labs, another reason why you had never seen him before, lab people came out an hour earlier, but he either stayed behind or was too sneaky for you to actually get a glimpse of him.

But after the predicament, he had been leaving at five exactly, hand in hand with Dana, parading themselves before everyone. You specially. A daily caveat to keep you pretty mouth shut. He didn't approach you, no. But you felt watched, stalked with the eyes, a bit harassed even whenever the clock ticked 5 pm.

Dana worked in the new market agro department, she came out at five, and by the hour difference you assumed Miguel waited for her.

How cute.

Your lip twitched in a scowl. Anger rising like bile at the impotence and powerless feeling of doing nothing. Dana deserved the truth, even though you'd come out as the sacrificial lamb in the end. You might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but none deserved to be kept in the shadows like that.

You didn't know if they had troubles, but cheating was surely off the book for her or any normal person really. No engaged woman should go through that.

But those eyes. Sinister, warning, preying with an ominous promise in them prevented you from spilling the truth.

Miguel didn't have to approach you to make his point known and understood. But it left you with a myriad of emotions you were tired of feeling. From time to time you wished to be as cold and hollow-hearted as he was, so you could pretend that nothing had happened. Because for him it was exactly what had occurred. Nothing at all.

He was fine, Dana was fine and you-

Not fine at all but he didn't care. Why would he? Miguel took what he wanted from you, dragging you to this fucked up spiral of power dynamic where he had the upper hand and you could do nothing but fold and obey to a very clear yet silent order.

It wouldn't make the guilt and disgust go away, but you're certain that at how things are going for you, you'd get in trouble for slacking in cues that were required in your work contract.

Another guest approached. It was time to put the resolution to test.

The feeling of being stalked stopped after a couple of weeks, it didn't wane the guilt but you were learning how to live with it. A cruel joke you had no choice but swot on how to take it with a grain of salt to avoid fucking up ever again. One night stands were out of your list permanently.

In the few times you could catch him leaving the building he seemed at ease, sometimes he'd smile while looking at the wedding magazine Dana held in her dainty and manicured hands. She also appeared to be happy. Pretense maybe? You didn't know. For how long had they been together?

Long enough to get a ring on her finger, obviously.

With an exasperated groan you marched to your lunch break. The cafeteria's food seemed good and cheap enough to order the usual. Bit of mashed potatos, salad, and some other protein with either an iced tea or water, depending on your mood. You went for the tea.

A few bucks were used to eat, you sat in one of the available tables and ate. People in Alchemax were either too busy with themselves to actually care about the drama, or were exactly the opposite. Not that you blamed them. Science stuff surely provided them enough entertainment to go by, but you'd be tired too if your whole day revolved around numbers and hypothesis awaiting to be confirmed.

How did they do it was beyond your reasoning. Eyes scanned the area, the same group of men that approached you back at the party, passed over your seat without looking your way. As expected.

The fact that people had selective memory was something that filled your brain with wonder. Your musings however were interrupted by a gurgle in your stomach, appetite leaving you completely. Thankfully there wasn't much to be wasted. Had someone changed the ingredients? Not really.

Everything tasted like the usual. You downed the tea before disposing of the remains in a trash bin to then walk around the building, greeting some staff in the way. There wasn't many people you interacted with, perhaps your evening replacement. An intern called Anna and that still remained on debate cause of her constant mood swings towards you.

But within Alchemax in general, there was none really you wanted to engage with. Life happening too fast in their daily basis. Your thoughts were stopped in their racing tracks when you saw Miguel approaching. Two coffee papercups in his big hands.

Gulping, you didn't think twice in turning around where you had came from before he saw you, even if it meant to cross the whole building again to get to your work station.

Heartbeat raced miles per second, but you had avoided another unnecessary interaction with him. A relieved sigh escaped your lips once you were in your seat at the front desk. The day was nearly reaching it's end.

Something you now looked forward to. You'd be back holed up in your apartment, in the comfort of your privacy, away from worries. Watching either a movie or sleeping. Fatigue seemed a too heavy load to ignore, you blamed it to the stress and lack of sleep. A negative domino effect that had been unleashed thanks to a guy that didn't know how to keep it in his pants.

Your panties were slid down as you sat on the toilet, a frown on your face. Nothing but tiny spots of maroon. Your period was acting up again, but you couldn't really blame your body for slacking when the past month and a half had been awfully loaded with work.

New clients, a shit ton of appointments to schedule, reschedule and cancel; mail to organize, and food that you were sure it had given you a fair share of poison since you always seemed to be sick. And even though you had stopped consuming from the cafeteria, there was little changes.

The cherry on top was to get a memo after your manager had found you sleeping on the desk. Tiredness that day clung to you with such force you were amazed at your own capacity to make it through your eight hours. Only to crash on your bed once you were home.

But today, neither your mood, the universe, nor your body cooperated. You took a shower and put a little pad on your fresh set of panties. The diva cup would be unnecessary to wear since the discharge wasn't abundant, but packed a couple of tampons just in case. Expensive as they were, you couldn't go unprepared.

You changed, grabbed your things and went out the door, everything but ready to face the day that awaited you.

A wave of nausea hit you after you scarfed down a stuffed bagel on your way to work, you got there twenty minutes late due to your ride stuck in traffic, your car had been in repair for weeks now. Manager already awaiting with a sour face. Guests had lined up in the entrance, ready to express their contempt with you.

Fucking peachy.

Morning went in a haste, and you barely could catch a break, the need of peeing mixed with the thirst, and your boss reprimanding you didn't make it any better. Your body was juggling with so many things at once, that all you wanted to do was curl up in a bathroom stall and cry. It was overwhelming and you were sure the cortisol levels were shooting heavenwards.

Appetite came and go, and when your lunch break came you had settled for the idea of some soup, but the second you stepped a foot closer to the cafeteria, the many smells oppressed your senses, overriding your brain with so much information it had you folding and puking into the nearest trash bin.

Your skin turned sweaty, devoid of a healthy color for a moment, some other workers looked at you with a mild disgust on their faces, one woman offered you a napkin, a man suggested you to sit down while giving you a bit of water from a nearby oasis. Both from the research department.

"You got sick from the food too, huh?" You nodded while chugging down the little bottle's content.

"We're gathering some signatures to open an investigation. Would be like ten of us now that get food poisoning."

The woman chattered but her voice was distant, despite her being next to you. An acute whistle rang in your ears, unable to hear her as her voice kept fading until it was nothing but a muffled echo in an open space, your eyesight blurred to finally shut off.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

----

The dim lights of the room and the careful shuffling movements behind the dull, plastic gray curtain lulled you back to reality.

An icepack was put on your head, with a little groan and queasiness subsiding, you sat on the stretcher. Your movements alerted the doctor in turn.

"Welcome back. How you feel?"

A question laced with a little of concern in her gentle voice.

Your head rested on the wall for a second before panic rose again.

"Shit... I... I gotta go." Your eyes rubbed the drowsiness away in a haste as you spoke, trying to get off the bed.

"No, no. Don't worry, your manager is already aware of this. You're fine."

A nurse came in and took your vitals and other info like your blood pressure and weight. How come you had gained a couple of pounds when you had been in a constant food poisoning?

Ugh.

"Everything seems normal enough, have you been experiencing fevers? rashes or any other sort of discomfort?"

"None of that. Just puking and fatigue. A lot of it." The doctor nodded as the nurse prepared a kit for you, it alarmed you greatly she included a pregnancy test.

Horrified eyes immediately widened at the package.

"W-Why... Is there a pregnancy test?"

"We're discarding any other options. And in case it comes out positive, remember that maternity leave is one of your rights as a worker here in Alchemax."

She spoke so unbothered unaware of the unnerving thoughts that ran loose in your mind.

Maternity leave?

"Just talk to your manager to meet an arrangement."

You nodded stupidly. Too stunned to actually pry further. You were dispatched a few minutes later, instructions of going home loud and clear. Not a minute more was wasted before you packed up your things and went out the building almost running home.

It couldn't be. You couldn't be.

All those plaguing thoughts you had once held at bay, were making a triumphant and assailant comeback in your head. What if you were pregnant?

No. No. No.

Denial was one hell of a drug, and right now you were the worst junkie hooked on it, ready to lash out with teeth and claws to whoever bold enough to take it away. You saw Miguel putting a condom on. He didn't strike you as someone that would raw fuck strangers for shits and giggles. Much less get them pregnant.

I'm not pregnant.

It was repeated in your mind like a mantra in an infinite loop. You had stopped in a drugstore to get a pair of other pregnancy test brands, just in case the ongoing madness was just a big jumpscare, to teach you a lesson to keep the horniness with strangers at bay.

For once, traffic was lenient on you and you got your place within less than twenty minutes. Never in your life had you been more at ease to be home. A shaky breath flew between nervous pants.

You tossed the medical kit on the table, rummaging through the diverse array of pills and vitamins the nurse packed you in, to get towards your objective. The neatly purple packaged pregnancy test, along the other ones.

The lock in the bathroom was turned as you got in, shielding your possible biggest fuck up from prying eyes and silent judgement aimed your way. You prepared their tip and one by one were soaked and put over the sink as your hands were washed.

The most torturous and heinous task laid ahead. Waiting, something you clearly hadn't the patience for right now. Not when the nauseas had returned, not when everything around you seemed to be crumbling bit by bit, shaking your sanity foundations to their very core.

Motherhood wasn't in your short, mid or long term goals, it wasn't something you often thought about cause in truth, you were sure you'd never be a good mother. The lack of one and foster home surfing made sure to blur the concept too much to be recognizable anymore.

There were days where you barely could put up against yourself, and having a baby would not only be detrimental for your mental health, but it would ruin you financially. Unless you'd get a raise or a better job.

A baby would change for good years of devoted planning towards a better position in life, work included. You were to participate in the administration programs within Alchemax next month, to get out of the receptionist label, aiming for a more career oriented position.

And maybe just maybe, your college degree wouldn't be mere words backed up by a fancy carton, hung up in your living room's wall, but prove to be something useful for once.

You were set to make that neck deep debt worth it.

Head rested against the coolness of the crips white tiles, banging softly against the wall as if shaking the over thinking would make the worry dissipate. Lips dry and quivering pursed as your eyes bore into the plastic material that had ruined and rekindled several relationships a year.

And now that you had unknowingly taken a ticket of 'With what am I gonna ruin my life this time?' and your turn was on the hypothetical screen, shining with blinding colors, you had to draw out the dreading prize life was about to grant you.

You stood again and collected the tests after what it felt like forever. Sweat clung to you like a second skin, bile and sourness bloomed in your tongue after rising in the back of your throat. Shaky hands brought the little device to your focus, and for a second you forgot how to breath and think. Two parallel lines on each of them, glaring mockingly at you.

Positive

"No!" You moaned over and over while tears blurred your vision. Breath hitched only to be released in a heartbreaking and distressed wail as you threw the pregnancy test against the wall, holding yourself in a shaky and rickety embrace, trying with all your might to keep yourself together.

You were pregnant.

"Oh God, no" Your hands grope at your hair with strength. Riping it out would surely be less painful than trying to assimilate this new inflection point that just showed unannounced in your doorstep in the shape of a baby. You didn't want it.

You didn't want to be a mom. It wasn't your dream. You had prioritized so many things already to have a baby to tumble all what you had worked so far and hard, down and away from your hands. It wasn't fair.

Yet there you were, bawling and drowning in fear, curled and hunched in between the floor and the wall's tiles, hopes and dreams crushed in tiny shards impossible to glue back together right before your eyes. Just like your heart and brains, trying to not choke with your erratic cries and breathings.

You didn't want a child.

How could this have happened? You had seen Miguel roll the condom on. What if it was defective? Had it broke and you didn't notice? Was he even paying attention to it? Of course not. Neither of you were and now the consequences were here, undisputed and irrevocably present in the three positive pregnancy tests.

You didn't want a child and much less one conceived from such a gruesome lie.

Another doleful stab and a new wave of tears soaked your already drenched and flushed cheeks upon remembering Miguel.

He was engaged with a beautiful woman. A woman that was looking for wedding venues to fulfill her dream of getting married to the alleged love of her life.

How would she react if she knew her future husband had not only cheated on her, but also had gotten you knocked up? You didn't even want to think about it.

Because there was none else in the picture, not before or even after the one night stand. Miguel had been the only one you have had sex in a long time.

You didn't know what hurt and angered the most. Knowing you were pregnant, telling him even knowing the implications of such thing, or having to give up on your dreams before they even took off.

Your breath turned into panicky and antsy pants, body trembling and unable to get a grip on your faculties as angry and mourning tears rolled unceasingly.

All of them soul wrenching and ghastly options you weren't ready to make. Motherhood had been an alien concept for you, something you avoided, not out of fear, but out of the awareness of knowing what being a mother required.

You weren't ready to give up your independence yet or your lack of responsibility to none other but yourself. Much less face things alone beyond your knowledge.

Scorching tears mourned the lost future you were dotingly paving, now lost to the unwilling duty of motherhood. A duty that refused to be only yours. You needed two for a tango, and Miguel had to know.

He was as guilty as you were. You for ignoring the signals these past two months and he for knocking you up. It all made sense now, and for all you knew cafeteria's food was good. Pregnancy had been the culprit all along and not your stupid and hopeful reasoning of a food poisoning.

A cold and unforgiving chill ran down your spine upon the impromptu question that took life in your mind.

How far were you?

Another quivering sob echoed while your spine straightened properly against the wall, dread weighed your head down upon the sudden realization of the foreseeable expenses. Prenatal and neonatal doctors, pediatricians, clothes, baby formula, diapers, medicines, toiletries, vitamins for you and-

You retched in the bathroom once more. Nauseous tidal waves were set into making a misery party out of you. It took you a while to calm the fried nerves to wash your mouth and move from the bathroom to grovel back to your bed in between newfound whimpers.

You went under the sheets, hiding your fuck up from the ever judging world. Society was either too praising or too harsh with pregnant women, always contradicting itself. Single parents were the most stigmatized along affair babies, they weren't something you'd parade proudly. Not when the pay off of such twisted and heinous encounter was developing within your womb. Leeching from your life, yearns and dreams, like an innocent parasite.

The news had not only left you disturbed, but for once the only thing you were grateful for, was the heavy and smothering fatigue that put you to sleep almost right away.

You called in sick. Unable to face the world and it's surprises for you. Head heavy and full of pestering thoughts that made sure to remind your new reality in each passing second.

For how long would you be in bed? For how long were you planning to hide and pretend nothing had happened? What time was it? Once more, the nauseas forced you to rush to the bathroom and retch. You hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, but it was the littlest of things your mind worried about.

You just laid there, on the coldness of the floor, watching the secluded space shrink around your frame the more you stared at it. Clawing and biting at your conscience, suffocating your tranquility.

Your phone buzzed, and kept buzzing on your nightstand, completely ignored.

What am I gonna do now?

Was another new mantra that replayed nonstop. Something had to be done, and all you could think of was nothing, despite the obviousness of the situation.

The buzzing again brought your attention back to your room. Bed was so inviting and seducing, but you weren't sleepy. Too deep in pins and needles to articulate any rational thought. With a sigh, you stood and marched back, taking an angry hold of your phone.

Four missing calls from Luke's Garage, a couple of text from your manager asking if you were alright, some pop up messages and ads and one missed call from MJ.

MJ. Your unstable friend in terms of communication. Not that you blamed her, life behind scripts and lines was hard enough to add you as a another burden in her life, even if you had seen her months ago. You'd talk to her later.

Your mind gravitated towards Luke's, hoping they had good news from your car. A little grey Fiat 500.

Grounding yourself onto that, you took a shower and got ready to go after replying to your manager. As strict as she was, she cared in her own tyranic way.

You went for the garage.

After arriving to Luke's, and finally get a bit of good news in the admist of chaos, you got your car back. He hadn't had the time for fixing it, but now it was all yours again.

A little incident with you retching not once but twice upon smelling food, had his wife squealing in joy at the realization of your pregnancy.

Guess you can't hide it from the experienced ones, huh?.

But thanks to her, you were instructed in what to do almost right away. Folic acid was a must and so was a visit to the gynecologist. You'd be lucky if you could afford the vitamins after all the expenses you had through the month with the car rides and food.

Changes were already settling in your life and as much as you rejected them, they had pushed you away from the steering wheel and imposed a new pace you weren't used to outside work. Fast and cruel.

You had bounced through the city, looking for an available doctor. Life didn't stop because you suddenly found out you were pregnant, even though your mind remained rattled and unstable, there were things you still needed to do.

At least worrying about your car was no longer one of those concerns, you didn't have to pay for rides, a little control was returned to you. A reward for getting out of bed? perhaps.

The doctor you had found was in a relatively rundown district of Nueva York, but the urgency of your predicament didn't leave room for being picky. Despite the crummy overall looks from the street and neighborhood around, the small and discreet women's care center seemed decent and clean enough.

Surprise ran rampant at how the milieu looked from the inside, it was one of those places you thought you'd never visit, not had the plans to do so in your life. But here you were, awaiting your turn while chewing on the inside of your cheeks as one of your legs bounced in anxiousness.

The smell of alcohol and other chemicals mixed in the air, shooing away the external and unpleasant odors . Walls were dressed in a soft blue, like the chair rows extending left and right. The doors remained white, just like the floor tiles. Some were broken, but remained spotless. Tattered in some bits but clean and borderline welcoming.

The staff wore sympathetic smiles at every woman that came in. You weren't the exception.

Your name was called, finally, and you stood. Car keys tinkering as you walked in the office, your little purse resting on the flat of your thighs. With a deep breath and a gulp on a dry throat, the appointment started.

Nine weeks. That's how far you were according to the paper in your hands and the ultrasound pictures adhered in the next page.

Your heart still thrummed upon the sight of the little heart on the screen, beating powerfully, as if in every passing contraction of the organ the creature would be saying loud and clear:

I'm here. I'm alive. I'm part of you now.

No.

You didn't want it to be part of you. You refused. And now that you had received counseling after letting the cat out of the bag with a total stranger, the two options remained in your hands. The doctor didn't pressure you into making any further appointments if you went for the most logic and reasonable option. Abortion.

Rather gave you time to think and mull over your decision. It was entirely up to you.

But what if he actually wants a child?

You laughed in between shaky titters at your stupidity.

Maybe he did, but that didn't mean it was with you by all means. You barely knew him, and the little things he had shown you so far was all the unwanted and negative traits a man could have.

Liar, cheater, irresponsible, cold hearted, cunning, a cynic and someone that was too aware of their actions to go by as innocent. A manipulator at best.

It was rather scary and confusing for you how some men could pass as loving and devoted lovers in their home, when they were the complete opposite outside.

A perfectly reversed street angel, house devil situation.

Now that you had the tools and options there was something more that needed to be done.

Telling him.

Even though your choice was already taken, and the possible outcome would only reinforce it, he needed to know, as undesirable as meeting him again was. Maybe it was your time to give him back a bit of retaliation to his silent bully and threats. You needed an explanation and that was nonnegotiable.

Anger finally rose past the initial terror. And it hit like a tsunami. Cold, unforgiving and oh so destructing.

You searched his information through the company's data. His picture came into view with his full chart.

Miguel O'Hara. Second head of the Laboratory and Research department.

And a cheating pig.

Sighing, you discreetly copied his contact number on your phone. If you were to face him, it needed to be just the two of you. You'd talk to Dana later, even if that meant to be scorned and resented by her forever. Luckily she was on her day off, or so her schedule on the screen said.

The thought of Miguel only infuriated you further, since he was pushing you towards things no sane person should be doing. Stalking, covering a devastating truth from a beloved one. Getting you pregnant while at it.

Unintentional, perhaps, but still you needed an explanation. Your mind set in getting it cause in all the categorical truth, you were tired. You were fucking tired of being the only one putting up a fight against the aftermath of his doings while he lived a normal life, blissfully ignorant of the awaiting mess that had his name all over it.

You were allowed to leave an hour early. Obviously, you'd seize that chance to ambush him at his leaving hours to drop the bomb. It wasn't a hundred percent spite, but more like half of it while the other was making him face the consequences. He had cornered you enough to finally get some backlash.

With a deep breath, you opened a new chat log on his name.

Messages were deleted and rewritten with all the things you wanted to say, but again, words were words and you were sure that his dismissive nature wouldn't even take them in consideration. So spilling your heart out in them was useless, you'd do it personally despite being terrified of him. You settled for a simple yet pithy one.

—We need to talk. Meet me at the parking lot.

The game was on, and you were ready to fight against the final boss. Upon the four o'clock ticked, you packed up your things and went straight to your car, waiting for him to show up. Your phone had been quiet ever since you sent the text message. The seen confirmation was the only indicator you got of him being aware of something going on.

Minutes kept ticking, passing and there was no sight of him yet, until your heart leaped to your chest upon spotting him around the corner. Impossible to miss him by his sheer height, a sore thumb among the rest. Stupidly handsome and uncaring as he swaggered over his car, a black BMW x7.

Leather briefcase in one hand, and phone smooshed between his left cheek and shoulder blade. By his bored and annoyed expression it was either something business related or talking to someone undesirable.

Just as you were opening your passenger's door to call his name, he opened his and tossed in the briefcase to then hop in while still in the call, he fastened his seat belt. Not even a minute happened when he turned on the car and left.

What is he doing?!

Frowning at his direct dismissal, you checked the message log again, only to find his profile picture gone and some little yet infuriating message on the bottom.

This number is unavailable for chat.

"Bastard."

It was all you could muster before angry tears welled up in your eyes. But it had been enough. You went back to fuming and drove back home. Next week for sure you'd catch him.

You've had enough.

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#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #t writes✨#astv miguel #Of Flowers And Hummingbirds #slow burn #dana d'angelo #mj watson #Youtube

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starlight-artbby · 18 days

Text

Y'all the newest X-Men 97 episode blew me away. Like the animation ate down and it was just so good like I was thoroughly enjoying every second.

I knew that Scott was gonna hold some grudge against the professor and I don't blame him. He left his dream to his team and honestly failed him and damn did this episode remind him that over and over again. Especially Rogue who clearly was fed up with his ass. And I swear I was gonna cry when I saw her wearing Remy's coat and I had a tear nearly fall from my eye when Kurt looked so devastated to tell her again the Remy is dead like ugh I was in so much pain.

Speaking of pain Jubilee and Roberto. How dare they do this to me. I knew from a mile away that Roberto Was gonna go with Magneto (along with Rogue) and I completely understand why. His mother straight up abandon him and handed him to the people who wanted to kill him. Like of course he is gonna be pissed but when Jubilee said you still have me I felt like a part of me died because he walked away and that shit had to hurt.

Now I completely laughed when Magneto said the line about Lilandra. I can't remember exactly what he said but I do recall being gagged and gooped and not him telling Xavier to shut up like if those two don't just go to couples counseling...

Now I won't lie, Morph had me when he pretending to be Sinister so if I were Bastion I most certainly was gonna get caught. May I also express how I thought that Beast was going to get pieced through the chest during that fight sequence like I was on the edge of my toes.

Once again Sinister proved to me why I hate him so much. Having Jean fight her own son?!? Foul and then her contacting Cyclops to tell him that she loves him!!! Like why does X-Men 97 like hurting us? And if Storm or Forge ends up dead, I am most certainly fighting someone.

Now the new looks... Huh... Why did they have to put that cap on my boy Scott. And Jean she ate down with the boots but the gloves and the mask?!?! No mam. I loved Rogues outfit along with Logan's. They could've had morph in something a lot better. Kurt ate as usual and of course Jubilee ate up her look along with Storm. I couldn't tell if beast put on anything different so I can't say much about that but regardless, some of the team needed a better wardrobe.

Now I know some people will probably get mad at Rogue and Roberto for going with Magneto but honestly, Rogue was there on Genosha. It has messed her up so badly and we continue to see the side effects till this very episode. I already explained Roberto so I honestly am not mad at him but I am sad that he couldn't see that Jubilee was there for him just like sadly Rogue couldn't see that the team would be there for her but honestly, their feelings are still valid as fuck and I don't want to hear anyone else say other wise.

Also why did they have to do Wolverine like that!! Huh!!! Like y'all better have his regeneration ability kick in. I also feel so bad cause I know that nobody was expecting murder to occur up there that's for sure.

(also Scott stopping Xavier from forcing Magneto to return power was everything to me cause he did it for Jean and it's time he shows that woman some love.)

Also where is Bishop!?!?!

Now for the things I enjoyed. I loved the new opening. I was so happy to see Storm back in it again. It really made things start off well for the episode. I loved Rogue clocking Xavier and telling him exactly what she needed to say.

My favorite part of the episode though had to be when Jean and Storm had reunited and when they parted ways on the mission. Those two are sisters and I love the show for reminding us of their incredible bond I just lived to see it.

I also enjoyed Scott and Jean giving each other a hug before they parted ways and when Scott gave Nathan that advice I truly loved it. I am hoping that'll stop him from attacking Jean (possibly) if not, Jean will girlboss her way out of there.

I can't wait for the final episode (I hope I get Remy and Logan and anyone else who gets injured back) ♡♡♡♡

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akutasoda · 5 months

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hi! It’s been awhile and I was playing a game and got an idea! How would Bsd men react to an enemy whose ability is with every time they kill a person the reader themselves can move faster..and every attack they do will hurt more? Reader is a hazard is basically laughing their head off while gaining kills left and right

-🌀 Anon!

what are you?

synopsis - what happens when the enemy is as dangerous as could come

includes - atsushi, dazai, chuuya, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, heavy violence/mentions of killing, descriptions of blood, slight dehumanisation, wc - 1.8k

a/n: hi hi! it has been a while, hope your doing okay however?

atsushi nakajima ★↷

an easy mission was what he had been told. a simple situation diffusion along the ports, one that had occurred between the port mafia and some underground gang. why the agency was involved made no sense but from a reasonable perspective perhaps it was just to keep peace.

no matter the reason, he had been assigned the mission as it wasn't to take long and no one accompanied as it was just seemingly a few low grunts. so he had no reason to be as nervous as he was, yet he couldn't shake the pit of dread tightening in his stomach.

something was off and he couldn't quite figure out the reason. even arriving on site the situation seemed very insignificant and meaningless. diffused within a short while. but it seemed off, like someone was watching him. and before he knew it more mafia members made their way over.

they seemed to off horribly misinterpreted the situation, assuming the agency was the reason for whatever had transpired. now instead of low ranking grunts, he was faced with higher ranking grunts but that wasn't the only issue. members of the other underground organisation had also arrived.

but worst of all, he could finally pinpoint the source of his dread. the first sign came in form of the still mafia grunts watching as a member of the other organisation was killed in a couple fell swoops. atsushi turned around just in time to watch another fall in less time. and another. and another.

the group ensued into panic at the termination of it's members and tried fleeing, forgetting any petty argument. tried. atsushi's hairs stood upright as he heard a rather horrific laighter echho throughout the port. each member being slaughtered in less time and effort than the last.

he'd never quite seen anything like this. and in complete honesty it was horrifying. laughter seemed to ricochet off the surroundings as blood coated the floors. he couldn't move. as much as his instincts told him to run, to seek safety he couldn't. fear grasped each and every one of his limbs rendering him immobile and only able to witness the execution happening before him.

what scared him the most wasn't the bloodbath, wasnt the laughter but the following silence. the same pit of dread now rising in his throat. his eyes locked in place of the figure standing over the graveyard of bodies. he locked eyes with you and that's when he could finally take off. the fear activating his flight and he'd never ran faster.

the only thoughts occupying his mind was how vile an ability you possessed and how sinister you were to weild it in such way. he'd prefer never seeing you again.

osamu dazai ★↷

he'd like to think he was prepared for every situation. he knew he wasn't but that wasn't for others to know. and being prepared meant that going into battle he would know exactly who the enemies were. another extent of his planning considered the fact that he thought he could never encounter an ability that shook him. afterall he could just nullify any.

but that could change rather quickly with a moving target, getting faster still. so when the agency threw him and a few others a new case that would most likely end in conflict, he thought he would be prepared. especially with his colleagues at side.

yokohama territory was a rather complex thing. it seemed simple but it really wasn't, the port mafia didn't have 'port' in the name for nothing. but some really couldn't understand that and even so it seemed weird that the conflict involved a different group at the ports.

while it was weird it wouldn't be solved by sitting around and thinking about it. so with confidence, he and his colleagues welcomed the conflict when no other option was viable. but there was something different. something was off, an outside factor looking to disrupt.

but no matter where he looked or what happened, he couldn't find the reason for it going wrong. they weren't noticed at first. bodies of the enemy dropping seemingly due to exhaustion - afterall the agency would rather not kill opponents. but it wasn't until red soaked the area that they stopped.

both sides looking equally confused but the opposing group looking more horrified at the deaths of their members. then another fell. dazai and his colleagues immediately went on guard but dazai could feel dread building in him. for the first time in ages.

and as another fell in quicker time he knew exactly what was up. this was now life or death for the agency so it was most tactical for him tourge his colleagues away into safety. not the graveyard the area was about to become. and he was right, bodies dropped left and right within inhuman time.

now it seemed more logical. this was port mafia turf, of course any conflict would be resolved by them. but he didn't think they'd so quickly resort to you. every urge in him knew he'd never be able to nullify your ability in quick enough time to stop you slaughtering everything around you and so he and his colleagues took off.

he knew a fight he wasn't destined to win and while he did like the idea of dying he knew you'd make it painful for him. and even in his rare state of fear he couldn't help but look back. loom back just in time to meet your gaze riddled with bloodlust as the sound of your bone chilling laughter echoed the now desolate land.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

he'd always appreciate a good fight. he enjoyed being in them aswell. a new way to test his skills and yet still show silent awe at the skills that could rarely impress him demonstrated by opponents. and plus, fighting for him was rather fun.

that's why he never really had issue with being sent on guaranteed conflict missions. while he did sometimes roll his eyes or scoff at being sent on so many, he did always enjoy the conflict in them. and he wouldn't say he was arrogant, but he was rather confident.

and that always shone through in his fights, he had confidence in his skills and ability and that rarely wavered. he'd read somewhere in the file that the group they were meant to experience conflict with had some sort of secret weapon. something that brought them a terrifying reputation, one that chuuya scoffed at.

he doubted that it could be something truly terrifying and that was what he was wrong about. and he knew he was wrong, he knew the minute he watched a handful of port mafia grunts fall in no less than a few moments. an event that was followed by a maniacal laughter that truly put fear into chuuya.

his body no longer wanting to fight, well he still did as he rarely backed down from one but he was happy to make an exception as something felt off. another group fell in less time and he could see the smirk of the original opponents as they fled the scene.

he heard the laughter yet again and thsi tome narrowly doged what would've been a fatal blow as the group of grunts behind him fell in a small movement. corpses now mostly made up his backing group and he knew he'd have to flee. but he really couldn't.

the fear demanded that he run but his fight or flight was still saying fight. even as your laughter sent shivers down his spine as he finally caught a glimpse of you slaughtering the rest of his group. even as he finally locked eyes with you standing opposite him. would it of been cruel for him to call you inhuman?

paul verlaine ★↷

the king of assassins. a title bestowed to him and a title he took seriously. no job that he was given would be taken lightly when he had that title. he prided himself on being good at his job, quite a bit of his confidence also came from that and therefore he would always prove that he was worthy of such a title.

against better judgement, he always looked to take the best action appropriate when a new job was tossed his way. he needed to know the ins and outs of the person or people involved and aware of any outstanding abilities that could cause an issue. so when your file was tossed at him he acted the same.

but it became apparent bery quickly that you're job was entrusted to him for a reason. no information. just a loose alias and last know location. that's what he was given and from that he had to still fulfill his job and if anything he saw it as a challenge. call him arrogant, but no regular assassin could perform such a job.

he had very quickly tracked down a lead. a lead that led him to your next expected location. he had no clue what ability you held, he had a hunch you had one however, nor did he know much about you. but he didn't care or atleast he didn't. not until he started waiting for you.

an unusual sense of dread filled his very being and no matter how much he tried to shake it off, he couldn't. he tried pushing it to the back of his mind but he really couldn't. and it only worsened even though everything was going as intended.

the group you were confronting had arrived yet no signs of you. the only sign of your arrival was the swift execution of a quarter of the group. verlaine was caught off guard, there was no way that was your doing. but he was corrected when you performed the same action yet seemingly quicker.

your laugh made his blood freeze. he understood now - why you had no information, why he was entrusted your file. and so he acted quicker than he'd like, but you were quicker. avoiding his attack and slaughtering the rest of the group in seemingly the same action.

you laughed again and it felt more of a direct laugh at him. you were no human anymore. your ability made you nothing but a weapon. he dared call you less human then he was and yet he still had a job to do. he had no doubt you're horrific ability and mind could end him swiftly but he didn't care. you weren't human anymore, so why should he treat you like one?

#🌀 anon↩#x reader #x gender neutral reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd atsushi #atsushi x reader #bsd dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya x reader #bsd verlaine #verlaine x reader

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prof-ramses · 3 months

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Hollow Sorrows Trailer Breakdown LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

Obviously, if you don't want spoilers, scroll away. If you've already seen the trailer, LET'S GO!!!

So when we first see possessed Patty, she looks mostly normal, you can't even see her demon teeth through the mask yet. John and Jack probably only came in since they heard a scream and/or struggle coming from the morgue.

So we get a shot of the boys being too chaotic, something Gregor points out and what will likely cause the "bad character development" Pelo ahs mentioned.

Also, since it's 100% what Pelo would do, Costume Bob is the guy in the HF suit. Mark my words.

The scene with the hatz is really interesting to me, since Skid and Pump just annoys Roy for a moment and leave. I think this might be all we get of the hatzgang this time, similar to how Frank only had a brief Appearance in Tender Treats. If my theory that episode 7 will focus on Roy is true, this little scene will be very interesting to dissect when the full episode drops.

We actually get out first proper glimpse at a new character and I think this old man is the very last character in the line up teaser

And there's also a pretty good chance he Roy's grandfather and given the way he reacts to the boys antics here, I can definitely see him being a another reasons Roy's the way he is.

If he actually is Roy's grandpa, then @crossover-enthusiast and I's Roy discussions are going to get really fun pretty soon.

Here, Skid is clearly holding a framed photo, meaning this will almost certainly be the first time his father is brought up directly.

Also, yeah, with Pump's line about "hangover spooky month", it seems my theory about Lila in this episode was at least half right.

Yet more proof that the boys' absent parents will be more of a focus. The trailer as a whole gives me some ideas regarding the Wonder parents, but I feel they're best saved for another time.

The boys get into trouble with the cops and I have 2 theories regarding when, either Gregor tries to get them sent home before going to the hospital, but they talk their way out of it, or they actually do get sent home at the end of the episode.

John's expression here immediately makes we think that something Skid or Pump said reminded him of his daughter. Another plot thread that has yet to be directly acknowledged.

Ignacio watches Gregor lead the boys away, maybe he lives down the street from Skid and Lila to keep an eye on them for the cult?

Either way, I'm surprised his appearance won't take place in the hospital as I previously predicted.

"I will be your guide. And I know your parents would be proud of you."

There's something undeniably sinister about this line, but how sinister hinges on whether Gregor is a cultist or ex-cultist. Whatever the case may be, he definitely knows more about or sees more in the boys than he lets on.

A great title card, and thought the blood everywhere is definitely concerning, I don't think there's anything to really say here, just wanted to get a screenshot of it.

And it would appear the character I've referred to as the cat lady will have the unenviable role of a hapless victim to the episode's villain. But honestly, I'm more surprised by her being at the hospital in the first place and why that never occurred to me before.

The actual progression of Patty's possession confirms to she's possessed by something other than Moloch. And what seals it for me is, fittingly, the eyes. The white of her eyes becomes a more vivid yellow, yet her pupil snot only don't form Moloch's typical spirals, but they're a more vivid shade of baby blue, a color that has never had any significance in the series before. Moloch will mostly be trapped in Dexter before eventually possessing Gregor, I will die on this hill.

AND THE FUGGIN' RELEASE DATE!!!

Alright, that's all, only a month now. We're so back!

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meadowscarlet · 2 years

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cinnamon girl ━━━ kaz brekker.

pairings: kaz brekker x fem!reader.

summary: everyone had their own dark history that formed them into a foreboding person, and kaz was no exception; he had his fair share of demons, but he was itching to discover about yours and why you loathe the feeling of touch as much as he did but seek solace from him.

warnings: mentions of abuse and brief spoilers of kaz's backstory.

author’s note: i know i said i won't repost my old fics but i'm currently in a writing block and can't post anything so have this plus i missed kaz. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

Ketterdam is not a pleasant and welcoming city. In the filthy, morally repugnant, and dangerous place, battered and wounded individuals on the verge of death, criminals, thieves, and sinners were discovered. The city had corrupted the people with its savagery, where compassion and benevolence are seen as vulnerabilities, and it was irredeemable, tainting the citizens with the city's unrighteousness.

The Crows were no exception. They were also impacted by the darkness that Ketterdam had plagued them with; regardless of how young they were, whether a girl or a boy, they would be painted with the city's malice. Everyone had their own demons, something dreadful had occurred to them—it didn't matter what it was, for the demons and the city had shaped them into a person with a dark heart and a desire for cruelty.

Kaz had personal knowledge with this. He had been altered, like so many others, by the vile city's relentless brutality. With his sinister demeanor, or his lethal cane, where he might break a leg, or change a man's fortune, he was known as Dirtyhands. People feared him, and some had always wondered what had happened to Kaz Brekker to make him so merciless.

Of course, everything remained a mystery since no one dared to cross Kaz, including the Crows who were usually with him. They didn't want to meet death by Brekker's gloved hands just yet, even though they were plainly intrigued about the cunning yet deadly thief. The tragedy that transformed Kaz into the person he is today remained hidden, and others speculated that the city had done nothing to him and that he was born wicked.

They were not corrected by Kaz.

Matthias refers to him as demjin, which means demon in Fjerdan. It didn't bother Kaz; they could call him whatever they wanted; at the very least, they'd know he wasn't someone to tamper with. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, and if people feared him, then so be it. Kaz enjoyed the feeling of authority and domination among fools, and he relished seeing people's terror whenever he was near.

He was certain that he was born with a terribly malevolent nature. That perhaps the shadows had been there all along, seething inside only to become stronger when the feeling of vengeance overwhelmed him after a life full of treachery and violence, after Jordie's death and everything else that had made Kaz miserable before. He had his own darkness, but it was at odds with yours.

How did you wind up with him and the Crows in Ketterdam?

Kaz remembered the day he first met you as if it had been scorched into his mind. Your hair was escaping out of its hair tie, framing your face in a frenetic and wild yet compelling way. You appeared to be running, your movements swift and efficient; you seemed to be young, similar to Kaz's age, yet there was still a youthful simplicity in you, one that he had lost a long time ago, buried in the waters and deepest depths of it.

He might have gone about his business; after all, the last thing on his mind was a girl, agitated and wounded amidst the city of Ketterdam's well-known lack of morality. To Kaz, it's a common sight, one that would even amuse him, but when he first saw you, there was something unusual about you. He didn't feel sorry for you but you seemed to be a fresh face, and Kaz Brekker must know everyone in the city. He needed to keep a watchful eye on everyone, especially any potential enemies.

On a dreary night in Ketterdam, where Kaz could hear the same rattling noises and smell the foul stench of blood and sins outside, he focused instead on the kruge on his table. He was counting everything carefully and silently, and when he heard the familiar faint footsteps, he didn't stop. Kaz didn't look up at the person, instead continuing to stare at the kruge as if it were about to vanish from his grasp.

After a brief pause, he finally looked up.

He wasn't surprised to see her. “Hello, Inej.”

Inej approached Kaz, who was standing behind the table, and gave him a distinctive nod as he looked down and arranged the kruge on the table. Her movements were light and stealthy, like the Wraith she was and Kaz suspected she had something to tell him. Inej only came to his office when she had something important to tell Kaz.

“I’m hoping you're not here to waste my time,” Kaz remarked, his voice flat and uninterested as usual. “Any valuable information?”

“It's about the girl,” Inej started.

Kaz made a gesture of paying attention to her, but he was still gazing down at his money. “Girl?”

He could hear Inej's footsteps getting closer until she was directly across from him. “The one you said I should look into to find out who she is.”

For the first time since Inej went to his office, Kaz looked up with a gleam of pure interest in his dark eyes. “I'm listening.”

“She's a fresh face in the city—I once followed her on her way and discovered she lived near an elderly couple's bakery. She is new here in Ketterdam, and I hadn't heard about her until you told me to keep an eye on her,” Inej stated passively. “But, she is skillful. She was in a frenzy as she realized I was following her, so she became alarmed and attacked me.”

Kaz became increasingly intrigued. “Tell me you didn't kill her.”

Inej's dark eyes were frowning, but behind her mask and the darkness, Kaz couldn't see her entire face. “I didn't and I wouldn't,” she said bluntly, as if the answer was self-evident. “She's brilliant, and despite being new to Ketterdam, she's already proven her potential.”

“What is her name?”

“Y/N L/N.” Inej replied. “Why the sudden interest in her?”

“Always be cautious of new people; they are unaccustomed with the ambience of Ketterdam, and it is wiser to get to know them before they identify themselves,” Kaz counseled. “She may be destructive, but based on what you said, she's entirely harmless.”

Inej shook her head, disbelieving. “Did the word ‘skillful’ escape your notice?”

Kaz wore a vacant smile. “I heard you just fine.”

“Kaz,” she said, her voice warning. “What are your intentions with her?”

“I won't kill her, if that's what you're wondering.”

Inej's eyes glowed with understanding, and Kaz battled the impulse to roll his eyes; why did it take her so long to realize?

Inej remarked, “You're recruiting her in the Dregs.”

Kaz only wore a pleased expression.

You had adjusted well once you were recruited in the Dregs. Kaz remembered how, to his astonishment, a gun greeted his temple when he walked inside a small, cluttered space that he knows you call home. He followed Inej's directions, and your small abode was definitely close to the bakery run by an elderly couple. He could still remember the smell of the lingering pastries even in the middle of a wretched place you called home.

Kaz could see the survival instinct you implemented in your small home where there was collected foods, knives placed on the couch, and a blanket applied as a cover for the windows, and he observed his fascination with your cautiousness. You only let go of the gun after he assured you that he meant no harm and that he had a proposition for you.

That's how it all began. When Inej indicated you were competent, she was right. With the jobs Kaz had given you, you were swift and clever, as well as flawless. Perhaps your accomplishments were a way of repaying Kaz for providing you with a secure place to sleep and have a modest shelter. Not only that, but you'd formed close friendships with the Barrel's employees, particularly the Crows.

You were particularly fond of Inej. The one-time attack and brief fight against one another became a laughing memory as you both reminisced about it whenever you had the opportunity. There was no scorching animosity between you two, and you became inseparable as the days passed. Kaz remembered you blabbering your apologies to Inej after stabbing her in the leg when you realized she was following you. Inej could only chuckle heartily.

Matthias seemed to like you, much to Kaz's great shock, and he could see how you both chatted and spoke about things after each heist. Nina had mentioned that it was mundane at job when it was just her and Inej as the girls, and you were a wonderful addition. She had been pushing Kaz to make you a Crow for a while, but Kaz thought you weren't ready. You were only needed on occasion, not every time they pulled off a job.

You bonded well with Wylan as well, but Kaz sensed your apprehension towards Jesper. Kaz was initially perplexed; Jesper was a naturally cheerful person, and everyone seemed to enjoy his company. Not that you dreaded it, rather Kaz could always recall your laughter whenever Jesper cracked a joke—a laugh he grew terribly fond of.

Jesper, on the other hand, is far too friendly, and Kaz would be lying if he said he didn't notice the dread expression on your face whenever someone came close to you or when Jesper put his elbow on your shoulder.

Kaz began to observe you more intently after seeing that, as if he hadn't already. He believed he had made the right decision in recruiting you. You were special, enthusiastic, and the light of the Barrel. Kaz didn't think you'd fit in well with the city's grim environment at first, and he didn't want you to get further corrupted by the violence.

But Kaz had entirely overlooked and dismissed what had transpired to you and how you had landed up in Ketterdam.

Every day, Kaz's inexplicable fondness for you grew stronger. You and Kaz have a contentious relationship; unlike the rest of the Crows, you didn't necessarily converse and blabber to him, nor did you laugh and tease with him like you did with Inej and Jesper, but there was a wordless distinctive connection between you and Kaz.

Your patience and presence were the attributes he admired the most in you. Kaz wasn't easy to talk to or even tolerate—he's closed off and harsh—but whatever nonsense Saints Inej believed in seemed to bring you to Ketterdam to soften his roughness. In his world of darkness, Kaz didn't believe in miracles or light, but you were there, proving that there is still some good in the world.

Kaz had intended to fire you at that time.

He had questioned Inej about your misfortune and how you ended up in Ketterdam. Inej only shook her head and mumbled something about your past being none of her business. You were shut off as well, but unlike Kaz, you shine with gentleness and radiance, masking whatever darkness you may have. Matthias would grumble under his breath whenever you greeted Kaz in the morning with a big smile.

Matthias had once growled, “The demjin doesn't deserve such pleasant smiles.”

You only shook your head, as delicate and gentle as you were. “Even if it's seldom or undeserved, everyone deserves a little bit of decency.”

That's when Kaz realized you were mistaken. He didn't deserve such remedy from you—you and him had a routine where you'd read a book in his office or simply admire the moon and stars at night, the moonlight shining in your face and making you look stunning. There was no talking, just stillness. Kaz was always busy making plans and would occasionally glance at you.

Your very presence made him feel calmer, and whenever you came to visit his office, which had previously been dark, was replaced with a strange sense of peace. Kaz was hesitant to make you a Crow for a reason, selfish if it was. He didn't want to expose you completely to his enemies, risking you being wounded or worse, killed. He knows you're talented and all, but he let his vanity get the best of him, and to his horror, his worry.

He valued your tranquility, but he also sought your voice—he wanted you to talk excitedly about anything, and if your silence had soothed him, what more could your voice possibly have done? But maybe it was all one-sided, and you're only there with Kaz because you owe him courtesy, and maybe you've never liked him, and you're just doing this benevolence to him to act with integrity.

Kaz wouldn't blame you.

Kaz despised weakness, and he knew he couldn't just have you rot in the streets, no matter how he felt—and he questioned why he was feeling anything at all. He was ruthless, but he didn't want to hurt someone who had been nothing but pleasant and selfless. He didn't want to take away your friendship or the comfort you found in the Barrel.

He did not want you to go.

Kaz was disturbed by the thought.

Everyone was fast asleep, exhausted from the job they had just completed, so they chatted and ate waffles—Nina's suggestion—to calm their anxieties before retiring to their various rooms. Only the Crows were required for the job, and Kaz had assumed you were probably sleeping in your room as he lingered at the table with Jesper, who was elated from the successful completion of the job.

To Kaz's relief, Jesper yawned and stood up, but before walking away, he stopped and beamed even brighter and exclaimed, “Y/N!”

Kaz took a look around and spotted you. You approached them with a relieved expression on your face, a book in your hand, and no indication of drowsiness on your face. You gave a small smile as you met Kaz's gaze, which had not left yours, and then turned to face Jesper.

Jesper shifted his gaze between you and Kaz, then back to you, and Kaz swore he glimpsed a smirk on the Zemeni's face. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he says, “I’m exhausted, goodnight.”

Kaz watched Jesper approaching you and saw him about to hug you before deciding against it and giving you a wink before passing you by. It made Kaz frown.

“Aren't you tired?” you began as you sat across from him, helping yourself to the last waffles.

Kaz noticed this was the start of a conversation—he expected you to be silent as you eat and enjoy each other's company, but you spoke to him, and to his chagrin, a tightrope in his stomach loosened and made him feel relaxed.

“Why aren't you asleep yet?”

Your eyes squinted when the topic shifted, but you shrugged it off. “I wasn't tired.”

“That makes it the both of us.”

Kaz sat back and enjoyed your chuckle. The sounds it made were like a stack of kruge tumbling from his table. He was trying to memorize the cadence of your laugh. He shook his head, hating the thoughts that overwhelm him, but he couldn't help himself—it was only you and him, in the middle of the night, and there was no silence.

“No one got hurt?” you muttered as you bit into your waffle.

“We're fine,” Kaz said, pleased as he saw your eyes brighten. “The job was successful.”

Kaz has a keen ability to read people and can tell you were worried, which could explain why you weren't asleep. You had been waiting for their arrival. Or maybe it was just the other Crows and not him and Kaz didn't realize he was staring until you said spoke.

“I know questions are etched on your face,” you said. implying that he wasn't the only one who can easily read people. “What is it, Kaz?”

He was taking a risk, but he couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging him since the first time he saw you. “How did you end up in Ketterdam?”

You remained silent for a moment, staring down at your waffle, before speaking softly enough for Kaz to mistake it for a faint hum. “I… wanted a way out.”

He almost laughed. “What could be worse than Ketterdam?”

You raised your eyes to Kaz, your expression solemn, the brightness that had warmed him faded. “Believe it or not, Ketterdam has seemed like home to me. It's the closest thing I've ever felt to refuge here, despite the fact that it's brutal. It was the first time I felt secure.”

The first time? Kaz thought.

“The people, too,” you continued, “Inej, Nina, Jesper, Matthias, Wylan. And… you Kaz.”

“What happened to you, Y/N?” Kaz struggled to hide his uneasiness in his tone. “Has anyone ever treated you with such safety and tranquility?”

“No,” you said softly and unsteadily. “You were the first who ever did.”

Kaz noticed tears threatening to spill from your eyes and decided he couldn't bear you being so vulnerable—it wasn't like you. “Talk to me, L/N.”

“When my mother left when I was six, my father became sorrowful, unhappy, and enraged, and he let all of his aggression out on me,” you explained, your voice strained. “He does things to me that no parent should ever do to their child.”

Kaz was filled with a searing and inexplicable rage. But he kept his cool by clutching his cane tightly in his hands, as if striving to maintain composure. He listened intently as you spoke, satisfied that you had put your trust in him to speak about something that had been a lingering memory. He observed you playing with your hands at the table, the waffle long forgotten.

His voice was like a promise of violence. “Why?”

You shrugged, a small, pained smile on your face. “People end up doing things they don't want to do, but sometimes they can't do anything to stop it. My father had no one else to release his frustrations on, so he did it to me, and after that, he'd apologize and hug me while crying.”

Kaz felt compelled to say something to you since you had put your trust in him, and it was only fair that he reciprocated it. “I had never been treated with kindness and tenderness by anyone. You were also the first one who did.”

“I owe you, Kaz.”

“You owe me nothing,” Kaz immediately responded.

“You saved my life,” you said.

Kaz locked his gaze on you, seeking to grasp the details of whatever it was he was enamored of. “I'd do it all over again. I can't guarantee you peace or liberty, but you will never be treated the way your father treated you. I won't let it happen.”

It was then that you both realized that when the day ended and night came, you would seek one other's solace. Two souls that had their own painful memories and had never known serenity before connected and shared it.

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sinisterexaggerator · 2 months

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I casually explained the cause of Bane's modulated “accent” in Stars Above and then promptly forgot about it.

Headcanon:

“So, ye've gotta lil' problem on yer hands, dhen?” Bane feigned interest to keep his potential employer entertained, his voice tinged with a certain air of sinister directness, words laced with an accent that was commonplace among his kind; his vocal cords vibrated in a unique way, even though he spoke in Basic. Duros' epilaryngeal tubes were naturally more narrow; it took practice to not slip up, as this language was not his first.

OK, SO.

I have already talked about how I think Duros use cutaneous respiration, absorbing oxygen through their skin and also the slits beneath their eyes where their olfactory organs are:

“Cutaneous respiration, or cutaneous gas exchange (sometimes called, skin breathing),[1] is a form of respiration in which gas exchange occurs across the skin or outer integument of an organism rather than gills or lungs. Cutaneous respiration may be the sole method of gas exchange, or may accompany other forms, such as ventilation. Cutaneous respiration occurs in a wide variety of organisms, including insects, amphibians, fish, sea snakes, turtles, and to a lesser extent in mammals. It also occurs in reptiles."

That is not to say he doesn't have lungs, he definitely does (Cutaneous respiration may be the sole method of gas exchange, or may accompany other forms, such as ventilation), but this may just be the way that Duros absorb oxygen, as it is obvious he doesn't have a nose, and these organs beneath his eyes must be slit-like or nearly microscopic, as we have never seen them, even with the mask off.

It makes sense Bane can breathe from the same place he can register smells, BUT, Cad has a different accent in Clone Wars than he does in The Bad Batch, and I felt this would be a fun way to explain it. The leading theory was it was due to the mechanical breathing tubes he sounds this way; his voice is modulated, BUT, Duros in Battlefront 2 ALSO SOUND LIKE THIS. And to me, Durese sounds a lot like Huttese.

youtube

I tend to think this ALSO sounds modulated, as stated above, therefore maybe it has something to do with the functionality / " cranial edge of their larynx."

Found in the Journal of the Acoustical Society of America:

A hypothesis was presented: The shape (length and diameter) of the epilaryngeal tube in nonhuman mammals is related to morphological parameters (vocal fold morphology, larynx size, body size) and parameters characterizing the species vocal repertoire (repertoire size, maximum sound amplitude, fundamental frequency range, occurrence of nonlinear phenomena). Preliminary results indicate that the length of the epilaryngeal tube is a poor predictor of repertoire characteristics such as maximum sound amplitude and fundamental frequency range. However, species with a prominent epilaryngeal tube produce a large proportion of high fundamental frequency call types.

Basically, what if Duros had NARROW tubes? Thus, this is the cause of the way they sound. It doesn't have to do with the BREATHING tubes being physically down his throat - the breathing tubes provide extra oxygen in the case he is force choked and his normal air pathway is blocked, therefore increasing intake through the scales/slits - it has to do with the actual shape, and "morphological parameters" of the Duros as a species.

The accent itself is the accent of the Descent Ghetto, or the accent of the last of the Duros who populated the planet before escaping to the orbiting way stations to avoid the pollution of their dying home world. That's just how it comes out in Basic.

As Bane spent more and more time around sentient beings, he possibly began to lose the accent, or he chose to undergo vocal training, most likely in the privacy of his hideaway, and needed something or someone to use as an example. Maybe he also has to train himself to relax his throat, which is entirely possible.

Now let's say he hates holomovies, but the only ones he can stand to watch are the westerns. Maybe he liked the style of the old cowboys, too. ;D I think you know where I am going with this.

This may also explain why Shriv doesn't have an accent, but he does have a lisp. He may or may not have been raised on Duro around other Duros, and he may have spent so much time around humans or other beings who speak Basic that he just talks normal and not like a Duros at all.

It should also be noted Bane slipped up once in the latest episode of the Bad Batch. There was a line that @allsystemsblue pointed out that also sounded like his old Clone Wars way of speaking. This proves to me he mostly “got rid of it,” but still slips up on occasion, and most likely especially when emotions are high, as his epilaryngeal tubes are still narrow. It is a part of his morphology.

BONUS (found after the fact. seems to me, I am right. ;D):

youtube

#duros #cad bane #shriv suurgav #star wars #clone wars #bad batch #battlefront 2 #alien biology #Youtube #headcanons

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stick-ball · 6 months

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Hi! I'm about to end my whole career!

Here goes the Riko rant that dear @capcavan asked, demanded and begged for.

You know, I get it.

So here's the thing. I get it, Riko sucks. He is the bad guy we all got hung upon. Why? Because he is a rival for our protagonist. He is an angsty, young guy, born into wealth that came from money laundering and human trafficking. It's despicable, the Ravens are bullies and he himself makes lots of bad things happen. Yeah sure, I get that, whatever.

Being raised as a superstar must've been really, really difficult for you.

But I want to really dig deeper right now, this is a Riko rant after all, and you need to really know your fighters. So, to start: a huge trap in toxic families is that the children, even when grown up, will refuse to identify their parents and guardians as negative and toxic people. Not even outside influence can really sway them, usually. Kids that get away from a sinister situation can later tell they were abused, that it wasn't right, but still, they don't get the specifics of what and why, and they are doomed to repeat the same abuse and call it good. Call it right. And sometimes that's substance abuse, sometimes thats domestic abuse, sometimes that's racism and sexism and xenophobia they will grow into believing as the way the world works. Sometimes, thats nepotism and sadism. Only thing that can help is therapy and an environment removed from the control of the original abuse, lots of therapy, lots of space, years of it. A perfect case of a typical toxic family is Aaron.

A perfect case of that could also be Riko.

And here you can call bullshit because Neil had such a fucked up, abusive father and he *knew* it was wrong. Yes, he knew it was wrong for his father to hurt him to the measure he went. Why? Because his mother protected him, because his mother feared his father, not adored him. Because his mother took him away and kept running. A mother, a role model a child feels very strongly about, subconsciously.

Riko was taken from his mother. He was pushed aside by his father and left in the care of a family member, who was easy to glorify for an impressionable child. Because he was a legend. In fanon I often see Tetsuji's character taking a very background role in everything, and sure, he seems pretty background to Neil, because every bad guy seems background to Neil in comparison to his Father - besides Riko, who is the one dangling that threat in front of him. Tetsuji just wants his property back, Riko is playing with fire though. So yeah to us, reading the story, Tetsuji is a total asshole among many such men in the book.

But to Riko he must've meant almost everything for a long time. A crucial thing about Tetsuji is, he is a sadist. Oh sure, sorry, it's only called sadism when done against his team, right? Against Jean or Kevin or Neil? When it comes to Riko, who was in his care for all of his formative years, it was just strict childbearing right? He is a Moriyama after all, so he is evil from birth.

Yeah, I must've mixed something up about Riko being beaten to unconsciousness several times being mentioned in extra content. You think that was a one, two, third times the charm occurance?

Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough.

I always wondered how sarcastic Neil was saying this. I mean, he definitely meant to land a punch where it would hurt. And he actually knew Riko as a little kid, so he knew more than most.

Stockholm syndrome is very common among victims of childhood abuse. I would know, anyway. It's like the most logical option - the survivior is living in a dual reality. These people are my family, the care for me. They provide for me. They want me to be the best. They also abuse me. They hurt me, but it's for the best. Hurting me is a expression of love. I am grateful to them.

I often wonder how many people who read the books know what a commodity is. A commodity, in the most basic terms, is a basic good that can be used in ccommerce to interchange with goods of the same type. A commodity is not a king, or a queen, or a bishop or a knight, or even a rook. It's a fucking pawn. It's cannon fodder.

Riko is worthless to his family. Riko is just a tool to Tetsuji to generate profit. Riko wants to be worthy to his family. Riko most likely loves his uncle and is ready to do the most insane thing if only it gives him the one thing he desires, which is being seen as worthy by his family.

Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.

Then there's grooming. Grooming is more obvious when it's done by a stranger who sees the child randomly or in some intervals of time. It's much harder to resist when it's constant. To Riko, Tetsuji is a good person, he is a hero, he is his family, he cares for him, they have a common goal. Riko wants to be what Tetsuji wants him to be. There is a price to pay for it, of course. There is a price for everything. But the price doesn't matter. Riko wants to pay the price he has to pay, to be what Tetsuji wants him to be.

And the thing is, do you think Riko learned how to use his money and crime connections to control others? How to gain power through fear and pain? You think spending his whole life locked in a fucking stadium he taught it to himself how to break people in body and spirit? That torturing them was his special interest? Or maybe are you forgetting that amongst valid responces to trauma, besides fight, flight and freeze there is also fawn? Don't you think it's much more likely, being groomed and enamoured with his captor (bcs thats what Tetsuji is to me, their captor) he impersonated him to the best of his ability? That he learned every leaf in the book from him, because he was his only connection to the family, to his father, to his brother. He was a legend, the creator of exy. Wasn't he always trying to be worthy of him? To be good enough to be loved and wanted? To be great full enough?

I am not saying this absolves him of any of the things he did, but people do insane things under lesser influence, things they would never do otherwise. And I am not talking of people groomed from early childhood, I'm talking of sane adults, being dragged into dangerous and destructive ideologies.

I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you’re physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit.

Because it isn't, is it? The things HE does ARE his fault, definately. But the reason why? That is not that easy to pinpoint. And Riko is so unstable it hurts. He is so far removed from real life he is completely incapable of conversation. He is a child brought up in a grave, but...

Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago.

To me Riko is besides all other things, wasted potential. All the things he dreamed of? He could have had them. He was talented, he was determined and had a lot of courage, but all of that was utterly wasted in the violence and malice he was soaked in. In all the violence and malice he created in return.

So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.

The most interesting thing about All for the game though is, that in every other book Riko dying would've been the big bad wolf being defeated. But here, that's just a bleep on the radar. Because Riko was a product, not the producer. What I love about All for the game is it shows none of the madness and evil in life started or ended with me or you, with Riko or Neil. Not even with Keylight or Tetsuji. Fuck it did not even end with Nathan dying. It all ends how it begun. With a deal with the devil made in the back of a car, bought with blood money.

#i said what i said and you can cry about it #no vacuum storylines here thank you good-night l #this one is gonna make me so popular with enemies of the state i can feel it #riko moriyama #riko moriyama headcanon #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg headcanon #aftg rant #trauma discussion

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sebastiancats · 1 year

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Probably a clue to the cult that kidnapped the twins

Ok, this is my first post here and I don't know much about English so I'll use the translator.I hope that a part of kurofandom can see this and tell me what they think.

A few days ago I started rereading the twin reveal arc manga, and since lately I've been doing research on gothic/medieval architecture, I saw this panel from chapter 135 and thought "this castle seems to be medieval".

then the idea of looking for information on satanic sects during the Victorian era occurred to me, and although in reality there was very little information about it, after searching for a while I finally found a page that told me about what I was looking for.

Well this information is about a man named Sir Francis Dashwood, like many of the young people of Victorian England who prided themselves on being part of blue blood families, he was an inexhaustible traveler. He toured almost all of Europe as part of his training, but he always expressed a very marked passion for Italy. Dashwood was a man of the world, surrounded by powerful friends in politics, banking and the art world. He held important positions in the civil service of England. He was also a notable lover of parties, music, food, drink and women in large quantities, in addition to art and Greco-Roman cultures. Quite a character with notable influences that he had access to practically what he wanted. He lived near the River Thames, in Buckinghamshire, in a huge mansion in West Wycombe, surrounded by luxuries and servants who fulfilled any mandate 24 hours a day. In it he held meetings with notable friends of his and members of Masonic lodges in which his vices surfaced permanently.

However, he had in mind the creation of a select secret group in which he could discuss freely about political and philosophical issues exclusively, made up of elegant and influential gentlemen from English high society. This is how he found the ideal place to carry out these meetings: Medmenham Abbey, whose owners were members of the Duffield family, and which was about five kilometers away from his mansion. The Duffields agreed to rent the property, erected around 1200 by a congregation of Cistercian monks. The place was perfect in every way: away from prying eyes and with an atmosphere of mysticism, thanks to its medieval air that enchanted Sir Francis.

He had a good number of statues of pagan gods moved to the property and decorated the walls with mocking phrases such as: Peni tento, non penitenti ("a stiff penis, no penance"). On the reception door he had the following legend engraved: Fay ce que voudras (<< Do what you want »), which would later be adopted by the magician Aleister Crowley as his personal phrase. The place was ready to receive Dashwood's guests and start the meetings of the new Hell-Fire Club. From this moment is where the myths and legends are born around the dark activities of this sinister cult where its members arrive at the abbey aboard small boats, dressed as monks, carrying candles in their hands and singing Gregorian chants.

It should be clarified that in reality the cult called themselves "The Monks of Medmenham". The name "Hell-Fire" club was more of a derogatory nickname.

So reading all this information I realized something, the phrase that this cult used was "fray ce que voudras" which means "Do what you want" or "Do your will" and this same phrase is used by the members of the cult that kidnapped to the twins.

In this part of chapter 135.

here I realized that when they arrive at that castle the receptionist asks "are you a monk?" To which the other responds with "Fay ce que voudras" (Do what you want). The same phrase used by members of the cult The Monks of Medmenham.

So I would assume that this is a hint that Yana left us and I don't see anyone else talking about it. I don't know if so many people from kurofandom follow me but tell me what you think about this, we should investigate further but I think this is a very obvious clue. 😸

#black butler #Kuroshitsuji #ciel phamtonhive #sebastian michaelis #No sé qué más agregar pero porfavor leanlo #kuroshitsuji theory

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retrogradepermaculture · 9 months

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Pluto in first house - some observations about this interesting placement

What planets are responsible for dark academia vibes? Generally I've found pluto is a major player which is why I do quite a lot of pluto related posts on here. The other main ones are saturn, mars (oddly enough, but academia can be cutthroat), and uranus. Neptune can be to an extent but not as much and mostly points towards humanities and liberal arts.

I noticed that at least two people ( @augustinerose @auroraplume) who commented on one of my previous posts had pluto in the first house. Thanks to you both for the support and hope you don't mind me shouting you out here!Pluto is a scorpionic planet, but the first house is one of the less scorpionic houses. I personally have pluto in the fourth house which is interesting too as the fourth house is one you would think stereotypically is not very plutonic or scorpionic in any way. Like the first house it can indicate interesting hidden stuff that you might not expect.

So in honour of spotting these weird patterns and interesting aspects I've done another little pluto breakdown here:

Generally any time pluto or any other 'occult' outer planet is in a house that you wouldn't expect it to go with, expect interesting patterns to be revealed. For example:

Pluto in first house: can indicate something cryptic, occult, or hidden to do with image and identity

At it's most literal level it can indicate a job or social role related to the occult. For example someone who is a spy, criminologist, works in government, tarot reader, astrologer, works in data, or so on. Anything that involves dealing with large volumes of info where there may be hidden stuff. Yet can also indicate the job itself is hidden such as someone who has a day job and moonlights as something else, or someone who is hiding their line of work because their peers or family don't approve (such as someone who wants to become a musician, poet, actor or suchlike but faces social pressure)

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If not your job it can also point to core aspects that may be hidden or occult. This CAN be a placement of clairsentience, paranormal, and psychic happenings but doesn't have to be. It can also indicate parapsychology or a family history of haunted places, secrets, or so on. It can ALSO indicate the closet. This can be the closet to do with gender or sexuality but also to do with other core aspects of ourselves such as potentially masking neurodivergencies or even simply hiding events or occurances that have had a formative impact on us.

At a more metaphorical level here are some random things this placement can point to:

• unpublished work

• secret diaries

• drastic curveballs in life (e.g. discovery of long lost relatives)

• 'social chameleon' personality

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How does Pluto compare with other first house placements?

• tends to be deeper, more sinister, and more visceral than uranus and neptune in the first house. There is a genuine occult and slightly dangerous element to pluto in first house vs uranus, which can indicate lots of changes in life but ones that are within our control, pluto can indicate changes and wildcard events that are outside our control

• can be very go getting, socially shrewd, and a 'dark horse' but in a much less obvious way than mars. Mars in the first house can be assertive and successful but this tends to happen in a public or leadership role. if mars is the emperor, pluto in the first house is the power behind the throne. combine the two in the first house and you can end up with a personality that is revolutionary and controversial in leadership positions. this doesn't have to indicate world changing stuff it just could indicate a smart but controversial musician or leader of a band or director of a film - a head of department who makes polarising decisions for their subordinates etc - either way, these are people to look out for and keep on your side.

• pluto vs venus - venus will have an obvious aesthetic that they demonstrate physically. pluto in first house may not or may have very different aspects of their identity, for example living a normal life and then travelling abroad on a shoestring but without telling anyone. you may enter the home of someone with pluto in the first house and be surprised at what you find, such as a strange collection, or huge investment like an eccentric hobby, but not as much visible luxury as venus

• mercury in the first house may find thenselves in a role with lots of data or communications but has less access to the hidden side of affairs. for example - mercury will find themselves as the presenter of a tv show, youtube channel, or podcast. pluto will be on the editing team and responsible for a sustained social media campaign to push the channel. lots of access to people's data.

• pluto and saturn in first house can have similar tastes depending on their environment. in universities, college, and so on they may both be heavily involved with faculty and alma mater history but for very different reasons. saturn will preserve the traditions for traditions sake. pluto will investigate the history of a secret society, controversial book or paper, or unusual theory. may both like old varnished wooden furnishings and dark heavy fabrics, but for pluto it's much more of an aesthetic. Pluto could be an indiana Jones extra. Saturn is more likely to be a member of Hogwarts faculty.

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Another random pluto fact:

Pluto in the first house makes for one of the most intriguing and unpredictable charts. It is honestly very hard to tell much about the lives these people may lead from their chart, even when other placements are accounted for.

You may have to look at multiple different placements as well as the aspects and other interactions of the chart. Even then there can be many layers as to how events play out. Events like the solar, saturn, and lunar return are very important to make sense of these charts. It can help to do a tarot reading to clarify.

• chalcedony (pictured) can be a good crystal for these people or any pluto related energy

For more of this vibe please check out my post on dream symbolism here! I'm planning on doing a lot more astrology and dream symbolism posts, which should be pretty fun :P

I'm also doing a free reading giveaway on my etsy (or basically free - please click the 50p option as unfortunately I couldn't set it at £0) at the moment just as I'm looking for feedback and interested in interacting with more people, especially at the intersection of astro and mbti 🦋

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goatcheesecak3 · 6 months

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Adam gets a good ending because I said so

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Includes: angst, fluff, not a whole lot of dialogue, more plot really. Not written for any gender in particular.

For context, this takes place just after the first saw. The nerve gas house is mentioned, but at this point John hasn't set up any traps in it yet (he's most likely off in Mexico dealing with Cecilia right now).

A/n fun fact: this is actually all 100000% true and Canon, Adam is still alive.

You were a plucky young urban explorer, and you'd caught wind of an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city. It had been boarded and chained up, most likely to keep out squatters and junkies, but also people like you. Well, whoever owned that building would have to try harder than that to keep you and your trusty pair of bolt cutters out. You loved to explore the dead parts of the city, dilapidat buildings and forgotten homes, to see what stories they had to tell, what history they were hiding.

Upon arrival to this house, you parked your van just out of sight around the corner and double checked your rucksack to ensure you all had your supplies. Phone, torch, bolt cutters, energy bar, gatorade and just in case, pepper spray. Satisfied that you had what you needed, you approached the house on foot looking for an entrance. You found a back door, boarded up, but the wood seemed to have succumbed to the elements, leaving it rotten and weak. One hard kick with your steel toe capped boots was all it took to give way. You turned on your torch and began your usual routine. You first headed upstairs, just to give the place a once over from top to bottom, identifying any safety risks before you could explore more in depth. Once you'd reached the ground floor again, you let out a dissapointed sigh. The entire house had been gutted, no furniture, no stories to tell, just empty. You figured you wouldn't be here long. The air was still - no - stale. You cursed yourself for not bringing some sort of mask, you were certainly breathing in years worth of mould, dust and cobwebs. It smelled damp and the stench of rotting wood made you feel as though you were going to retch. Regardless, you soldiered on, in desperate hopes of finding something, anything that would make this expedition worth while. And oh boy, did you find it. It hadn't occurred to you to look directly at the floors before, but something in your gut told you to look down, and to your excitement, you discovered that you were stood over a trapdoor. You wedged your bolt cutters between the floorboards and began to pry, until a satisfying crrreeeeaaaakkk sounded out, signaling that you'd gained access to whatever secrets lay beneath.

You stood, staring down at a short set of stairs, you couldn't see where they lead. It was dark down there, darker than the house, and not just in terms of light. Something about it seemed sinister, as though you were staring at the steps down to hell itself. Against all your better judgement, you began your descent. You made note to keep the trapdoor open, it was heavy to lift, and you were sure it would be even heavier to push back up if you needed to get out in a hurry. Smart move.

A seemingly endless corridor presented itself to you, so long that your torch light didn't reach the end, instead it illuminated specks of dust floating through the air. This wasn't a basement, it was a fucking secret tunnel. Something was terribly wrong, this was hidden for a reason. You knew whatever awaited you at the end of this corridor wasn't going to be pleasant, yet you persevered.

After what felt like an eternity, you reached a heavy, rusty iron door.

"What the fuck" you muttered to yourself, although it might as well have been a yell, the way it pierced through dead silent corridor.

Suddenly, you thought you heard something. The faintest sound of a whimper. You jumped, and let out what you thought was a confident "who's there", but in reality, you sounded small and afraid. You could hear the fear in your own voice, which only filled you with more dread.

You heard it again, this time slightly louder, and more alive. It was a terrible noise, no words, just the agonising cry of abject horror. There was no denying it, someone was behind that door, and they needed your help.

"I can't believe I'm doing this" you said to yourself as you took a deep breath. You didn't give yourself time to think, or psych yourself out, you just acted. Grabbing the heavy door and pulling it with all your might. Adrenaline coarsed through your veins as the door gradually opened.

The sight you were greeted with was like nothing you'd ever seen before. Your eyes followed your torch around the room, seeing a stomach churning mixture of normalcy and horror. The white tiles, urinals, shower heads and sinks were not unlike any locker room you'd ever seen, but they were coated in a thick layer of grime and filth. In the very center of the room you saw what you hoped wasn't a dried up puddle of blood, but the corpse next to it didn't fill you with confidence. Hang on a second- a CORPSE? All at once, the stench of decomposition, bodily fluids, and the terrible sight of it all hit you like a punch in the gut. You stumbled over a sink, gagging and shaking. You weren't sure if it was fear or disgust that finally made you vomit.

"Wh.. what are you gonna do to me" a timid voice wept from somewhere behind you. You spun round, flashing your torch into the darkest corner of the filthy room. There, sat chained up and shaking like a beaten dog, was a man. His face gaunt and pale, stained with blood and tears. His skinny arms hugging his knees to his body, as he stared up at you with big, wet eyes.

"Oh my god" was all you could say, as your eyes found their way to his ankle. It was shackled to a pipe, his foot was badly bruised and clearly broken.

The man began to let out small, pitiful sobs, as though he was too tired to cry properly.

"Wh.. what happened?" You asked. He didn't - couldn't answer.

"My name's y/n, I'm gonna help you okay?" You said, frantically reaching into your bag for your bolt cutters.

The man threw up his arms in defence and retreated further into his little corner as you approached him.

"Please don't hurt me!" He wailed.

"I'm not going to hurt you, but we've got to get you out of here fast, okay? You can trust me" you said, approaching with more caution now. You had no idea what your plan was, but you knew it would start with getting him unchained.

"Hold still, I'm gonna cut the chain okay?" You said softly. Everything in you wanted to panic and scream, but you knew you needed to keep your cool if you were going to help this guy.

He nodded timidly, and watched as you cut through the chain.

"Were they... has whoever did this fed you?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

He shook his head, "They left me here to die," he managed through sobs.

Remembering your gatorade, you pulled it out of your bag and handed to him.

"Here, the sugar in this will help you. What's your name?"

He hesitated for a moment, but decided that trusting you was really his only viable option.

"It's Adam.. h.. how did you find me?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Listen to me Adam, we can't afford to waste any time, okay? We go out that door and keep following the hallway. There's a way out of here, but we've got to go now. Can you walk?"

Adam shook his head and began to cry again.

You took a deep breath, realising the severity of the situation. There was no way he'd make it along the corridor, let alone up the stairs.

"I could go back out, and call for help, but you'd have to wait here"

Adam's eyes widened and suddenly he was clinging onto you, like a frightened child on their first day of school

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me" he blubbered, his words almost inaudible.

You suppressed the urge to cry. Seeing a grown man, so frightened, so alone that he was reduced to this... all you wanted to do was hug this poor stranger. In that moment, you knew you couldn't leave him there alone. He must have seen unspeakable horrors in that room, you couldn't leave him there wondering if you were ever coming back.

"Listen to me, Adam. I'm not gonna leave you, we can figure this out. Here," you handed him your rucksack, "put this on, and then get on my back. You'll be in charge of shining the torch, and I'm gonna carry you out of here, got it?"

He nodded, and very hastily obliged, taking huge breaths and trying to steady himself.

His hands were tight around your shoulders, his muffled cries close to your ears as you carried him. He was light, it was clear that he had been down there without food for too long, but it made carrying him easier.

You couldn't quite run, but you steadily jogged through the corridor, your pulse so strong you could practically taste it. You flew up the stairs, and to your relief, the trapdoor was still open, and the house still vacant. You wasted no time getting to the back door and out into the night.

Taking in his first breath of fresh air since who knows when, Adam began to sob uncontrollably, still clinging onto your back.

"Nearly there" you spluttered, beginning to run out of breath. Realising how close you were to your van, a surge of adrenaline spurred you on and by some miracle, you sprinted the last stretch to your van.

You buckled Adam in and headed straight for the hospital.

A few days later

You'd exchanged details with the police and the hospital staff once Adam was being taken care of. You'd given your witness statement and lead the police to the scene of the crime, and now, a few days later you could finally relax a bit. But not entirely, you couldn't stop thinking about Adam. No one even knew he was missing, he would have died if you hadn't accidentally stumbled upon the monster's lair. From what you knew, he had no one. That was when the phone rang, it was the hospital. Adam, having been seen to and fit enough to talk to people, had asked the hospital staff to contact you. They were asking if you'd come to visit later that day.

"Of course, I'll be there! How's he doing" you asked the nice lady on the other end of the phone.

"Much better now, he'll look forward to your visit".

You entered the hospital ward, armed with a bunch of flowers and a get well soon card. You weren't sure if Adam was the type to be into flowers, but you figured it was at least a nice gesture. Adam looked much better indeed, his face had more colour, his arms looked less feeble. He was attached to a drip, you assumed that was something to do with the malnourishment, his foot in a cast and he had a neat dressing on the would in his shoulder.

"Hey, big guy," you smiled, as you approached his bed, sitting down beside it.

"Y/n, you came!" He beamed. This was nothing like the Adam you'd met the other day.

"Of course I did! How are you feeling?"

He reached out and took your hand, a content smile stretching across his face.

"Great, thanks to you. I don't even know what to say, you saved my life"

You knew you'd saved his life, but something about hearing him say it to you out loud just tugged at your heartstrings. You felt your eyes well up, as you squeezed his hand.

"Hey, don't get all soft on me now" he teased, in a reversal of roles where he was now the one to comfort you. "All you did was carry a man from the pits of hell, it's not a big deal or anything" he joked.

You let out a small chuckle.

You really liked Adam's sense of humour, and you couldn't begin to describe how wonderful of a feeling it was to see him laughing and joking. To see him safe and comfortable after that terrible ordeal.

Your visits with Adam became a regular thing, and quickly the two of you became close. You supported him through every step of his recovery, and once he was discharged, you kept in touch. Often meeting for coffee, going on walks. You learned about Adam's love of photography, and watched fondly as he took candids of people on the busy streets, or every now and then snapped one of you because in his words, "the lighting brings out your eyes". Over the course of the next few months, this friendship blossomed into something more. It started when you'd come over to keep him company, he'd been having trouble with nightmares and you were there to help him deal with them. One thing lead to another, and you'd found yourselves cuddled up in his bed admitting your feelings for one another.

A year on from the ordeal, though Adam was still struggling, he was practically a new person.

JIGSAW KILLER SURVIVOR CELEBRATES ONE YEAR OF FREEDOM

Read the front page of a local paper.

On this day last year, local man Adam Faulkner-Stanheight got a second chance at life, when urban explorer y/n miraculously discovered him while investigating an abandoned home on the outskirts of the city.

"Babe, look at this, we've been papped" you chuckle, handing Adam the morning paper as you sipped your coffee.

In perhaps the most an unconventional meet-cute we'll ever see, Mr Faulkner-Stanheight and Miss/Mr y/n, appear to have found love with eachother, despite the traumatic way in which they met. The two now live together and co-own a successful photography business.

Adam smiled fondly at the article, until he noticed the attached picture of the pair of you sat in a café window. He let out a groan.

"Why did they have to use that picture, I look like I'm a having a stroke" he whined, causing you to chuckle.

"Well I think you look very handsome," you peck his cheek and pour some coffee into his mug.

Life is good.

A/n first Adam fic! Ik it was a little rushed, but I honestly just wrote it so I can live in denial comfort myself by giving him a happy ending😭 Hope I did our pookie bear justice <3

Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist :^)

Replies and reblogs are very much appreciated bc I don't have many saw mutuals and I'm tryna locate some teehee

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Could you write the reactions of the Arcane characters (Silco, Sevika, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn) to a reader who went out and came back late at night crying and bruised because she got into a fight with her bullies?

1. The reader didn't tell them who she was going out with or where

2. She didn't take her phone. She just left without telling anyone

Silco: Takes one look at your state, and rises slowly to his feet. One hand takes your chin, turning your face to the light to take in the extent of the damage. An eerie remoteness enters his eyes. In a sparing few words, he gets the details of what happened, and where the altercation occurred. Then he leaves you in Singed's care, and summons the crew. No warning; no explanation. He's already taken off.

There will be a bloodbath in the Lanes tonight.

Afterward, when the bastards heads are on pikes, he'll fold himself around you in bed and smooth a gentle hand through your hair. You'll be assigned a bodyguard after this 'encounter.' And given training in self-defense and situational awareness.

"You'll not be preyed upon by filth like that again."

Sevika: For a moment, she looks ready to belt you one. What were you thinking creeping off in the middle of the night?! Then she gets a look at your state and shakes her head - first in incredulity, then in rage. Can you walk? Good. Show her where this happened. Tell her what your attackers looked like. They can't have gotten far - not when she has lookouts posted in half the Lanes.

Once she's done bashing their heads in, expect a reaming-out while she patches you up. Hasn't she warned you to always be on your guard?

She'll take the day off tomorrow. Not letting you out of her sight until she's sure last night was a fluke and not something more sinister. Also expect to be fed. A lot. You'll need your strength for all the combat drills she will literally drill into you.

"Gonna make you untouchable. Let's see the bastards try."

Jinx: Baby, she was already following from the shadows. Your attackers wouldn't be permitted to lay a finger on you. She'd have perforated them full of lead with PuffPuff. After which you can expect a third degree on why you were out in the middle of the night without your phone. Who were you meeting? Why didn't you tell her where you were going? Has she screwed up and made you mad? Are you abandoning her?

You'll spend the rest of the night reassuring her rather than getting reassurances.

But hey - at least your bullies are taken care of?

"We should, hehehe, find a hole to dump the bodies in, maybe?"

Vi: The first thing she does is rush over to you. Her eyes are angry, but her hands are gentle as she bandages your cuts and tends to your bruises. Her first order of business is making sure you don't have any serious injuries. Next is making sure she's there for you emotionally.

Once you've calmed down, she'll grill you about where you were jumped and who the bullies were. Then she'll prowl the areas on her own until she's narrowed down the suspects - gotten them to confess - and given them the clobbering of their lives.

Thereafter, expect her to accompany you when you're outdoors at night. She doesn't need you running into more creeps.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I'd feel better knowing this doesn't happen again."

Caitlyn: She's not crying, but she's stricken and near-tears when you stumble home. Your phone already had a dozen texts and missed calls before she realized it wasn't on you; she's already called her Enforcer colleagues for favors on whether you've been spotted anywhere in X or Y vicinity.

The second she realizes you've been jumped, her mind goes to the big picture. Those bullies are still out there. They might hurt someone else - or do worse. But for now, the main order of business is getting you bandaged and in a safe headspace.

She'll be by your side, soothing and reassuring, at every step. Never once will she ask why you were out at night, or why you didn't have your phone on you. It's only once you're better that she'll slip into cop-mode and question you about the bullies. Then she'll put on her detective hat to track them down.

"Hm? Oh - just a few errands to run. Nothing to worry about. I'll bring back your favorite croissants from the bakery, all right? Rest up."

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 8 months

Text

It's officially Spooky SZN!!! It's been a minute since I've added another installment to The Hearteyes Zone, but it's finally time. I do believe this is the 8th story in the series. Check out the others if you haven't already.

The Hearteyes Zone Series | Spooky SZN Masterlist

Finnegan Road is haunted, but not by a spirit or a ghost. It's something more sinister. Sometimes, human beings are the most horrifying apparition of all.

Human Beings. They'll make you think you were much better off... in the Hearteyes Zone.

Heads or Tails

30-year-old Mezca was all dolled up and on her way to the annual Halloween party hosted by her best friend, Gina. Having a successful podcast dedicated to True Crime cases, Mezca was given clearance to host a storytime at the party for entertainment, and she had the perfect true tale...

Dressed as Presidential Barbie, she took to the stage in the highly decorated city banquet hall with masked and unmasked faces filling the venue.

"This one's pretty fresh... Some of you may have heard about the string of recent murders in this city. If not, then listen up. A quick Google search will confirm all I'm about to tell you."

Mezca looked into the masked and painted faces before her. They were settled in, ears open.

"Show of hands. How many of you have heard of the Heads or Tails killer?"

A few hands were raised, but for the most part, people were clueless. It was a clean canvas for Mezca to begin her story with a description of the first known victim, a Jamaican American woman in her late 20s by the name of Andra Beach.

"Andra had a husband and three sons under the age of 5 who were all in Maine when the crime occurred, and boy was it messy. She was stabbed 32 times in the chest. Initially, police thought it was a crime of passion. They questioned everyone close to her and her family, but something was strange. They found a quarter in a puddle of her blood. 48 hrs later, another body was found. This was also a black woman, early 30s. The m.o. was the same. 48 hrs later, another victim. Hannah Ayad. Same m.o. She was getting tires from a shop only 29 miles from here when he was blindsided by a stranger and murdered in cold blood. Hanna was discovered with 16 stab wounds and a quarter laying in her blood. After 3 more identical deaths within the course of the next week, the quarter in the pool of blood became a calling card that signaled to detectives that this was a serial killer. But what was the significance of the quarter?"

The audience was captivated, but Mezca hadn't even begun to cook.

"A week ago, a woman, mid-20s, was spotted stumbling and bleeding down Finnegan Road."

The tension in the room rose.

"Yes, OUR Finnegan road. 8 miles away. She'd been stabbed 3 times. According to her report, she met a guy at her Waffle House shift. He came back on the backend and grabbed her on the way to her car. Can you guess what he did next?"

Crickets.

"He produced a quarter, put it in her hand and told her to call it. If she didn't, he'd kill her. 'Heads,' she called, not knowing what would happen. 'What happens if it's tails,' she asked him. You know what he said? 'You better pray it's heads.'"

Mezca took the moment to revel in the attention, keeping everyone on edge with anticipation.

"It was tails... Unfortunately for her. He stabbed her three times as she grappled with him until she fled on foot and hid in a dumpster until morning. She was found walking the street and taken to a hospital. So far, she is the only known surviving victim of a man who's now referred to as the Heads or Tails killer. And yes, he's still at large. Police have no clue who he is. So be careful out there... and Happy Halloween."

Mezca smirked as she left the stage, feeling the paranoia around her. Gina was the first to grab her, eyes serious and fearful.

"What the fuck? He's still around? Did they say what he looked like?"

"6'0-ish black male, brown eyes, and a muscular build. He could be anybody."

"What the hell? Why didn't you mention this before? I wouldn't have invited half the people here! Now I'm eyeballing everyone." Gina was paranoid as she looked around the room, staring extra hard at the people in masks, head coverings, prosthetics.. the tall ones, the built ones. Unfortunately for her, she'd invited a SLEW of handsome and tall black men based on her preference and social media. No one stood out.

"You're paranoid," Mezca's face angled down, making her eyes look nefarious. She was enjoying the effects of her story too much. "Besides, it's better to know what's going on around you now than not at all. Don't let it stop your fun! You're a black she-devil. You look great, and you should have a great night. Don't think too much."

Gina downed a cup of strong knee buckling jungle punch, nodding anxiously. "You're right. I need to chill. What are the odds right? I'm tripping. I'm big tripping. I'm a enjoy this party like I planned and I'm a stay where it's lit. I ain't got the energy for that dark shit."

"That's the spirit. Go dance. Shake it off."

"I'm a shake it off," Gina sighed, shaking her arms and heading toward one of the many 6'0 snacks. "I'm a dance on him, take the edge off, then I'm going to pee."

Mezca chuckled and followed suit, dancing with a few good partners and trading numbers. She disappeared into the crowd after dance three, hunting out food and waiting on the drunken costume contest. That was when she came across a convincing Spiderpunk, masked. He was instantly her pick to win.

"You gonna drink that with your mask on? Let me show you how it's done," she teased, chugging the strong punch. He peeled off his mask, revealing a handsome face that she would be honored to sit on.

"Now how you gonna question my abilities and life choices without telling me your name?"

"You can't tell? I'm Presidential Barbie, mothafucka."

"A Black republican, I bet," he sat his cup down, crossing his arms. "You heard me," he smirked.

"Funny. You know, you never know who has a death note these days. Gotta be extra careful."

"Heads of Tails killer probably got one. I can't believe you got in front of this party and scared the everloving shit out of everyone in here by reading the news. Nigga..."

"Mezca."

Athough Gina said it when Mezca was introduced... but she didn't expect him to remember.

His brows rose. "Erik."

Mezca nodded, taking in his features and running them against the killer profile in her head. He hit all the marks as a match, but he wasn't the only one.

"Usually," she picked up, "Killers pick a victim or victim type and stick to it. A lot of women here fit the type to a T. The odds are actually fair that the killer would be here tonight. What do you think?"

"You probably ain't wrong," his brow raises once more. Mezca had a strong feeling this was the guy, but there was no way to prove it. He hadn't done anything. 'Well, Mezca, or Barbie... this party has Spiderpunk's protection. Toss a hat in the air if you need assistance."

He left the table with a full cup. Mezca did the same and then joined some familiar faces. They, too, were nervous about the serial killer potentially roaming their grounds for his next victim.

"Damn. The true crime story actually did scare the shit out of the entire party," Mezca muttered. "Guys... Are we the only black people having a party on Halloween? Come on. Be real! Chances are slim that any of you need to worry."

Despite her words, she knew different. It was very possible that someone would die, and she'd be there to live the moment and witness the investigation that she was so fascinated with. It was screwed up how she looked forward to it. She only hoped it was no one she knew personally. She kept eyes on women she knew just in case.

"Shit! Where's Gina?"

She took the solo walk to the restrooms, a gun in her pink purse. Gina did mention that she had to take a leak. The bathroom was empty. Since she was the only one, Mezca decided to go. She made it quick, wasting no time in the stall. Then she went to wash her hands, and something small on the counter caught her attention. It was just a penny. Her heart nearly stopped. She left the bathroom quickly, but something didn't sit right.

Hesitantly, Mezca backed up and re-entered the bathroom. She pushed open every other stall door until she got the locked disability toilet. She was hesitant. Finding the courage, she kicked the door. Nothing.

She released a breath and went back to the party, searching for the host, not finding her. She did bump into Spiderpunk once more.

"Erik! Have you seen Gina?"

"Gina? Last I saw, she was with someone. A guy."

"Did you see where they went? Something isn't right. She'd never come back."

"And you want ME to help you? You trust me like that? I saw you eyeing me sideways."

"I know you better than I know these other guys. You're my best option. Besides, I got a little something-something in case you get outta line."

"Aight then... Let's find your friend."

Mezca kept a small distance as she followed Spiderpunk from the banquet hall into the long and empty hotel conference hall. It was an entire hotel floor. Sure enough, she heard the familiar sound of Gina's giggling at the end.

"Excuse you?! I was worried for nothing," she growled, meeting her friend. "You know you just went missing?!"

"Huh? Oh, Mezca! Mezca, Mezca. Meet David. David's a fitness trainer and look at this," she pulled up his shirt, rubbing her hand down his abs. "AHH! Okay, okay." She lowered it. "Ain't he fine? He's got 8% body fat. Say Hi Daviiiid."

"Hi David." Mezca turned quickly back to Gina. "Can I talk to you?" Behind the fake plant, eight feet away, Mezca whispered, giving Gina a piece of her mind. "Are you crazy? We just talked about the shit going on, and you disappear!?"

"Hm? Well, no. It's just- it's a party... I took your advice, not to worry about it. What are the odds?"

"HIGH, BITCH, I WAS LYING!" Mezca held her face, fully stressed. "I was scared shitless looking for you. You can't do that shit. Not now!"

"Wow. Well," Gina glared briefly, "We'll talk about that later... in detail... I guess the important thing is you found me alive and well... AND I see you're not doing too bad yourself," her head tilted toward the 6'2 Spiderpunk.

"Erik," Mezca remembered. "He's the one who helped me find you and now he's, I guess, chilling... waiting to escort me back so I don't get murdered. What the fuck is this reality we're living?"

"I don't know, but he doesn't seem like a bad guy."

Mezca sighed. "Not a bad guy at all." Hesitantly, she left Gina there in the empty hall with her fitness trainer and walked with Erik back toward the banquet. A little slower this time as they talked.

"You suspected me," Erik looked up.

Mezca had to admit. "I did... Only because you fit the profile. But so do nine other guys here."

"I noticed. Maybe a Halloween party wasn't such a good idea this year."

Both heads turned at the sound of Gina's shriek. They went running back to find her and David in a frozen state. There was a woman's body behind the escalator they hadn't noticed until now.

The scream that left Mezca's throat when she saw it was out of her control. She knew the dead girl. They'd gone to the same university. She'd wanted to witness shit when it went down, but not like this. Mezca stumbled backward from the sight and ran back to the party to snatch the mic from the DJ.

"TAMRON IS DEAD! THE KILLER IS HERE!"

No one moved, choosing to stare in confusion.

"SOMEONE CALL THE DAMN POLICE," she shouted, pushing them into action. The police arrived within 5 minutes, ending the party. Fear was at an all-time high.

Mezca, Gina, David, and Erik were made to give statements of what they witnessed while the body was taken for examination. Mezca couldn't look now that she knew the victim, and she was too frazzled to think about details. There wasn't much she could offer to help.

"At least we know now who it's not," David commented when it was all over and time to part ways. In a way, that was true. He looked at Gina. "Walk you to your car?"

"Sure," she followed beside him.

He left up the escalator with Gina. Meanwhile, Erik escorted Mezca to her car while she vented about the bad luck.

"You mind sitting with me? Just a second?" She unlocked her doors for Erik to sit instead of standing outside of the car to talk. "This was not how I saw the night going," she admitted. "I'll be honest, I was screwed enough to wanna see a case go down in real time, but not with Tamron. That's complete bullshit. Tamron?!"

"Did you see anything else weird tonight? Anyone acting suspicious?"

"Everyone was suspicious."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I guess it's a stupid question. I do have a better one... Hey," he leaned, suddenly more curious. "I've been meaning to ask you... Heads or Tails?"

"What?" Mezca glared. "That's not funny. Why would you do that?"

"You have a 50/50 chance of survival," he whispered, a knife materializing in his hand. "No. No," he took her purse with the gun. "Scream, and it becomes 0." He sat a quarter on her dashboard. "Pick it up."

Chills came over her.

"Pick it up, or you'll forfeit the game. I'm sure you know what happens then. You damn near came to it on stage."

"That wasn't-"

"So damn eager to see some carnage. What about becoming it? Yeah?... Yeah, I think so. Pick up the coin, and this is the last time I'm giving you this option."

Mezca cautiously picked up the quarter.

"Now I'll offer you two roads because we did have a little connection. If you're lucky, you'll get what you wanted at the start of the night to see some real shit go down that you can tell your followers about. It not... then you know the drill. You know how it is."

Mezca was hesitant, wondering how she would get out of the shituation.

"Flip it."

"I will, I swear, but could you give me some reasoning so I understand?"

"Flip.. the damn.. quarter, Mezca. Just flip it. Now."

With no choice and at knife point, she flipped the jcoin. He covered it immediately.

"Call it."

"Tails." She could feel the sweat beading on her face as he revealed the coin.

"Tails," he smirked. "You really are lucky. Come on, I'll show you exactly how I do it. You're getting a front row seat as my number one fan.

Mezca remained silent as they switched places, him taking the wheel. She observed anxiously as Erik stalked through the night, creeping searching.

"There," he pointed at an open diner. When Mezca was confused, he explained that he could tell by cars approximately how many women were inside. He also knew when they closed and when shifts ended.

"Stay right there and be a good lil president," he muttered, looking back as he got out of the car. "And keep your eyes on that alley," he pointed.

Mezca watched him, immersed in eerie vibes. She didn't like feeling responsible for this kind of thing going down. She called 911 to alert them to quietly ambush him, explaining that if they hurried, they could stop a murder. She was putting her own life in the line as well to call.

The police came quietly with their lights off, finding Mezca in her car and taking her into theirs for protection.

When Spiderpunk emerged from the diner with a woman, he was quickly apprehended.

"Wait," Mezca stared through the glass, "That's not him. It's his costume, but it's not him."

The police searched the diner, but didn't find Erik. Mezca was now terrified for her own safety and afraid to be alone. The went to the police station, but there wasn't much they could do but keep eyes on her neighborhood and building.

Once out of the station, she got a call from an unknown number. She thought of going back, but answered it outside instead.

"Hello?"

"I'm always watching you. Don't make me change my mind about you, Mezca. Go straight home. Follow the speed limit. Have a good night."

How many people had survived his game and then kept their mouth shut because they were terrified he'd come back? There had to be more than a few out there. Mezca did just what he said for the night. She went home, and after hours lying awake, fell asleep. She waited a full week before she went to the police again to tell them about Erik's threat. By then, he'd killed eight more.

Luckily, with her in-depth description, Erik was captured days later. She still double-checked her doors and lied awake at night.

Some things you don't get over.

Sometimes life is such that you can only lie down at night and HOPE that in the morning reality has changed... into the Hearteyes Zone.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion

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