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imasadboi · 7 months

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Raise The Stakes

CW: Blood, violence, stalking, kidnapping, death, vampirism, sex, blood drinking, drugging (with blood), ooc Leon, cutting (palm), (more to be added as series goes on).

Summary: Leon, a vampire turned against his will, believes he can get everything he lost through you. He will have you, not even your fiancé would deter him.

Word Count: 1,257

Hi, this will be my first fully fledged series. I've been working hard on this for this past month and intend to do weekly uploads. (If not weekly, then bi-weekly!) I hope you enjoy and look forward to future chapters. And don't ask for pings, please. Simply follow my blog to get future updates.

That night still rings in his mind like discordant notes—the night he was turned. His gums ache and his hands clench into tight fists as the memory threatens to replay in detail. All it took for his family to be lost to the hands of Death was a rogue vampire, a spawn of the Devil. By the cruel hands of fate, he was spared and awoke to the grim sight of his mother’s throat torn to shreds and bloodied. His father had his head torn from his body, the bone sticking out from the gaping wound. His younger sister’s body was nowhere to be found—at first. It wasn’t even a short walk down the road until he saw the way that beast had torn his beloved sister’s dress apart before doing the same to her mortal flesh. He cried out in agony at what had befallen his poor family.

Worst of all, the scent of iron hung cloyingly in the air. His new hunger was made known to him in brutal fashion. His mind was befuddled, as both human and beastly instincts fought to dominate his actions. As his new instincts took over, his nails elongated almost painfully from the roots. His canines grew longer causing his gums to chafe from the rapid growth. Senses heightened and everything became too much at once; The thought to give in crossed his mind at that moment.

But the one thing that held him true despite his entire being changing; rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. Whether God had decided to show him mercy that night or not, it was due to this feeling that kept him tethered to his humanity. Even through unabating hunger and lines of drool slipping down his chin, he steadily buried each family member. As he sought to repair the wreckage of his family home, he noticed the silver chain that lay on the floor, its only pendant, a dainty cross. His fingers burned upon contact, before he ripped a piece of cloth from his already torn shirt and picked it up. He held it close to him for a moment before pocketing it. He wouldn’t rest until that vampire had paid for what he’d done.

Leon regains his bearings as he’s finally released from the memories of his past. From his palms, rivulets of blood flow freely. He quickly rids himself of his tight grip, nails no longer digging into soft flesh. He grimaces at how he’s let 100 years slip by without any progress. Sure, he’s hunted down other vampires yet the one he looks for never seems to be around. He shakes his head in frustration, his obsession beginning to crawl back into his mind like a decrepit parasite when a wave of nausea washes over him. Hunger. How long ago did he feed? He can’t recall. Time no longer ties him to this plane of existence. What would be the point in keeping track of the seasons, of the sun rising and falling when he can no longer feel its rays on his skin—skin that’s become paler with each passing day.

He grimaces how foreign his thoughts have become, how less human he’s become. But now’s not the time to be thinking of his ever fading humanity. He needs to eat. All he really needs is himself, so he gets up from the throne he’s sat on. He dusts off imaginary dirt from his lap and sets off to find yet another poor animal to claim as his victim. If there was one thing he’d swore never to do was feed on a human.

Can’t really uphold that promise if I keep starving myself, he thinks. I wonder if it’ll be wolves or unsuspecting deer on the menu tonight.

Finally out of the castle—one that was so graciously empty—his eyes linger onto the forest that lies ahead. Just as he’s about to take a step, he hears hushed voices. Part of him feels annoyed that someone’s decided trespassing was a suitable nighttime activity but his curiosity also gets the best of him. He makes his way towards the voices, keeping to the shadows.

“We really shouldn’t be out here,” a voice says quietly, yet with the night so hushed, they might as well have been yelling.

“We’ll be fine, you know you don’t have to be scared with me around, right?”

Leon hears the hesitance in the other’s voice just before they speak, “I know but there’s been more animal attacks as of lately. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“You have such an imagination, but that’s what I’ve always liked about you. I didn’t want us to miss this chance to be together with all the wedding planning that’s been going on. I’ve missed you. Missed us being alone together.”

Leon feels a pang of jealousy as his confliction has yet again robbed him of something so precious. Something he as a vampire will never get to have again. He moves to get a closer look at the couple before him when he carelessly steps on a layward branch. He holds his breath, more out of habit than anything, as he quickly moves to obscure himself.

“Did you hear that?” The first voice asks.

“Hear what?” Leon hopes the second person might convince the both of them to continue with their walk but the first voice pipes in again.

“Is anybody there?” Leon decides to keep quiet, hoping they both lose interest.

“See, it was nothing, let’s just keep walking. We only have so much time before we have to head back.”

Leon listens to the pair of footsteps walk away but that ache in his chest doesn’t seem to go away.

Would it really be so bad to keep an eye on them? Leon deliberates as his feet follow after them, I just have to make sure they stay safe. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to convince himself of, the morality of stalking after a couple or if he’s really doing this with their best interest at heart.

He follows them for some time, keeping a good few paces behind so as to not arouse suspicion. It’s only when they stop to settle down in the grass does he catch sight of them both. The first he sees is a man, dark-haired and brown-eyed. He’s got a smile on his face as he talks to his partner, you.

The moon hangs high in the sky and perfectly illuminates your being to Leon. His eyes widen a fraction as he takes in your appearance. The smile you reflect back at your partner tugs at his heart. He can’t help but want it for himself. He’d do anything to have it all for himself. A feeling cements itself in his brain, he had everything he loved taken away from him in an instant. But you, he could have you, right? It doesn’t matter that you’re engaged to be married.

You would be his, no matter what it took. But acting too hastily is ill-advised, he knows capturing you had to be done with care and planning. And most of all, he had to make sure nothing and no one would get in his way, that included your so-called fiancé.

He memorizes your scent carried over to him by the wind. A slight shiver runs down his spine. He lingers to take one more glance at you before departing. He makes quick work of dinner and walks directly back to his abode. His dead heart beating in anticipation of what’s to come.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #vampire leon kennedy #gender neutral reader

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spartanguard · 9 months

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sons of love and death, 5/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: Little later in the day than my usual posting for this @cssns story, but hope no one minds too much! (This one is worth a bit of wait, IMO ;) ) (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 4.5k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Regina probably could have installed a more modern security system in her vault; she’d had plenty of time to do it. But honestly, anyone who didn’t know what they were getting into would likely be hurt far worse by whatever they found—those Agrabah vipers were still down there, after all—and it would be useless against anyone who did know what they were after.

However, she did have a sixth sense for when her shit was being messed with, and transported herself inside the vault once she was done helping Gold get his shop straightened out. A hooded figure was poking around her potion supplies, though a far more contemporary hood than had often been down here—that of a sweatshirt instead of a cloak. Must be one of the Lost Boys, getting into trouble.

She silently strode up behind them. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And then she yanked the hood down and turned the boy around.

Only she wasn’t looking up into the face of a pubescent youth. It was—not Hook, no; there was an edge of desperation around this guy that the pirate hadn’t had in years. “Ah, so it’s the twin,” she realized.

“I have my own name, your Majesty,” he snarled back. “And I know what I’m after, so I’ll kindly ask you to leave me to it.”

He turned back around and studied the shelf, glancing between that and a book open in his hand. She didn’t recognize the tome at first, and tried reading it over his shoulder, mainly out of curiosity before she reprimanded him.

But then she read the page, and wasn’t quite sure how to react, other than to let him know, “It won’t work.”

“You say that now,” he tossed back, looking over his shoulder at her. “Bet people said that about the Dark Curse, too, and yet—here we are.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no reason to lie to you. You can’t resurrect the powers of the Dark One.” The book in his hand was one of her oldest and hardest-won—but also contained some of the darkest magical theories ever published.

“This seems to suggest otherwise.” So both the sass and the stubbornness were genetic, as well as the one-track mind. “And you were so kind as to leave it out for me. ‘Guide to resurrection,’” he read. “How perfect.”

Well. She had been reading it. Ever since Henry left on his realm-hopping adventure, she’d been feeling rather lonely, and helping her sister raise little Robyn had just made it all the more clear how much she missed her own Robin. It had been a moment of desperation after last Valentine’s Day that she’d dug it out.

But she pretty quickly deduced that it wouldn’t work—not with the way he died. And even if he’d died a more normal way, it would be cruel to drag a soul at rest back to the chaotic world of the living.

Bringing back magic, though? She could easily tell him why this wouldn’t work, but professional curiosity demanded she get in his mind. “Just how do you plan on resurrecting magic without a tether?” Especially magic that had relied on one for so long, Gold’s interrupted experiment with the Sorcerer’s hat notwithstanding.

“By creating a new one,” he answered simply, and flipped to another page in the ancient book, bearing an illustration of an ornate dagger. “Looks simple enough; just needs something touched by all past users of the magic to forge a new weapon. And what luck—I have a couple options at my disposal.”

“You really think you can just walk up to Hook or Rumple in the street and, what, pick their pockets? And while her magic is still fairly unrefined, Ms. Swan-Jones would blast you into tomorrow if you tried to even touch her or her pirate.”

“You don’t seem to be her biggest fan,” Dorian noticed quickly.

“We have a…complicated history,” Regina replied, as succinctly as she could manage. “But we’ve at least come to an understanding.” Then she laughed. “Actually, she’s the reason I’m not on your list of former Dark Ones.”

“Gotta love those hero types,” he said, though it came out more as a complaint. “Perhaps you can help me, then? Maybe we could share.” He stepped into her space and bit his bottom lip, raising his eyebrow in question.

It hadn’t worked when Hook tried it, years ago, and it wasn’t working now. “I’m good. Maiming isn’t so much my thing; call me when you need a heart.”

He glanced back at the book and flipped between pages—a little too quickly for the ancient book, in her opinion. “Huh; neither of these spells seem to require one. That’s odd; most like this do.” She was surprised; he knew his stuff—and he noticed her shock. “Oh, I’m not the only one here who had to crush the heart of the thing they loved most.”

She had to look away at that. “For someone who’s done their research, you still don’t seem to understand that you’re on a fool’s errand.”

“If there’s anything left of the Darkness in this realm, then I can bring it together and restore it to what it once was. We both know that magic never fully dies.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she had to concede. “But this isn’t a normal situation; this had divine intervention. Hades didn’t just die—he was destroyed.” She swallowed down her rising emotions at the memory of that night. “He was killed with the Olympian Crystal; completely obliterated—both him and any magic he held.”

“Then why can I still feel it?” Dorian practically whined. “You all keep telling me it’s gone, but no one can explain that one detail to me.”

“Maybe no one wants to,” she snapped back.

Dorian glared and the light even seemed to flicker as his rage threatened to boil over. But her stare back was just as fiery, she knew.

But then his look softened, and weirdly, he even smiled a bit. “If no one wants to, then that must mean it’s sensitive information. Perhaps the kind that could be life-threatening.”

She scoffed. “Only if you know how to harvest a soul.”

That cocky eyebrow arched again, and she immediately regretted her rash statement. “I’m sure I can find a way. See you ‘round, sweetheart.” Then he and his dimpled smirk disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke edged with a lick of flames.

Dammit. She was pretty sure his quest was a dead end, but she’d inadvertently put a target on the backs of her friends.

Quickly, she took a mental stock of what he’d taken: the book, as well as a few rare and potent herbs. Not enough to cast any sort of spell, but enough to get him started—or at least get him high.

She ran out of the vault and up the stairs, magically sliding the stone cover over the entry. Then she locked the door to the mausoleum and put a blood lock on it to make sure Dorian couldn’t get back in; unlike when she was trying to keep Zelena out of her spaces, she was positive she wasn’t related to the Jones men.

And then Regina headed back into town, using the walk there to figure out how to tell Emma that her husband’s evil twin probably wanted to kill them.

The whole situation had “mess” written all over it, but at least it was some excitement; she certainly could use some of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Though Killian was beginning to feel at ease for the first time in over a day, he still had a lot of questions regarding his twin and the powers they apparently shared. They hadn’t flared at all since his chat with Emma, and the tea seemed to be calming him even more. Though most assuring was the fact that Dorian was no longer in town, and that his life might continue in peace.

But still—his academic nature demanded he learn more. Were the legends he’d just been told about Cailleach Mountain real or fiction?

Good thing he was working at the library today, and therefore spending time with the one person who’d be sure to get him the answers he needed.

“Morning, love,” he called out when he entered the library—but was surprised to hear baby Gideon squealing in reply rather than his mother.

Behind the counter, Belle was struggling to get the boy to go down in his—what was it called? Play pen? But he was having none of it; instead, he was reaching for his favorite uncle.

“Oh, Belle,” he said, rushing over to grab the little lad. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing him today; I’d have grabbed you some tea.”

Gideon almost immediately wrapped himself around Killian’s neck and nestled into him. He was always a bit in awe of the steady trust this tiny person put in him, and he dared not take it for granted.

“I did tell you,” Belle answered, setting her diaper bag on the circulation desk. “Texted you as soon as I left Ashley’s; Alexandra was running a fever so she had to cancel today.”

“Damn; my apologies for missing that. I’ve had…a long day already.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off, and headed to the back room (most likely to make some tea). “It was obvious you’ve had a lot on your mind, and after yesterday, I don’t blame you.”

He swayed in his spot with Gideon, slightly taken aback by Belle’s assessment of his mental state; she knew him well, but wasn’t aware it was that well. “How could you tell?”

“I mean, anyone could guess,” she called out over the sound of the microwave. “But you had that look on your face.”

“What look?”

She poked her head out of the room. “The one that says we’re doing some research today,” she answered with a teasing smile.

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Gideon still refused to be put down, even though he’d settled against Killian and was content to play with his necklace charms. But the quiet at least let Killian give Belle the run-down on what he’d been told so far; he was getting fairly good at summarizing everything by now.

“Cailleach…I know I’ve heard of it, but the name is ringing a bell for another reason. I think it translates to something. Maybe it’ll come to me once we get started.”

They spent the rest of the morning in the reference sections, save for attending to the few patrons that trickled in. Gideon did eventually let them set him down in his playpen (once they moved it to the reference area), which meant they could dig into research even harder.

The books they were consulting were among the oldest in the collection—ones that had somehow come over with the second curse. Killian had found several mentions of the inherent magic in the area around Cailleach, but nothing more specific.

There was a growing stack on the table next to him of books he’d already looked at, and the ones he’d yet to read were dwindling. He sometimes wished it was as easy to search through these as it was to find information on the computer box, but it was worth it to be surrounded by the smell of old parchment; it reminded him of the library at the naval academy.

On her side of the table, Belle had a few translation dictionaries on one side of her as well as a similar set of stacks, all being carefully handled. She was still the expert when it came to these books, so he fully expected her to find the answer before he did. And he was right.

“Oh, I think that's it!” she exclaimed, looking up from her book and reaching for one of the dictionaries. She muttered to herself in a different tongue, but one he seemed to recognize, as she flipped through the pages of the other book, all while keeping the first one open with a carefully placed elbow.

“What’ve you got?”

“I knew the legend sounded familiar, but couldn’t place the name to it. It is a different language: it’s Gaelic—or whatever it’s called in our land; the same one your name comes from, actually.” She found the page she wanted and skimmed it with her finger. “Yeah; it means ‘witch’—and what you were describing sounds like the story of Witch Mountain.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s one that sort of spilled into this realm; I think we actually might have the book in the YA section, though, like most things, this realm probably got it wrong.” She went back to the first book. “It’s right here: ‘Though it happens rarely,’” she read, “‘All twins born in the area around Witch Mountain are inherently blessed with gods-given magic, in balance of each other.’”

He was both surprised at that, but also not, based on what Regina had told him. But it confirmed that whatever these powers were, they were definitely his—and had always been. That was going to take some getting used to.

Although, he was left curious about the phrasing of what Belle had read. “In balance?”

“Probably from an elemental standpoint; this is a book on natural sources of magic. Did you notice his powers manifesting a certain way?”

“No; his magic has been blocked both times I talked to him. But we’ve both seen evidence of his ability to melt through metal.”

“So it’s either the ability to manipulate metal, or heat-based magic. Which means yours would probably be connected to either wood or water.”

He immediately thought of his inherent connection with the Jolly Roger, which suggested either one, and he told her as much.

“Oh, let’s test it! Try to do something in my tea.” Her mug had long since cooled, despite being half full, so she pushed it toward him.

“You think I have any idea how to control it?” he tossed back.

“Well, not with that attitude.” (Truly, she was the sister he’d never had.)

“Perhaps not, but if he’s not around anymore, then it’s a non-issue. Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.”

Belle pouted a bit, but then turned her attention back to the book and read ahead. “It also says here that twins’ powers will develop as they grow together; the fact that it makes a point to say ‘together’ suggests that’s why yours haven’t manifested until now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, then.”

He was content with that answer, though she did insist on comparing that story to the novelization and temporarily took that one out of circulation. He put the books away while she sought about giving Gideon his afternoon snack, and realized he was finally feeling at peace about this whole situation.

And, with any luck, that would be the end of it.

But, Storybrooke being Storybrooke, he should have known it wouldn’t be.

“Hook? You here?” Regina’s voice called out even before the doorbell could finish ringing.

“Aye, back here,” he replied, as loud as he dared to shout within the confines of the library.

“We’ve got a problem,” she stated, sounding annoyed, as the clacking of her heels on the tile floor grew closer. “Your twin is out for blood.”

“What?” He’d still been putting books on the shelf, but whirled around and nearly dropped them; he caught them at the last second, though, lest he face Belle’s wrath. “I thought Emma sent him out of town; are you sure?” (And then he carefully placed the books on the table, just to be safe.)

“Well, he must have found a way back in, because I caught him in my vault not 10 minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t he wearing the cuff?” Belle had just laid Gideon down for his nap and joined the conversation. “He shouldn’t have been able to get past the barrier without his magic.”

“Then he got it off somehow, because he definitely had his powers. Nearly set the vault on fire.”

Belle gave Killian a knowing look, but he ignored it. “What was he doing?”

“What he’s been doing—trying to become the Dark One. But now that he knows the powers are gone, he’s going about it a different way—and a bit more gruesome.”

“How so?” Belle asked.

“He wants to recreate the dagger and manifest the powers from that last bit of Darkness left in you, Emma, and Rumpelstiltskin.”

Killian was confused. “The part you said was attached to our souls?”

“The very same.”

“How the hell can he do that?”

“By detaching your soul from your body. And there’s only one way to do that.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; Regina didn’t need to explain it—he knew she meant murder. His stomach turned at the idea of not just him, but Emma being a target for his brother’s deranged plot.

On the table, Belle’s half-empty mug cracked, water flying everywhere. He glanced down, and his palm was glowing again; shit. (At least it had somehow avoided the books.)

“That answers that question,” Belle muttered. “But—his name is Dorian Gray, right? Like the book?”

“Yeah,” Killian confirmed.

She gave a cautious smirk. “I think we might actually have something we can use against him.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Above the library but behind the clock tower was a little-used, mostly empty storage area. At least, it had been empty, until recently. Now it was filled with boxes, sheet-draped furniture, and large frames—some covered, some not.

“This is all stuff that came over from the Land of Untold Stories,” Belle explained as she led Killian and Regina through the maze that had taken over the room. “Anything of value, at least; they obviously didn’t want it exposed to the elements, but I made sure to intervene before it ended up in my husband’s shop, never to be seen again.” She loved her husband, but she did have to admit he had a tricky relationship with the concept of ownership, and the black hole that was the back of his shop. Inventory always took forever.

In her down time, she’d been trying to catalog all of this stuff for their new residents, and either get it back to who it belonged to or perhaps start a museum with some of it. (Assuming she could get Rumple to donate some items, too—but she was pretty sure she could convince him.)

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Regina asked from behind her, clearly perturbed by the amount of dust up here; Belle hadn’t had a chance to clean it up before everything moved in, but it was at least dry and fairly climate-controlled.

“We’re not looking; I know exactly where it is.” Killian was bringing up the rear, Gideon in his arms once more. She swore that was her son’s favorite spot to sleep. Their friendship was probably odd and unexpected on paper, but despite their vastly different lives and rocky history, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more.

Which was why she’d be damned if his maniac evil twin did anything to hurt him; he’d been through enough for more than one lifetime.

In the far corner of the storage room was a gathering of smaller paintings, filed together in an old armoire and covered with a sheet. “It’s over here,” she called back.

She wasted no time in yanking the sheet off, but it made them all cough from the ensuing dust. “Sorry,” she choked.

“‘S alright, love,” Killian replied, but his voice was raspy.

She didn’t waste any more time in digging through the stash of ancient portraits. “It stood out to me because—well, obviously everyone’s heard of it; I just had no idea it was real,” she explained. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” she conceded as she found the frame she was looking for.

She carefully pulled it out and looked it over as she turned to face the others. “Gosh; and now that I know, I should have seen it—even if it’s not pretty.”

“Seen what?” Killian asked, but his tone was more concerned than curious.

Her answer was to simply flip the painting around. “The Picture of Dorian Gray. In the flesh, so to speak.”

The novel had gotten the details of the painting correct: the man on the canvas could only be described as ugly and twisted, a nearly skeletal, aged face with grayed, wild hair and a hunched frame.

But one thing that stood out were the piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and slightly pointed ears—the same ones she was looking at on her best friend.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.

“Gods, I think that looks even worse than the guy Emma met in the Wish Realm,” Regina added.

“So, in the book, Dorian died when he tried to murder the portrait,” Belle went on. “Obviously, that didn’t actually happen, but I’m wondering if it’s not far from the truth—although I don’t know exactly what kind of spell this is.”

“It’s a curse,” Killian replied. “He told me.” He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the details of the painting. “He crushed the heart of the woman he loved to cast it.”

Oh—that was indeed morbid, and Belle shifted to a more careful hold on the frame. “Well, bare minimum, it probably gives us leverage over him; or…it gives us a way to potentially stop him.”

She didn’t miss the way Killian was studying the floor and clenching his jaw at that; it wasn’t an idea she was thrilled with, either. “Last resort,” she added.

Regina shuddered, no doubt having some of her own bad memories stirred. But then she jumped again and looked up. “I think there’s a leak in here,” she said.

“Odd, there shouldn’t be,” Belle replied. “The dwarves redid the roof last summer.”

And yet—as she looked up, a drop of water hit her square on the nose. Another few fell around them, and one landed on Killian’s shoulder, but he barely noticed.

“Snap out of it, pirate,” Regina commanded, and Killian jumped. “That’s you, with the waterworks.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, but sounded somewhat bewildered. Belle did notice a blue glow coming from his clenched fist, though.

“Looks like magic lessons just got added to the calendar,” Regina commented dryly, while brushing the wet spot on the shoulder of her jacket.

Screaming then came from outside, and the general hum of commotion. The group ran to the nearest window, boarded-up as it was, and peered out into the street.

Cruella’s long-abandoned De Ville had finally met its end, and was now engulfed in flames. Near it, a figure was disappearing into a cloud of fiery smoke.

“I suppose they did,” Killian sighed.

Belle didn’t like to see the conflict written on his face—gods knew he spent enough time brooding—but she had to admit: she was curious to see how this went.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian certainly didn’t regret coming back into town, but he was rather frustrated at the lack of negative reception. He’d fully anticipated coming to blows with the Evil Queen—honestly, half the reason he’d gone to her vault was in hopes of running into her. (Perhaps doing more, if she’d been interested, but she had the stink of heartbreak around her.)

(Actually, Rumpelstiltskin’s lass was the one who’d really caught his eye, but for very different reasons—nostalgic ones. The resemblance to Sybil was more than passing, though Sybil’s hair was in ringlets, and her irises more violet. But the potential of both he and his twin having taken both of Rumple’s wives was a tempting one…if she’d go for it.)

So he assumed it would cause an uproar when he set fire to that auto, and perhaps draw the heroes he sought out of the woodwork, particularly the sheriff. But after a brief stir, the onlookers merely went about their business, and the elderly woman from the diner anticlimactically put it out with a fire extinguisher while he watched from an alley.

For someone who was fond of having a dramatic flair, it was disappointing. Doubly so when he realized just how big this town was and how he really could have used that car to get around; it just screamed supervillain. (Not that he knew how to operate such a vehicle…but that was everyone else’s problem.)

Instead, there wasn’t much he could do but putter about, trying to figure out the best way to enact his plan. He’d gotten the information he needed from Regina’s vault, but had to assume he’d not easily be able to get in again. Perhaps the town had a blacksmith shop? It’d be a lot easier to forge a dagger and later imbue it with the Darkness than create one from scratch. Obviously, he could melt metal on his own, but shaping it was a whole other skill.

Alas, the town center came up empty, and the only directory he could find was a phone book dated from 1983 that fell apart nearly as soon as he touched it. Bollocks.

Maybe it was time he invested in one of those smart telephone things; he’d long since broken the burner flip phone he got on one of his previous trips to this realm.

As evening approached, another issue arose: where he was supposed to sleep. He’d been with Tisbe the first night and the hospitality of the sheriff department the next. While he was no stranger to camping, he’d rather not if he didn’t have to. He was at least able to salvage enough of the old phone book to determine there was exactly one inn in town, conveniently attached to the diner he’d tried to eat at yesterday.

Perhaps the second time would be the charm? The fact that he was far more sober now would surely help. That said, he still tried to blend in when he entered and calmly took a seat at the counter.

“What’ll it be tonight, hon?” the elderly proprietress asked him quickly. He started to enquire about a room, but was promptly cut off. “Oh, it’s you. Out.”

He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, sonny. Out. This is a private establishment and I can choose who I serve, and I ain’t servin’ you.”

“On what grounds?” He could feel the flames of indignation rising within.

“We don’t need you causing any more trouble around here,” she told him sternly. “Hook’s been through enough without you stirring the pot. So out with ya.”

He could burn this place to the ground in a minute, but that would only play into the accusations she was already leveling at him.

“Fine. I’m on my way,” he said, as calmly as he could, and hopped off the stool and slid out.

Perhaps the reception at the drinking hole would be less discerning. He ignored the glares he received on the way there and merely wondered how slow he’d have to nurse his drinks until he found a suitable partner to head home with.

The bartender didn’t appear to judge him when he sloughed down at the counter, but everyone else seemed to keep their distance, even as the hours wore on and the crowd grew larger and seedier.

This was frustrating; he wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not with a face like his. He could typically get any man or woman he wanted, yet every time he made eye contact with someone from across the bar, they quickly avoided his gaze.

What the hell?

He finally took his drink and started to make his way to the small dance floor, hoping for some kind of connection. But the crowd seemed to part around him. Bloody fuck.

Even Tisbe from the other night appeared to be dodging him. He sidled up to her while she was at the jukebox, greeting her with a tried and true, “Hello, beautiful; fancy seeing you here again.”

She looked over at him, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. “No thanks.”

“That’s not what you were saying the other night,” he murmured, trying to seductively get in her space, but she backed away.

“Yeah, because I thought you were actually Hook,” she tossed back. “And I wanted to piss off the sheriff after she screwed my family over.”

He drew back in disbelief. “Did the fact that I have two hands not escape your notice?” he asked, holding both of them upright in emphasis.

She just shrugged and walked away.

Fine then. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He headed for the door, summoning a bottle of top-shelf whiskey to his hands as he exited, and headed back out into the night.

Briefly, he considered breaking into a car and crashing in the back seat, but apparently the town was on high alert when it came to him. And if he was going to go through with his plan, he should probably stay out of sight long enough to get it done. (Not something he was used to, but he could give it a shot—this was important enough.)

He eventually found a bench near the docks that looked comfortable enough, and cast a protection spell around it that would keep him hidden from all passers-by. Then he dug out the herbs he’d pilfered from the Evil Queen’s hideout, rolled them together in a paper he’d had in his pocket, lit the end of the roll, and took a long drag; the effects hit him quickly and a hazy bliss settled over him.

When the joint was spent, he drank the whiskey until he passed out.

The last thing he was aware of was the twinkle of the stars and the gentle lap of the waves against the pier; at least he had picked a relaxing place to crash.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 7 months

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Psycho Analysis: Red

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Jordan Peele’s Us is a divisive horror film, mainly because everyone takes in-universe guesswork at face value. But what I don’t think anyone could call divisive is the film’s antagonist, a doppelganger (or Tethered, as the movie calls them) who decides that living trapped underground ain’t all it’s cracked up to be and decides to take on the surface. She’s an absolutely fantastic villain, and…

Well, let’s just start this before I say too much. Take heed of that warning, though, because this review spoils the film’s big twist.

Motivation/Goals: I mean, it should be obvious that her goal is to no longer exist in the underground and to be free to experience the upper world. Who wouldn’t want that, right? Does living off a diet of rabbits and being forced to crudely mimic the actions of the person you’re a duplicate of, all while having only basic levels of intelligence and being kept out of view deep underground sound like a fun existence to you? In a way, the actions of our villain are completely understandable. She just wanted out, the chance to have the freedoms and opportunities her victim was offered and that she was denied down in those tunnels.

Performance: Lupita Nyong’o is pulling double duty here, playing both the protagonist Adelaide and the antagonist, Red. She’s killing it in both roles, convincingly portraying both characters while giving each of them distinct and distinguishing traits to differentiate them despite one being the doppelganger of the other.

Final Fate: In the final battle, Red is fatally wounded by Adelaide, who takes her son and escapes with her family. It ends up being a pretty dark ending, for reasons that will become clear shortly.

Best Scene: The final battle is a work of art. Red deftly maneuvers around Adelaide, dancing about and toying with her while diving in for strikes here and there. The music, the movement, the foreshadowing of the movie’s big twist… That’s what cinema is all about, baby!

youtube

Final Thoughts & Score: Did this all seem kind of vague and brief? Well guess what, that’s because there’s a big twist here! You see, while Red is undeniably the main antagonist, there is another villain in the film lurking right under our noses… And the one this review is also about.

Psycho Analysis: Adelaide Wilson

In a heavily foreshadowed and kind of obvious twist, it turns out that Adelaide was the original doppelganger and Red was the original Adelaide, and during that fateful night on the boardwalk their places were switched. Adelaide damned Red to a lifetime of suffering below ground so that she could escape and live her life freely, without a care for the other disenfranchised Tethered wandering around in the tunnels, feasting on rabbits and being forced into a psychic link with those above.

Ultimately, it reinforces the core theme about how those in the higher echelons of society tend to get there by standing on the backs of the disenfranchised, as well as how even those who clawed their way up from poverty and whatnot can forget their roots and turn a blind eye to the same pain they once suffered so long as it’s happening to someone else. The numerous weird logical inconsistencies of the film are almost daring you to pick at them rather than acknowledge the simple yet uncomfortable truths Adelaide herself embodies.

It’s ultimately hard for me to truly label Red as a genuine villain as opposed to a victim of circumstance who decided violent, bloody revolution against the ruling class forcing her and the Tethered to exist in squalor was necessary, especially since she was subjected to horrific trauma (including rape, considering the way she talks about how her children were conceived). But at the same time, it’s hard to label Adelaide as truly evil as well—Can I truly fault her when, as a child, she did something drastic and cruel so she could escape her own torturous existence? Would she not have been subjected to the same horrible existence that Red was, only without the hope to one day spark a rebellion due to the nature of the Tethered? She only got as intelligent as she was because she was given opportunities and privileges the other Tethered are denied, so if she hadn’t switched places the events of the film could have been avoided… which means the Tethered would still be suffering out of sight and out of mind.

It’s an interesting dilemma we have on our hands here, and it’s one of the reasons why the movie is so fantastic. Is anyone truly evil here, or are these just the actions of desperate individuals who want to improve their lot in life and see no other way than to resort to extremes? I think that both things are true in this case. While both women are incredibly sympathetic in their motivations, both still do some incredibly heinous actions.

Adelaide is the more obvious of the two in this regard: It is her actions as a child that set this whole plot in motion. Surely there was a better way than knocking out the girl she was a clone of and forcing her into the miserable life she herself wanted to escape? Could she not have simply tagged along after her, and maybe lived as a twin or even just alerted the world to the presence of the Tethered? It may seem rather excessive to hold this against a child, but she never made any effort to rescue her family or Red from the life she left behind. She seemed to simply forget them until the Tethered uprising began. It’s rather cold and cruel, especially when considering how good a mother and person she was able to become while blending into humanity.

Red may not seem quite as bad when the twist comes around, but I think it actually reveals just how bad she had become in her years of isolation from humanity. She manipulates her son Pluto into immolating himself, and she refers to her daughter Umbrae as a monster. It’s to the point where, in Umbrae’s dying moments, all she can do is quietly sob until Adelaide gives her comfort—likely the only maternal affection the girl ever experienced. Need proof? I saved the Best Quote segment for here, taken from her introductory speech:

“Once upon a time, there was a girl and the girl had a shadow. The two were connected, tethered together. When the girl ate, her food was given to her warm and tasty. But when the shadow was hungry, she had to eat rabbit raw and bloody. On Christmas, the girl received wonderful toys; soft and cushy. But the shadow's toys were so sharp and cold they sliced through her hands and fingers when she tried to play with them. The girl met a handsome prince and fell in love. But the shadow at that same time had Abraham. It didn't matter if she loved him or not. He was tethered to the girl's prince after all. Then the girl had her first child, a beautiful baby girl. But the shadow, she gave birth to a little monster! Umbrae was born laughing. The girl had a second child, a boy this time. They had to cut her open and take him from her belly. The shadow had to do it all herself. She named him Pluto, he was born to love fire. So you see, the shadow hated the girl so much for so long...until one day the shadow realized she was being tested by God.”

While the fact remains that their births are surrounded by horrible implications, they are ultimately innocent children that their own mother inflicted her suffering upon, and who she freely used and discarded without a care because she didn’t see them as “real.” Even her Tethered husband has a moment of hurt at how dismissive she is of him. Where Adelaide blended into human society and learned how to blend in and be a good person and a good mother (despite her wicked actions as a child), Red grew to become a cold, unfeeling monster molded by her brutal circumstances. Red’s humanity was stripped from her, and she became more like the Tethered than even she would like to believe.

So, what do I even give these two characters? They’re evil, but they might be some of the most sympathetic villains I’ve ever covered. It’s genuinely hard to fault their actions, but it’s pretty impossible to defend what they ultimately accomplish. If I have to boil down these incredibly complex and multifaceted characters to a simple numerical score, I’d say that they both deserve an 8/10. But that's an 8/10 I feel is a bit reductive.

#Psycho Analysis #Us #Red #lupita nyong'o #Youtube

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tawneybel · 1 year

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Note: I didn’t add a violence-filter because, despite being a crossover between the R-rated Ringu and Saw series, this imagine isn’t too bad. As of queuing this, I’ve seen up to Saw: The Final Chapter and Ringu 2.

Imagine Sadako appearing behind Billy while you’re stuck in a trap.

It occurred to you Jigsaw himself might also become cursed, if he watched her edit. To your amazement, Sadako paused before knocking the dummy aside. You held your breath. It broke, but it wasn’t rigged. No nail bomb, no shots of any sort. Only a shattered toy. Lying on its side like you, when watching her video. Over and over. Before nodding off, beguiled by the actress’s then-ethereal movement.

Sadako’s real, just not alive.

Only an exorcism might rid anyone of her. Nothing Jigsaw had built would thwart her. For all his industrial mastery, you suspected he wasn’t knowledgeable about ghost lore. Otherwise, he wouldn’t dare kill his victims in such gruesome ways. John Kramer was a killer, despite his insistence otherwise.

You had no patience for his hypocritical, sadist philosophy and you told him so. So you found yourself disoriented, naked, and tethered to a damned device. Either on his orders or because one of his piglets didn’t like their mentor being insulted.

And/or. Maybe unrelated copycat. Probably not.

Kramer’s engineering was unparalleled. Amanda had purposely fixed games. Made them inescapable. You clearly wouldn’t be able to escape the machine without some grievous injury. If breaking out was even possible.

At least Sadako Yamamura didn’t deny her violence was vengeance-driven. Sadako, who was oozing out of the grainy screen.

Her palms, no doubt cold as the grave, silently hit the floor. You wouldn’t be surprised if that leeched skin remained pristine on this “cutting-room” floor. Or as pristine as skin whose wearer perished in a well could be. Yet she was technically “alright.” Oddly comforting, the thought you might soon be joining her… Perhaps in Sadako’s own viral afterlife. Hopefully not with Jigsaw’s other victims.

She continued her crawl, dress dry yet weighed down as if soaked. The onryo tilted her head. You weren’t going to die of fright. Not tonight. Oh, tonight she had plans for you two, but she had been transported out of Japan. That much was clear. Underneath her dark strands, a grin nearly split Sadako’s face in two. The first grin in a long time. The first of many, all for you, Sadako decided. The curse would- had proliferated. Spread farther than she had hoped. With your help.

Jigsaw was dying, but his end would be as excruciating as her power allowed. After your release, she could retaliate. It wouldn’t occur to Sadako until later that everyone involved, minus you, was ignorant of her existence and yurei in general. She just felt the same rage that birthed the curse and bound her to it.

Sadako knew you sympathized with her. A peek through her lengthy bangs rewarded her a glimpse of your impassive face. Anger ebbed. Your physical and her spiritual binds. Now you two could empathize with one another. Plan out how you would copy and distribute the tapes for her.

She reached you.

Corpses’ nails continued to grow. Did ghosts’? You weren’t sure. Because Sadako’s fingernails had been ripped clean off in her attempted ascent out of the well.

She drew herself up, her cold, cold hand on the apparatus. Warmth withdrawn from your body, you collapsed into her outstretched arms.

But not before noting the frozen countdown.

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danascullysjournal · 10 months

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If You Will Let Me

A Post-Milagro X Files Fic

TW: Medical trauma, near death experience, sedation, visit from the dead, mentions of demons

___________________

Chapter 20: Tethered

There is a plane between death and life, a haze of struggling where the soul is suspended. Battered by tempests unseen, haunted by visions of what was and what could be, the spirit is tethered to a silkworm’s thread, swung on a pendulum.

Toward the darkness.

Toward the light.

In the darkness, velvet waves pummel and formless voids gape in hunger. The stench of death wafts from their depths. They wait. Ravenous. They beckon in earnest.

They promise peace. But they have no peace.

They promise safety. They are not safe.

But what can the spirit do, adrift in this ocean, without a compass, without a rudder, at the mercy of currents and the strength of the thread? The soul cries out for an unseen savior, a way to be pulled from mouths that would devour. To be gathered and bound up, a castaway returned, restored to what was. Pulled safely, securely into the folds of light.

The hours passed. The pendulum swang.

It was disorienting. The space in which Scully found herself was not truly anywhere. She knew that much.

But the voices enveloping her, or inside of her, were insistent. Insistent and real.

Their desperation, their hunger spurred her on. Giving in to the darkness would only guarantee her damnation. And his victory. As much as the cavernous spaces yearned to pull her in, she wouldn’t go. God, she couldn’t.

The thread wavered, drawing her along aimlessly, a faceless soul through battering gales.

She felt him near, somehow, even though he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, manifest as he had in her apartment. How much of himself had he woven into her? She was infected. Stained.

She tried to cry out, but found her throat was sand.

The cord twisted. It spun.

She saw a hint of light.

Pale, thin glimmers on an otherwise formless, shrouded horizon.

Another voice began alongside the sounds of hunger. Calling to her. Intent, but with a different tone than the mouths that wanted to consume.

This sound was kind. This voice had hope.

Dad? Dad!

How many years had it been? She tried to reach out, but had no control of her arms. Tried to call to him, but could not find her words. Tried to find him- somehow- but her body felt nothing save the emptiness of this barren plane of existence.

She choked, the absence of breath, the absence of self striking panic.

Dad!

“I’m here, Starbuck. I’m here.”

She wanted to yell for him. Cry out to him. Hug him, one last time.

But he was nowhere and everywhere, and her mouth was mute.

Are you real? She wanted him to be. More than anything.

“This part of me is.”

You… pulled us out of the house. You came for me.

“How could I not? How could I not come for my little girl?”

The flood of loss, of undying love was overwhelming. It suspended them both in a cocoon of bittersweet silence.

Dad. How did you know?

“You will be amazed, someday, at what we get to know. What we get to see, and do, when we are needed. That’s why I’m here now.”

I do, I do need you, Dad. I’ve missed you so much, I thought I could never talk to you again… and you’re here and I just…

She felt like a desperate little girl. She wished she could cry, just to ease the torment inside herself. But she was bound up, inside and out. Powerless. It made her ache all the more.

“You won’t stay here. You’re my fighter. Remember?”

How can I fight what I can’t see?

His voice seemed nearer, somehow. She could almost smell his aftershave, she thought.

“You don’t. Not alone. You have to decide, Dana. Decide what you’re willing to fight for. And I hope you make the right choice.”

What is the right choice?

“I always chose myself, Dana. And my orders, and my job. All the accolades, all the rewards, remember? And I was given permission to come to you, to tell you that is not enough. Not to really live.”

That doesn’t make sense.

“It does. You’re just still afraid to admit it. I left with things undone, sweetheart. I was certain that what I did was enough. I was strong, your mother was strong, I made you kids strong. You were strong because you had to be. Because I wasn’t really there for you to rely on.”

If she could breathe here, if she could speak, she would have screamed at him. As much as she knew his words were true, his confession tore open a flood wall inside her. The sudden deluge of denial and bitterness was too great.

Don’t say that! You were there, Dad, you were.

“I tried to be, sometimes. But I was torn. Blinded by what I thought was important. But ask your mother, when you get home. Ask her about the forgotten anniversaries. And the birthdays I missed, for trainings or ceremonies. Remember who helped you with your homework, and your big projects.” His voice was sad. “I had a lot to do… a lot I thought was more important… She was always so, so good. Forgiving.” He paused, his silence pained. “Service has a cost. Service to our country. Or to the FBI. We choose where to place our time, our trust. That’s what shows love. I didn’t give your mother… or you kids… I didn’t give the time you deserved. When you go back, please tell her I’m sorry. You have to tell her that. I’m so, so sorry.”

If a voice could carry weight, if it could bear upon another with a touch, she would swear she felt him holding her with only his soft timbre.

She desperately wished she could hug him back.

I love you, Dad.

“I love you, too. So much. Listen to me, Starbuck, I want you to know, it is possible to love and be strong. What you’ve been doing, carrying all this. Fighting alone… you don’t have to. Sometimes being strong alone… it isn’t possible. It isn’t what’s best. I wish I had known… wish I had acted on it more. I wish I had shown you all how important you really are.”

You sound like Mulder.

“And I can tell you don’t think that’s a bad thing. Make the right choice, Dana. Don’t wait till it’s too late. You can't get the time back. And don’t forget, I’m here. Always. In your corner.”

But Dad, wait—

The pendulum swung.

The silk thread snapped.

____________________

Opening his eyelids fully was too much effort. Instead, Mulder settled on cracking them just enough to make out the golden glow that surrounded him.

His neural networks processed haphazardly, firing thoughts at random as he regained full consciousness.

Good color. Scully would like it.

His fingers felt next to him, where her body had been resting with him the past nights. He wanted to wake her, to show her the strange tangerine light that enveloped them.

His fingers found cold sheets.

Scully should be here. She’s not.

He fought to force his eyes open, his heart rate climbing as the confusion and panic took root. His pupils registered the plain, sunset stained hospital walls. The heart monitor pads on his chest. The IV lines anchored in his veins. The nurses running into the room.

His mouth became cotton. His forehead grew hot with a strange, chilled sweat and his stomach turned without warning. He bolted upright and managed to twist his body in the hospital bed before he vomited onto the floor, and the shoes of a nurse.

“Oh…gaw..m’s’ry…” The apology slurred out. His tongue felt thick and unfamiliar.

The dark haired nurse smiled slightly at him. “It’s okay, really. Not the worst thing I’ve had happen.” While the other nurse helped clean him up and lay him back on the pillows, the dark haired nurse wiped her shoes off with a towel.

“Fox, is it? My name is Beth,” she continued. “And this is Abby. We’re here most nights. When they brought you in, they told us we have to keep an extra eye on you. They had to sedate you to get you to rest. Sounds like you’re trouble.”

Mulder couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Even if she were serious, he couldn’t form a coherent rebuttal. He managed a shrug instead. Yes, he did seem to be trouble, he supposed. His bosses and exes would all vouch for that.

Abby was changing fluids in the IV drip. Mulder eyed her. Her hair curled, like Samantha’s. He found himself suddenly leery of these two strangers. They could be another demonic ruse, for all he knew.

“So we will be just outside your room at the nurse’s station, and will come in and bother you, probably more than you want. They said you can’t be alone.” There was a strange tone in Beth’s voice. Irritation, Mulder decided. Or distain. “Anyway, ER bandaged you up nice, so we’ll just be here to change gauze, check your fluids. You’ll be out of here in no time.” Beth patted his hand and turned to leave.

“Where’s’ssshhh,” he managed.

Beth blinked.

“Wurrrss’shee,” he tried again.

“Oh, oh. Where is she…” She glanced at Abby, a pensive look on her face.

He felt his panic building again.

Abby scrambled to tamp down his worry. “Sir, we have to keep all patient information confidential. But I promise you she’s alright.” She offered a kind, reassuring grin.

Beth pursed her lips and gave Abby a disapproving look, then glanced back at him. “And that’s all we can tell you, sir. We shouldn’t even tell you that much.” Her glare settled back on her colleague.

Mulder’s heart rate slowed on the monitor. He nodded, a small smile on his lips.

Scully is alive.

“Get some rest.” Abby finished making notations and both nurses turned to leave. “You’ll feel much better tomorrow. Promise.” She offered another polite smile over her shoulder.

He was so, so tired. Sedated? Given how his body felt, it was entirely plausible. As his eyes drifted closed, he heard Beth from the hallway.

“They told us it’s a DV case! Everyone’s been talking about it! What were you thinking?” Her words hissed through her teeth.

“He was worried, Beth.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s acting. Don’t give any more information or you’re gonna get yourself fired.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m serious! You do it again and I’m reporting it. I’m not going down with you just because you think a guy is nice.”

Though his head was still foggy and stomach still swimming, Mulder’s mind was clear enough to register the weight of their words. So much for getting help from anyone here. Maybe once his brain fog lifted he could….

The fresh dose of sedatives in the IV took over as dusk began to settle into the corners of the room.

Fox Mulder fell into a dreamless, leaden sleep.

____________________

“Dad!” Scully’s hoarse voice cut through the monotonous beeping of the monitors. Her eyes flew open as she gasped in air. It was sick-sweet and plastic.

Her fingers found an oxygen mask. Beeping monitors behind her hammered out her elevated heart rate.

Fumbling, she pulled at the mask. It caught, hindered by her hair tangled in the elastic. A nurse ran into her room before she managed to remove it.

“Dana? You okay?” The panic of inexperience stained the young man’s voice. He hurried to her side in an attempt to calm her. Once he secured the mask once more, he eased her back down to the pillow. “It’s good to see you awake, at least.”

“I heard- I swear he was here.” Scully’s eyes searched the dimly lit hospital room.

“Who?”

She blinked back the emotion she felt bubbling to the surface.

“Who was in here?”

She shook her head. “It must have been a dream.”

There was certainly no way she could explain what she had just experienced to anyone else.

“That would make sense,” the nurse said. “You’ve been through a lot, bad dreams can come from that. It’s good to see you so alert.”

Scully felt ill at ease. Her medical mind struggled to process, to make sense of where she was and what had happened. She didn’t remember going to the hospital, but she could deduce why she was there easily enough. What she couldn’t reconcile to herself was the fact that she was alive. After feeling them entering her body… after deciding she was too tired to fight anymore… she should be… dead? Part of them? Definitely not sitting here, she was sure of that much.

She knew that she had her father to thank for that.

“Could I… Can I talk to a doctor, or at least see my chart?” She tried in vain to sit up. “Please, I’m a doctor.”

The young man studied her face seriously. “You have been through a lot,” he repeated. “And you’ve been unconscious. You are really lucky.” He nodded toward the mask on her face. “Oxygen, obviously. Keep it on. Keep resting. Your body needs it. The doctor will be in to make rounds in the morning, and you can talk to him then. The last thing you need is more stress on your mind or body right now.”

“You said I’m lucky.” She sounded strange to herself, muffled through the mask. “What about my partner?”

“Partner?”

Her stomach dropped. She took a breath to steady herself. “Yes, Fox Mulder. He would have been with me.”

The nurse shook his head apologetically. “I don’t know that name. I’m sorry.”

Panic seized her. “I have to find him, you have to let me go!”

She began pulling at the mask again, but the nurse grabbed both of her hands. His face bent down to hers, his eyes serious.

“Listen. This is a big hospital, and you’re in the intensive care unit. Your partner is probably in another area. You need to stay here until we can be sure you’re alright, okay? You’ve been unconscious for a couple days. You lost so much blood they had to do a transfusion. But they don’t know how on earth you lost it.” His brow was furrowed with worry, or pity. “I don’t know what all you went through, but I can tell it wasn’t fun.”

Scully shook her head slowly, reeling at this new information. “No. It wasn’t.” As he let go, she let her hands fall to her sides. Bewildered. Defeated.

“My name is Jordan, I’m here all night. I can stay here for a bit, till you go to sleep? Would you like that?”

He was no Mulder, but she didn’t want to be alone. She nodded softly.

“Yes, please.”

Jordan pulled a chair close to her bedside. She sighed, irritated that her body was so weak and worn. Still, she was thankful for the company.

“How long have you been working here, Jordan?”

The nurse ducked his head in a boyish fashion. “This is actually my first year working. But I completed my clinicals here, too.”

“Mm, good for you.” She smiled at him. “You chose a good line of work; you'll help lots of people. So you're pretty familiar with the hospital then?”

The nurse nodded.

“Would you do something for me, please?” In spite of herself, Scully felt her eyelids getting heavy again. Her body felt utterly spent.

“I’ll try.” His voice was wary.

“Can you find out if my partner is okay? Fox Mulder.” Her eyes were desperate. “I need to know. We were attacked, and I want- just, please find out if he’s here, if he’s alright.” Her jaw clenched tight against tears that threatened. I need him to be alright.

Jordan nodded, holding her gaze. “You know I can’t give you personal information… but I can see if he’s here.” He gave a smile. “I promise.”

The relieved grin she returned was faded from fatigue. “That’s all I want, thank you. Just to know he’s safe. He’s… he’s a good friend.”

Her father’s words wavered in her subconscious as she began to drift off.

You’re right, Dad. I know you’re right.

____________________

Footsteps on the tile floor roused Mulder.

He took great care to turn his head like the hour hand, wary of startling the staff or making himself throw up again.

“How are ya feeling?” Abby’s kind face studied him through the dim light.

He rolled his dry tongue in his mouth as he stared at her. His eyes darted toward the doorway, then back. She was alone… which either meant the nurse was really here alone, or… He felt a low panic begin to creep in. If it was indeed the demons again, he was hardly in a position to resist. He swallowed thickly, moving his mouth in an attempt at words.

“Behht?” He groaned to himself. Stupid sedative.

Abby grinned. “Beth?”

“Mh- hmm.” He kept his eyes fixed on her, watching for a shift, a telltale murmur in the planes of her face.

She let out a small laugh. “She’s not your favorite, is she?”

Mulder grunted.

“She’s on break,” she shrugged. Her long brown curls moved with her shoulders. “I figured now was a good time to check in on you… I dunno. She’s a good nurse. She just makes her mind up about people pretty quick. But I like to decide for myself. Just because you hear something about someone doesn’t mean it’s true, ya know.” She offered another smile.

Mulder licked his cracked lips. “No more. No, no more sedttiff.” He glared at the IV bag to make his point.

She shook her head. “No, we don’t do that unless it’s absolutely necessary. That was supposed to be the last round. As long as you promise not to go crazy and try to hurt anyone again.”

He scrunched his nose and brow in confusion.

“You don’t remember?”

He slowly shook his head.

“Huh. Well, I wasn’t here when they brought you in, but the report was that you were pretty upset. Fighting the paramedics. Saying crazy things.” Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “You must have been in shock, I guess. You look like you’ve been through a lot.” She studied the cuts on his face, his bandaged hand.

“Mhm.” He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Padgett’s hollow, hateful stare, Scully’s terrified face… the darkness filling him. “T’ tried’t’take us.”

Abby’s eyebrows furrowed. “Take you? So you- you didn’t hurt the other patient.” The relief was evident on her face.

“Never.” He wished he could explain himself more, so this nurse could understand. Scully was his only reason to keep going. The thought of hurting her was unconscionable.

“I knew you weren’t that kind of guy. Who did this to you?”

Mulder blinked, considering his next move carefully. She seemed trustworthy, but if she felt he was crazy or dangerous… He examined her kind face, framed by long curls that were tucked back in a loose, messy ponytail. A glint of metal flashed from one earlobe that peeked through her hair.

He squinted. A cross earring.

She squinted back at him with a small grin. “What?”

“Umm…” Mulder struggled to sit up, fighting the residual dizziness. “D’you b’lieve in God?” He could barely believe the words as they came out of his mouth. Less than a week ago, he would have vehemently denied any plausibility of such things. Yet here he was, tethered to a hospital bed with IV lines and BP sensors, all because of a hoard of demons. The world was a strange place.

Abby tilted her head, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I believe in God. Why?”

He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Okay, an’dem’ns?”

She stared at him, her brow twisted in confusion.

“An’demons.” He spat out. He couldn’t wait till he regained full control of his thick, uncooperative tongue.

“Demons,” she repeated.

He nodded. His eyes locked on hers, begging her to take him seriously. She took a step backward, toward the door. Her lips were a thin line.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mulder, I don’t want to get involved in any of that.”

“Please.”

“This is why you were sedated…” She reached the doorway and stopped. Her arms were crossed, her expression pensive. How many times had he seen that look on Scully’s perfect, freckled face? He would give anything to see her, to hold her again.

“Please,” he tried again. “I need help. Please.”

Abby shook her head fiercely and her curls flung back and forth, magnifying her reticence. “I can’t. Even if what you’re saying is real- and I’m not agreeing it is- even if it is, how could I possibly help?”

Mulder spoke slowly. “Y’don’t understand. Th’want me. An’ her. Not you.” He kept his eyes locked on hers, pleading. “I gotta get help, an’ if I don’t. We die. She dies. I die.” He felt his stomach churning, from the sedative. From the helplessness. “You don’t hafta believe me, but’f you go, you’re killing two people. Two. Is your doubt worth that?”

The hospital room was silent for a long moment, save the beeping of the heart monitor.

Abby licked her lips nervously, then took a deep breath.

“Okay.” It was a whisper. “I don’t want anybody dead… But this doesn’t mean I believe all you said, either. What do you need me to do?”

____________________

#TXF fanfic #If You Will Let Me #txf #TW: medical #TW: near death #TW: visit from the dead #TW: sedation #TW: mentions of demons #msr #msr fanfic #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully

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realitysperception · 2 years

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Heya @cuppajj Spector_Author wrote some more of her shipformer with LL. Very cute this time.

Hope you enjoy.

“Come on Scaler!” Jester had a brisk pace as she strode down the hallway towards the airlock.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez!”

“I should hope so.” Came from ahead of them. Rodimus was leaning against the frame of the airlock, he high fived Jester as she bounced to a stop next to him. “You’d think with legs like that you should be able to keep up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scaler grumbled. “I’m only lagging behind because energy conservation is a real thing.”

It was a weak excuse, and they knew it. Rodimus knew it too, he snorted.

“Sure, but I prefer to spend my energy on something cool or fun, mostly both. Anyway, come on! I hear there’s a drink at Swerves with my designation on it.” He paused. “literally. I had Swerve carve my name into a glass, broke three doing it but it looks sick.”

Jester chuckled, looking half amused and half exasperated. “I’ll bet.”

Rodimus gestured to the airlock. “Well come on and I can show you!”

Scaler watched as Jester started bantering back and forth with the captain of the Lost Light, following them through the airlock, only dragging their peds a little. This would be their first visit onto the ship, they had been avoiding it for reasons… good reasons.

For one they didn’t really want to go, and two they wouldn’t have access to the cameras to see where they were going. Even if they did have system access, they heard the camera coverage was crap, only a handful were actually working. They’d been talking with some guy from Rodimus’ ship that someone named Red Alert had been trying to get all the cameras fix-

Scaler took a step out of the airlock and froze… it felt wrong. Something that shook them down to their struts. It wasn’t right… they should-

“Scaler? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” They weren’t paying attention, that feeling of wrong permeated nearly every sensor they had. It was like moving a puppets hand as they waved at Jester. “Ya’know go ahead without me, just remembered I forgot I needed to calibrate the triaxial coordinator circuits… kinda need those… I’ll uhhh… catch up with you.”

Jester frowned. “You sure?”

Scaler nodded, it was like moving a hinge up and down. “Yeah. Don’t want the ship to explode and all that.”

“Okay… but comm me if you need any help.”

Scaler waved again. “Go have fun.”

It was only a few steps before they were back on their ship. Only a few steps for the feeling of wrong to ease away. Scaler accessed an external camera and looked at the ship next to the Fastest Dark.

It was huge, floating in orbit around a gas giant alongside their ship. The only thing tethering the two ships together was the airlock clamps and a weak ion tractor beam. Nothing about the outside of the ship screamed that sense of wrong to Scaler… it was a ship.

Still… something stray string of thought curled in their processor.

They needed to test something.

Down three levels and over two corridors. Unseen, Scaler slipped into the engine room, locking the doors shut behind them. The code that locked the door was the highest priority that existed on the Fastest Dark, not even Tarmac’s, Jesters, or Claxons codes could open it now.

Skyline’s awareness aways started with the bridge, it was simply where everything tended to happen. First the cameras, then his internal sensors, on his hud the internal announcements appeared, and finally the external sensors started feeding data to his processor. The whole process took seconds, but he couldn’t help but wish it was just a bit faster.

Especially the external sensor’s part, cause there was a ship much bigger than him very close by.

Skyline tended to think of himself as big, but the ship- the Lost Light- dwarfed him. He wasn’t even as big as two of their side thrusters. Hell, some of the window were even big enough he could see his ships name reflected in the glass. It was… weird to see kraD tsetsaF floating by an external camera.

There was only one thing weirder… Skyline shivered a set of panels in the cargo bay, if he was transformed he could say his spark was in his throat. He was nervous.

But if he was right…

Skyline carefully pushed out a bit of his EM field, he had to be really careful not to let his passengers feel the fluctuations. Mostly the crew was used to his field being smoothed and calm, something in the background, they didn’t even realize they were surrounded by his EM field it was that much part of the background. Now it was a brush full of curiosity/excitement/disbelief, way too easy to detect if he wasn’t carefully. Skyline stretched his field a bit more, creeping along the airlock connectors. Just a bit farther aaaaaand…. it brushed up against another EM field, a big one, one as big as his.

It gently pushed back with curious/surprise.

Uh oh. Quick a wink, Skyline reeled his field in, pulling it back to his outer hull plating. What did he do? He hadn’t met another… uh- another ship before. Not like this. Were there rules for it? What did he say? Okay, he was kinda panicking.

He was very much panicking, with his thruster trembling and everything.

A comm ping hit his communications array. It was on a sub frequency, those always got routed straight to Skylines circuits, not to the comm controls on the bridge where Tickertape was on duty. It was hard to use the sub frequencies, something tricky with receiving it, so only ships outfitted with the circuits could use it- Skyline blinked, his optics shuttering deep within his frame, hidden in a room with no door. Only ships~

They wanted to talk to him.

The Lost Light wanted to talk to him. He felt giddy.

Before he could change his mind he sent a ping back… and waited… his internals were shifting around, creating a hell of a noise in some empty rooms and maybe next door to Claxons room.

A comm channel opened.

If Skyline breathed he’d be holding his breath.

::Hello?::

Oh they sounded surprised, like they didn’t think anyone would answer. What did he say? What should he say? Oh crap, he was taking too long-

::Uuuhh- duh, uh- Hi- Hi- Hello- Sorry- um… Hi::

The voice on the other end of the comm line- The Lost Light chuckled softly, they had a soft voice, it really reminded Skyline of when Jester’s niece was younger and she’d croon soft babbling words at the tiny organic in her hand.

::It’s alright, no apologies necessary. It’s a surprise to meet another shipformer::

::I know! You’re the-:: Skyline clamped down on his excitement, he could be calm. ::You’re the first one I’ve met… I thought…::

::You were alone?:: There was that soft chuckle again, Skyline just wanted to wrap it around his spark it was so full of warmth. ::In this universe with your crew with you, we’re never alone. And hey, we’ve met now::

::Yeah, we have::

Deep in his engine room, lights danced happily as his spark swelled. Skyline pressed his field outwards and got a firm brush back of happy/delight/amazement. Skyline hesitated for a moment before he said.

::Can… Can I ask you something?::

::Of course my friend, I have a feeling we have lots to talk about::

Skyline’s spark swelled in its chamber again.

Rodimus suddenly looked over his shoulder, like he’d heard a noise…. Which wasn’t wrong, it was noisy in Swerves, but Jester couldn’t figure out what specific noise he was looking for in the whole cacophony. She sipped her custom drink from Swerve. “…You alright?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Rodimus said, he was still scanning the room. “Just the ship seems quiet. It’s weird.”

Jester nodded slowly. “It’s weird?... How many of those Comet Trails have you had?”

Rodimus snorted and threw back the rest of his current Comet Trail, the sparkly mercury and bismuth mix leaving fine traces of glitter on his lips. “Not enough to do anything, just… had a feeling you know? Captainy thing.” He shrugged. “Or maybe a prime thingmy? Either work, but it’s fine.”

“If something explodes-”

“We blame Whirl or Brainstorm… sometimes Tailgate, but that was one time.”

Jester laughed and drank the rest of her own drink. “There’s a story behind that, I know it.” “You think that’s a story?” Rodimus grinned. “Let me tell you a story.”

#spector_author #ao3 link #ao3fic #ao3 #she's very happy how this one turned out #transformers #fastest dark

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theoddshq · 4 months

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SAGE WOLFE (roberta colindrez fc) the odds are in your favor! Please report to your nearest Capitol Agent to be prepped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!

Bowie/25/he+him/PST

Triggers: [REDACTED]

If you had to describe your muse as a canon Hunger Games character, or mix, who would you compare them to and why?

There are obvious similarities to Johanna, though I like to think that Sage pushes the boundaries of Jo’s boldness without being as persuasive. She has that classic blunt honesty, though I wouldn’t say that Sage is as clever or able to play the game to her advantage. I can also see some parallels with Gale given his ruggedness and manichaean ethics/morality. I think his highly rebellious attitude towards the Capitol resonates with Sage’s overall vibe, though she’s obviously not as stoic or silent as he is. Gale’s savviness in the woods is also relevant here. The dude also mused about running off into the forest with Katniss and that’s a direct connection that I inserted into Sage’s lore.

Anything else?

Simply no. I am here for good vibes.

BASICS

[Roberta Colindrez, Cis woman, She/Her] The 74th Annual Hunger Games are upon us and here comes SAGE WOLFE, a DISTRICT 7 TRIBUTE. Word around The Capitol is that they’re LOYAL & TOUGH but can also be EXPLOSIVE & CRASS. According to sources, they’re 24 YEARS OLD and were once described as a WAFT OF MUSKY PINE RESIN, THE ECHOES OF FALLING TIMBER, MIDDLE CHILD SYNDROME, A CAREFULLY FOLDED MAP OF CANADA, AND FRUSTRATED SIGHS FOLLOWED BY THE BANG OF AN AXE. What a character! As we always say, may the odds be ever in their favor!

BIOGRAPHY

Aspen Wolfe was never an emotional man. If one were to look close enough, however, they would have noticed a pair of glistening eyes on the day that his fourth child was finally born. It was indeed a miracle that his wife, Henrietta Wolfe, survived the twenty-two hours of labour leading up to shrieks of a whiny newborn resonating through their homestead. Sage Wolfe came into the bleak political climate of Panem just as every Wolfe child had done so before her; on weathered planks chopped by Aspen himself. On the coldest day of December. His gnarled hands, like the ancient pine roots that connected the entire forest floor of District 7, held his newborn daughter with only one thought in mind: this kid was one tough motherfucker.

Her early years were marked by manual labour that sustained every person in District 7. In the shadow of the lumberyard’s towering stacks, Sage’s childhood unfolded in a symphony of falling trees and saws. The Wolfe legacy in logging left them in a more advantageous position than many families in town who were forced to lose their souls (and fingers) in paper mills that supplied the greater nation of Panem. From the age of six, her smalls hands learned to grip a well-worn axe alongside her older siblings and father. Henrietta proceeded to have three more children after Sage’s traumatic birth and, as much as she tried, Sage could not be felled by her pleas to prepare for a more docile life as late teenagehood approached. Neither could Aspen’s stern warnings about a life in logging convince her to pursue something other than scaling trees. While her two older sisters moved towards trading to support the family, Sage opted to stick by her father and big brother deep in the woods. Her axe cleaved through trunks with an adolescent angst that bordered on rage. Consequently, she learned how to move through the trees like a wraith. The forest floor crunched beneath her feet with pine needles, and her daily existence was infused with the resinous perfume of District 7’s arboreal sanctuary. All was well except for her inability to keep herself out of trouble. Of concern was her tenuous relationship with peacekeepers.

As predicted by her father, life in logging was harsh, but lumberjack shit talk was even harsher. Townsfolk targeted her appearance and, more insidiously, her alleged sexuality. The loggers tethered themselves to traditional norms and found Sage’s defiance of social expectations unsettling. On a good day the lumberyards were abound with comradery, but her presence always altered the energy. Sage never quite fit in with cutting crews outside of her own brother and father. The discomfort with her presence fuelled local gossip about her personal life and, more importantly, her own rage with the circumstances of their collective confinement as subjects of Calpurnius Shithead’s rule. Developing thick skin was a means of survival.

Sage once dreamt of escaping District 7 by fleeing into the expansive wilderness of northern Canada that borders the lumberyards. At around 16 years of age, she bartered a pair of old slacks for a tarnished map of the free neighbouring country. In the twilight hours, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Sage often found solace in a deserted shack by the oldest paper mill in town, away from the overcrowded Wolfe home. It was here that she allowed herself to feel, if only for a moment, the possibility of life outside of Panem. Teenage dreams painted a vivid canvas of escape and a vision of an alternate life. It never happened, for obvious reasons. The biggest being a threat of execution and peacekeepers that stalked the woods. Admittedly she couldn’t leave her family behind, either.

It seems that destiny has a cruel sense of irony. Now, as the Capitol’s machinations draw her into the cruel theatre of the 74th Hunger Games, Sage is forced to go beyond the rusted barbed wire of District 7… South of the border, to her displeasure.

WRITING SAMPLE

[REDACTED]

STATS

Deceive: 2

Fight: 3

Lore (knowledge): 1

Notice: 2

Physique: 2

Provoke: 3

Rapport: 1

Resourcefulness: 2

Stealth: 2

Will: 3

EXTRAS:

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.ca/ducklovefriends/sage-wolfe/

#submission #accepted #sage

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clouds-and-roses · 2 years

Text

TDA quotes that just hit different

“These pictures are my heart. And if my heart was a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted over with you.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“You belong where you're loved.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“No one is ever the villain of their own story.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“I love you, Julian Blackthorn. I love you more than starlight.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“He can touch your soul. And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“She soared above the ground, and he kept her tethered to the earth. Without him she would be lost among the clouds.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“He knew in the way that she was a part of him, the way her breathing was his breathing, and her dreams were his dreams, and her blood was his blood, and when her heart stopped he knew that his would too, and he would be glad, because he wouldn’t want to live one second in a world that didn’t have her in it.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“When you love someone, they become a part of who you are. They’re in everything you do. They’re in the air you breathe and the water you drink and the blood in your veins. Their touch stays on your skin and their voice stays in your ears and their thoughts stay in your mind. You know their dreams because their nightmares pierce your heart and their good dreams are your dreams too. And you don’t think they’re perfect, but you know their flaws, the deep-down truth of them, and the shadows of all their secrets, and they don’t frighten you away; in fact you love them more for it, because you don’t want perfect. You want them. You want-” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“Break my heart, he said. "Break it in pieces. I give you my permission.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lord of Shadows

“Sometimes she thought the only things she had faith in were revenge and Julian.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you.” ― Cassandra Clare, Queen of Air and Darkness

“Faith isn’t never having any doubts; it’s having what you need to overcome them.” ― Cassandra Clare, Queen of Air and Darkness

“He hadn't wanted to leave Emma, but at the same time he'd thought it would help. Like an addict getting away from the source of his addiction.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

"We fear things because we value them. We fear losing people because we love them. We fear dying because we value being alive. Don't wish you didn't fear anything. All that would mean is that you didn't feel anything.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lord of Shadows

“I thought if you stopped loving me, you'd be sad for a while. And if I was sad forever, that would be okay. Because you'd be alright, and I'd still be your parabatai. And if you could be happy eventually, then I could be happy too, for you.” ― Cassandra Clare, Lord of Shadows

#tda quotes #tda #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #the mortal instruments #tmi #shadowhunters #cassandra clare #quotes #so much is from lady midnight #magnus bane

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the-martyrfication-of-the-matron · 2 years

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I have started playing Beyond:two souls because, again, story game binge, and I just imagine Aaron and the wolf god working pretty similar to Jodie and Aidan.

If you don’t know what I mean, basically Jodie exists as her own person, but Aidan is a sort of entity that is tethered to her. No one can see him, and he can move things, break things, possess people etc without Jodie’s interference, but he can’t go too far from Jodie without causing her physical harm. He’s also very protective of her, and can get violent went she’s hurt or upset by someone (though the extent of it is usually up to the player).

I imagine Aaron and the wolf god working similarly. They’re sort of… tied together. The wolf god doesn’t need Aaron to move things, hit people, etc, but he’s not really… there. He’s invisible, and he’s unheard. A lot of the things he does either needs Aaron’s permission or a strong burst of emotion from either party to allow it to happen. And he can’t go too far from Aaron without causing Aaron nose bleeds, light headed-ness, nausea, headaches, etc, or causing himself pain.

The wolf god would remain tucked inside of Aaron’s mind for the most part, like hitching a ride in his body but not having any control over it, and usually communicates through reflective surfaces because it’s easier on his part. But on occasion, usually when Aaron’s angry, the wolf god would probably come out and break something. He can still possess him, of course, take over his body and all, but he wouldn’t tend to, and would just rather rest in Aaron’s head.

When Aaron was younger, of course , Derek existed, but the wolf god wouldn’t be able to do much to stop it. Derek was a previous vessel, meaning he still had some sway over what he could do. Sucks, but that’s how it is. However, he would protect Aaron from pretty much everything else. Throw bullies around, cushion Aaron before a punch, etc.

But I’m not sure if people would like that. Might just keep it purely in Aaron’s head.

#aphmau #aphverse #rewrite #aphblr #mystreet #aaron lycan #Aaron’s god pal

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starbase-yorktown · 2 years

Text

The Ghostbusters’ Keeper, Part 4

Author’s Note: alright alright there’s a part 5, too, and that’s it. Ending with dashes of humor (bc it’s what Harold would want). this fic is my contribution to the fanon sub-genre of “so Janine is actually psychic she’s just off on timing, and she was the one who found Egon, right?” GB:A compliant/canon feasible.

Word Count: 4.6k || Tagged People: @leah-halliwell92 @oddities-and-endings

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 5

Warnings: none this time :) just some Emotion. also Egon swears while figuring out how to ghost. You cannot tell me this man doesn’t swear.

+++

Death, Egon decided, was a supremely inconvenient thing to happen to a person.

Well. Decided wasn’t an accurate descriptor. Thought at this juncture couldn’t be classified as eloquent or concrete; it was more a series of vague impressions, intentions, and emotion. It was an entirely nebulous, fluidic existence suspended from any manner of physical grounding and hair-trigger sensitive to sensory input of the living dimension. He felt as if he were a child again, struggling to find a way to filter and engage with the world that wouldn’t leave him clinically insane.

He’d managed to figure it out back then. He wasn’t sure he was managing it quite as well now.

For one, he still wasn’t absolutely certain what his name was. He had a sense of self: he knew the body in the chair was his own, knew he was dead, knew it had happened (very) recently. He knew he was a lingering manifestation of psychokinetic energy, recalled by and large everything about his line of work and research and his past in a strange sort of muscle (spiritual?) memory. But it was more like objective data on himself, the type of information passed along fungal mycelia, and the more he tried to recall the days leading up to his death, the fuzzier and more jumbled and impenetrable they became.

And he could forget about the last 24 hours. There was only a yawning, engulfing void there that repelled him with a sensation akin to the screech of an Aztec death whistle any time he drifted too close.

It was infuriating.

He was beginning to understand why so many hauntings went bad.

Equally infuriating was his discovery that he didn’t have free reign over the property. Within the house, he was free to move wherever he pleased. Within his lab and the garage, he possessed the same liberty. In passing between any of those locations, however, at least for now, he was confined by his own living habits. In life, he’d mapped out the single most efficient routes between the house, the shed, and the barn and proceeded to use those paths several times a day. It had been practical, self-serving. In death, it had become an imprisoning routine. He was sure that with time and practice he’d be able to expand his roving, but he’d had very little of either of those things, so far.

So far, he was merely this: disembodied intent struggling to take root.

An echo.

But even echoes, he’d discovered, came with instincts and reflexes.

He felt it crawling along his proverbial spine before he fully registered the sound of a car tearing down the driveway at full tilt for the farmhouse. Intruder, it whispered like a thousand-tongued voice in his non-existent ears. Intruder.

He moved, somewhere between walking, gliding, and…he supposed he would refer to it as glitching for now, to the front door and then through it onto the porch. He drifted toward the post with the large throw switch and lurked behind it, peering at the vehicle. Its appearance stirred nothing in him, roused no memories. But the woman who practically kicked the door open and stumbled onto his farm….

He felt a flicker of something in his chest.

“EGON!”

Brooklyn.

The something strengthened into a thread, a fragile but tenacious tether between his own strange ether and the world just beyond his reach. He slowly, cautiously leaned a little further past the post to watch the woman as she scanned the farm. Her gaze passed over him without pause, but he felt pinned by it all the same—those sharp, teary eyes behind ever-eccentric glasses.

When she picked a direction and hurried off for his shed, he stepped uncertainly off the porch after her.

Intruder, the instinct rasped. Hide. Hide, hide, it’s the living, hide!

Brooklyn, his own memory returned.

“Egon!”

He followed, keeping a few feet of distance between them. For some reason, he knew with absolute certainty that his heart would be pounding if he’d still had one, and it certainly would’ve jumped clear into his throat as the woman came to a sudden stop before the pole descending into his darkened lab. She was short, nearly a full foot shorter than he was, but he could feel the fire in her that made her a giant. He was so engrossed by that aura coming off her, that familiarity, that he realized she was backing up far too late.

She passed right through him, rubbing her arms in the resulting chill.

“Oh, what’d you get up to, you stupid idiot?”

Her touch was a shock of scalding water, and he felt himself stumble—actually stumble, as in he had form now—as he reeled from their fleeting contact and the abject love radiating from it. The thread between him and the living solidified to a cord, a steel cable, and the earth returned beneath his restored feet.

“Egon?” he heard her call behind him, farther away, and a thrill ran up his spine that he could now feel with absolute certainty.

Egon. He blinked, took a couple meandering, dazed steps, and came up hard against the confines of his domain as if walking into glass. Me.

That’s me, the recognition in him whispered. I’m Egon.

He turned after the woman. She knew him. She knew him, she was familiar, this was good. Maybe she had answers, maybe she could—

He stopped only a few steps past the shed’s threshold.

Brooklyn stood there beneath his bottle tree, staring, dumbstruck, into the front window of his home. She stood there for a full minute, and as the seconds ticked by, Egon felt himself mired in matching paralysis. He could feel her, even from here. Could feel her grief, dismay, anger, fear, heartbreak…

…her aching soul settled on resigned intent. And she entered his home.

He knew what she’d seen, knew what she was confronting in that empty house. He took an uncertain half-step forward, trying to process the amorphous thoughts and the urges churning inside him. And while he couldn’t parse them into words, he could grasp the intent, the emotion.

This will hurt her.

He returned to the house and eased through the door, steeling himself for what was to come. The woman sat on the stairs dead ahead of him, her hands steepled over her nose and mouth. Her eyes were closed as she steadily breathed.

So still. So strong.

He stopped a mere two feet away from her, feeling as though he needed to catch his (unneeded) breath, to calm a nonexistent, racing heart. Emotion roiled through him with too many different intents to name; he couldn’t articulate any of it into coherent thought or word. This strange limbo of an existence was still too fresh, even with this new pull she’d gifted him.

She stood, and he drew away like a skittish little thing as she walked through the spot he’d been standing and crossed into the kitchen.

HIDE, HIDE, IT’S THE LIVING.

He swallowed the instinct back with a scowling grimace and watched her from the hall. He knew her. He knew her, it was driving him insane. She moved like she belonged in this house, and the love she bore for him.... He knew it all, so why couldn’t he—

She brushed past with a bowl of warm water and a dishrag, just too far away to touch, and Egon’s turmoil disappeared. A slack, processing sort of look came over him, disbelieving and hopeful and stunned all at the same time.

Oh. His eyes widened. His brows arched into his forehead, in shock. …Oh.

And the first proper thought sprang to his mind—the first intent, the first impression and emotion strung together into human language.

“Janine.”

Janine Melnitz. His Janine. How could he have forgotten her?

He watched her kneel beside his corpse and begin to reposition his legs, to tend to him as gently as if he were still alive. There were no screams, no sobs, no tears. There was only love, and it emanated from her in a relentless front of warmth and safety that caught the last of his drifting soul and brought it to ground.

“You came.”

He started to step into the room with her and froze, withdrawing partway behind the wall, as his eyes lit upon his PKE meter beneath the chair. That instinctive paranoia surged over him once more, raising his hackles, and he clenched his jaw against it, battled it back. The sensation was bizarre, foreign, alien—born of something more primal and ancient than his own genius-caliber human mind.

This was how poltergeists were made, he was sure of it. Ghosts who couldn’t hold on to themselves gave in to this invasive instinct, became consumed by the baser elements of their living person: fear, anger, distrust.

But Janine…

“Can’t have people seein’ ya like that,” she murmured with a small, crooked smile, and began to clean his hair by hand.

Janine only gave love. And love….

He thought of a river of slime consuming a city with malice, of the Statue of Liberty come to life under the joy of song, of a beaming smile on the face of a dear, ectoplasmically drenched friend.

Love was PKE’s best friend.

He surged forward and barely stopped at the last second yet again. He yearned to step into the room with her, to rest his hand on her shoulder as she worked, to try to give her some of the comfort she currently poured into him with every ministration. But he couldn’t. He’d scare and confuse her. He was the absolute shittiest possible ghost right now, and any attempt to communicate with her would only terrify without any means of clarifying who he was or what he wanted. He’d get her attention when he was better formed, when she’d be able to understand….

Understand….

Egon blinked, a strange sensation coming over him. This emotion…it was heavy, opaque…fearful, like a small child alone in the dark. His head tilted quizzically to the side.

Be able to understand.

“Where is Raymond?”

Janine didn’t, couldn’t, answer his painfully innocent question. She began to clean his hands.

A flare of panic sparked inside Egon’s chest and fanned quickly to a consuming flame as his threadbare control frayed apart like snapping string.

Wait. His hands began to fidget, picking and grinding at each other with labor-calloused fingers. Did I really lose him that completely? I never wanted that. I always thought he’d come back in the end—she did. He’d stopped blinking, staring at Janine and his own dead body, as once more overload translated into paralyzed stillness. Did...did I hurt him that badly? Did I fuck us up that badly?

The DIRT on the side of the farm, the (incorrect, Raymond) Bible quote, the firehouse pole leading to the lab, all of it had been for him—

I was supposed to see him again.

He took a small, half-step back from Janine, shame oozing over him like tar. She cleaned his face next, still so considerate and fond. How hard had it been, how hard was it, he wondered, for her to show him kindness?

You fucked up.

Janine tidied the front of his clothes one last time. “There ya go, sweetheart. Just how you like—always gotta look your handsome best.”

Stop. She rocked back onto her heels, held herself steady with his knees, and smiled up at him with such absolving love. Stop being kind to us.

She, of course, didn’t, and he tracked her passing as she got to her feet and limped on stiff, aging joints back into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Janine.” He followed her at a slow distance, ensuring he had enough time and space to maneuver out of her way if needed. She fetched a stool—her stool, I made that for her—from under the sink, and he pivoted easily around her as she returned to the front room. His eyes never left her, his own ethereal form clinging to the love she emanated like a reptile to a heat lamp. “Tell him I’m sorry, too.”

She set the stool beside his body, and Egon had to close his eyes and momentarily turn away as she took his cold, dead hand easily in hers and leaned against him to watch the sunrise. Dozens of memories consolidated into sharp relief within his fractionated mind, like ink drops in water retracting from their diffuse, ribbony spread back to that initial plunge:

Early mornings in the firehouse, her bringing him coffee as they watched the sun strike the cityscape while the others were still asleep; late nights spent together in those years between ghostbusting, catching up with Dana, Ray, Winston, and Louis at holidays until they all fell asleep and left only Egon and Janine awake to greet the rising sun; then, the later years, the farmhouse years, those six months she spent at his side, her bedhead and grumpy face as she’d stomp down the steps to join him (he sometimes not having gone to sleep in the first place) just long enough to watch the sun before dragging both him and herself back to their respective beds.

And now here they were, greeting the dawn one last time.

He forced himself to turn back to her, to pry away from the wall. She couldn’t do this alone. She shouldn’t have to, and, his own engineering genius be damned, he wasn’t going to let her. He eyed the PKE meter on the floor, gauging its partial angle toward him, and ever so carefully began to edge his way across the threshold. He’d gotten about three feet over, halfway to her, when a single light on the control panel flickered to life. Those damned wings began to lift—

Egon flailed (he’d deny such a graceless response, adamantly) and retreated as fast as he could into the hall once more, throwing himself behind the wall entirely with a frustrated, furious, “Oh, FUCK ME.”

The device powered down. He glared at it and his own body from behind the wall.

Why did we make that thing?

Because it’s cool and useful and the first of its kind, and we’re a genius.

Right. Of course.

And so, he was forced to content himself with standing guard, watching her watch the sun. His attention lingered on their hands, living on dead, and after taking in the sight of her for as long as he could, he tentatively closed his eyes. His right hand curled shut on itself. And he imagined that he could still feel her hand in his. He imagined that even now, detached and listless and liminal as he was, he could feel the warmth and softness of her hand, her fingers tucked between his, her gentle but persistent grip.

He swore he could feel her, just for a moment.

He opened his eyes once more, and they shone with tears that he wouldn’t (couldn’t?) let fall as he watched the sun finally touch upon Janine Melnitz. A fond, broken sort of smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he gritted his teeth as his chin shook. To see her sitting there, so beautiful, so mournful but so filled with grace, sitting shiva—

INTRUDERS.

His head snapped to the front door, tears vanishing in a single blink and his emotional state pivoting from overwhelmed heartache to that of a high-strung guard dog. His stance altered accordingly. His feet braced while his posture drew to its full six-foot-two height, and his expression as he stared down the shut front door bordered on malice with the depth of its fervent protectiveness. Unnoticed behind him, the light at the top of the stairs flickered.

Janine, however, never once seemed bothered, and as the sound of two approaching vehicles became clear, their wheels grinding to a stop in his junkyard of a front lawn, he felt a strange, fleeting press at his ghostly temple.

He glanced to Janine in time to see her pull away from his body in the tail end of a parting kiss.

“It’s time, honey,” she murmured and lifted his glasses from his nose.

Even though he knew that he hadn’t actually experienced that final touch, that his own glasses were still firmly on his face, he felt exposed and blind. A spike of panic drove through him as he heard the car doors open and close outside, and he wrangled it back down, stance unyielding, as Janine made her way to the porch.

Intruders.

He thought that undead fight or flight response had been bad before, but as Janine opened the door to reveal the coroner and the sheriff behind him, it kicked into high gear. The living’s own standoffish discussion was lost to the feeling sweeping through him. If he’d had a heart, it would’ve been pounding, his adrenaline would’ve been surging through his veins, and for a moment, he felt his sense of now and before fracture.

Run! Have to run, ignore the pain in my leg, my head—

“He’s through here.”

Egon moved so quickly that he couldn’t actually recall doing so. One moment, he was in the foyer; the next, he was several steps up the stairs, flinching back from the newcomers with a ridiculous urge to bare his teeth as they entered after Janine. The coroner he didn’t really have a problem with, but the sheriff….

Ten years of animosity rose to the surface within him, ten years of feuding and attempted arrests and tickets and confrontations late at night in places neither of them should’ve been. It all built up into a distinct smell of ozone and the blinding heat of rage—

Control yourself. Egon screwed his eyes shut and tried to breathe deep, in so far as a ghost could breathe. The fever pitch began to abate; the fury and the ozone went with it, and within a minute he was a little bit closer to himself. We’re not an animal.

Not yet, the instinct hissed back, seething at its robbery.

But even with all his willpower directed toward maintaining control of his raw, oscillating emotions, he couldn’t fully extinguish his defensiveness. He knew in life he’d always had a protective streak.

He hadn’t realized it was this strong.

Peter had been right all along. He was a fucking pain in the ass.

“—Gurney’s not gonna fit in here.”

“…Uh-huh. Sure thing.”

Janine stepped out of the sheriff’s way as he swept into the hall, backing up onto the first couple steps of the stairs as she did, and instinct tore free from Egon’s control. He swooped down to her, pressing against her back and settling his hands on her hips as he glared after the departing sheriff, morphing into a defensive shroud protectively draped above and around her.

Stay away from—

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

His eyes widened, and he fled back up the stairs while Janine shivered and rubbed her arms. The sheriff’s footfalls changed from the hollow thud of wood to the muffled thump and crunch of summer dried earth.

Egon ran his hands through his hair and turned to the wall with gritted teeth and screwed shut eyes. At least Janine didn’t seem inclined to explore the chill further. This ghost business was impossible, heady, reflexive, overwhelming. Infuriating. But even now, distressed and discombobulated as he was, he couldn’t halt his own morbid curiosity as Janine made her way back into the room with the coroner. He followed her, and as they watched the stranger prepare and move his body in such a clinical manner compared to Janine’s earlier ministrations, he reached once more for her shoulder. He'd grab her closer to her neck so he could press his thumb along her spine, she always carried tension there, especially when she was worried—

STOP TOUCHING HER, YOU IDIOT—

Egon yanked his hand away mere millimeters before contact and froze as Janine glanced sharply behind her and stared right into his face.

She saw nothing at all.

They stood there, mere inches apart for a few seconds, and then Janine turned back around, a slight, baffled furrow to her brow. Her grip on his glasses shifted and tightened.

This was untenable. He moved, directing himself down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he planted himself beside the table. On habit, he leaned forward to brace himself along its weathered edge, only to promptly let out a silenced yelp as instead of landing on firm, unyielding wood, he tipped right through it to the floor.

Egon Spengler, the brains of the Ghostbusters, clipped halfway through the floorboards into the crawlspace below and decided he was okay to stay down there for a while, thank you very much.

Janine and the coroner began to speak in the other room, their voices distant and muffled as if submerged in water. Outside, the sheriff screwed around with the cars and the spinal board, and Egon began the intricate, clumsy process of extricating himself from his own floors.

Thank God I’m dead, and nobody can see this.

By the time he’d retrieved his limbs from beneath his home, bringing dust and dirt with him in the process, Janine had stepped very close to the coroner. She had his hands in hers, and she now radiated an earnest, fearful energy that brought him surging through the table toward her.

That protectiveness flared in his chest, sparking and setting his very bones aflame, and—

“He’s done so much good that so many people will never know about, and for the sake of his family, I need his passing on paper to be somethin’ mundane.” The desperate strain in her voice knocked him to a standstill. His determined expression faltered to startled and then horridly guilty. “Please.”

As the coroner struggled to answer, visibly torn, Egon came closer. Had he found something? He must have found something, he’d made Janine upset, he’d….

No.

He caught himself with a frustrated, seething grimace on the threshold as he once again remembered the PKE meter. He glared at his body, eyes burning.

We made Janine upset. We did this.

But as both he and Janine watched the coroner, waiting for his response, Egon caught a shift in the man’s eyeline, a spark of intrigue, confusion, and tentative realization all tangled up into a fleeting whirlwind. He followed it through as the sheriff re-entered the house behind him, and as he saw the source of his interest, all of Egon’s fire extinguished in a cold douse of fear.

HIDE.

Egon obeyed the instinct’s demand and backed hurriedly into the kitchen, narrowly missing Domingo as he returned. The PKE meter—the coroner had clocked the PKE meter, and by the lingering look in his eye, he had a suspicion as to what it was, too.

How is that possible?

“Then, I’d say most likely it was a heart attack….”

He frowned, and his very being twisted with distrust and anxious confusion. Why are you covering for me? The coroner continued to lie to his coworker’s face, Janine effortlessly stepping into his narrative and backing it up. For us both?

“…I don’t see any reason we can’t honor that.”

Egon didn’t quite trust the relief that flooded his system as the sheriff finally agreed in turn with the coroner’s spun tale, but allowed himself to give in to it all the same. Janine wasn’t getting arrested; he didn’t have to throw anyone through a wall.

He blinked, disquieted. In the front room, they lowered his corpse to the floor and zipped the body bag shut around it. Well, that was an especially violent thought. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

He waited beside the dining room table (NOT touching it this time, thank you) and watched as the sheriff and coroner hoisted his remains and carried him out the front door. Janine followed in their wake, and he fell into line behind her, hyperaware of his every move and taking painstaking care this time to leave several feet of space between them.

He wouldn’t be able to walk with her all the way, he realized as the porch drew closer. He’d be stranded, only able to watch as she headed on alone, and the thought once more brought that unpleasant sensation bubbling up within him. It wasn’t fair; she’d done so much for him, the least he could do was walk with her. He wanted to walk with her, but no, he was confined to this stupid—

Janine stopped at the edge of the porch, lurching just a bit as she caught herself mid-step. Egon hesitated in turn behind her but then allowed himself to ease cautiously around her until he was at her side. He considered her, head tilted and that academic, pondering curiosity furrowing his brow.

…Interesting.

He was still looking at Janine, lost in thought and possibilities and hypotheses (was his PKE exerting an effect on her emotional state in inverse to the grounding effect of her emotions on himself? Had he accidentally created a possession effect, like a fleeting version of Raymond and the painting or Louis and Vinz? Had he—) as the coroner returned to speak to her.

SLAM—

DEFEND.

Egon startled and dropped into a braced, confrontational stance, pulled abruptly back into present awareness by the loud shut of the van doors. The effect on Janine was just as immediate. She turned away—from the van, from Egon—and clapped a hand over her mouth as, for the first time, her face twisted into a heartbroken, vicious sob, and her eyes flooded with tears.

Egon froze, staring down at her in fright and uncertainty. As much as he’d anticipated this reaction, now that it was here, he was utterly defenseless, empty-handed both literally and figuratively as to how to respond.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why that…” She gestured to the van, to Egon’s vanished body, still on the verge of fracture. Egon’s defensiveness yielded to a horrid onslaught of guilt. “Why that just…”

...I did this.

He reached for her shoulder again, aware this time of what he was doing and committing to it anyway in a selfish burst. He was a fraction of an inch away from contact when the coroner’s hand slipped beneath his, settling on her in warm, tender, living contact.

“Don’t you worry about explaining, Ms. Melnitz,” the man said kindly. “I understand.”

Egon’s hand retracted slowly to his chest, crestfallen. Where once he’d felt anger, protectiveness, and fear in overwhelming measure, he now felt the slick, nauseating boil of shame.

It wasn’t his place anymore to give her comfort; he couldn’t offer it and didn’t deserve to.

“You’d be surprised how many people are affected by that moment.” Still recoiled in on himself, eyes still trained miserably on Janine’s slumped shoulders, Egon slunk backward, fading once more into the darkened foyer of his hollow home. “It’s one of the many goodbyes you have to say to him.”

He watched from there, withdrawn from the senses of the living world and once more reverted to a liminal existence akin to what he’d been earlier this morning—abstract, fleeting, thin. Everyone and everything appeared to him as shadows beyond gossamer curtains, their voices and sounds muffled to the point of unintelligible static. Only Janine retained enough of her shape to be identified, only her voice retained its pitch and lilt, even though he couldn’t grasp the words.

This was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

....This didn’t qualify as pouting, did it?

#me channeling that Autistic Frustration at trying to figure things out when you're out of your comfort zone in every way and #shaking Egon's ghost hand as I do: I got you Grand Dude #my stantzler side is also coming through a little here but you know what EGON HAS TWO (2) HANDS THEY ARE FOR SHARING #janine x egon #egon x janine #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #ghostbusters #ghostbusters afterlife #mine #minee

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caspermhahn · 2 years

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Are you sure you wouldn't like to run? A game of tag, perhaps? All we have is time, you know. An eternity of time. Or shall we end it? Might as well. After all, we're missing the party. ― Stephen King, The Shining

tw: blood, suggestive violence, drug mention, hallucinations, weapon mentions: @marcellabelanades, the hahn family, unknown sire

Hours had passed— or maybe just moments, since he and Marcella had split away from the grand ballroom to find themselves astray in the garden’s overgrowth. A usual occurrence when it came to the couple, who would often bid an Irish goodbye to feel as though they were alone among his family’s woodland edged property. So much of the masquerade had brought up those memories as they waltzed, the swamplands being their native soil and was a place the two had not just met but blossomed into more. Bittersweet, a majority of them felt that way as his past had been tethered to his witchcraft and the necromancer’s own. Along with his family and sometimes found that he now missed the things he would then drag his feet about. Though Casper had discovered quite a bit of silver-lining in all of it, the transition and new patterns he forged, and the visage of the faerie realm and new ethos were starting to rest in the daily habits of Rome.

But the twilight of the night sky, brilliant shades of pinks and purples that faded into the mixed blues, was more than a pleasant distraction as the reflection bounced onto his partner’s eyes. Despite all the curveballs that kept flying towards the recently changed vampire, he’d remained optimistic, and showed that rose-tinted outlook in the curvature of his lips before gently planting them on hers. There was never a need to say anything, Casper had been infatuated with the witch since the moment he saw her picking mushrooms on his family's property. He’d thought at first she was an apparition, spirits were known to gravitate towards the abundance of magic surrounding his home or inhabit the local bayou just behind. Then she revealed her name and even his mother had to do a double-take, though that might have been the official moment Angeline attached herself to the witch who currently harbored herself in the thickets and tall grasses. Deathless, undying, everlasting. Maybe those would have been the appropriate words if they were at all needed, masks soon abandoned along with the extravagant attire, the magnetism of it all engulfing them completely.

— — — —

The Pluto vampire could lay there for the rest of his immortality in this state of nirvana. Even without his partner by his side, though preferred, there was just this sense of complete euphoria he’d always longed for. How could he forget the times that he was living in the sweltering, muggy and mosquito infested swamplands; his body positioned similar to this exact one as he attempted to see a world beyond his plane of existence. Surrounded by the start of his father’s yard decoration that encroached on the late summer and early fall blooms his mother worked so hard on each year. A sea of prairie blazing star, creeping liriope, and sunset huskmallow in his view that reminds him of the scene in Alice in Wonderland where she is among all the flowers who speak to her. Yet instead of just bundles of willow leaf sunflower and black-eyed susans, magically carved pumpkins and animated skeletons haphazardly littered the space. The cracking sound just a few feet away snapped him into realization that he was no longer recounting a memory, but back in the bayou. His home, with all its familiar smells and sounds. But that didn’t quite make sense, Casper had just been in the greenery of the fae and not his mothers— hadn’t he?

Lurching up, emerald irises bouncing around as the vampire adorned a look of confusion, Casper noticed the silhouette of his father perched on his family's southern-style wrap around porch. Was this real? Casper had experienced his fair share of delusions and elixir induced fantasies, but there was something about this one that just hit different. This had all the make-up of a nightmare and he couldn’t help the chuckle that flooded from his lips, practically feeling validated for all the times he had referenced his existence in the natural world as his film inspiration. Certainly the silhouette wasn’t Cortney, even if it did sound like him, the former witch’s gut boiled with alarm that told him otherwise. Pumpkin guts splattered across the dark walnut stained deck that shifted to pools of blood as the stranger in sheep's clothing positioned the once embedded hatchet in a way that only suggested one thing; run like hell.

Cypresses and oak trees swoosh past him as his vampire instincts fully take over, irises peeking slightly behind himself in order to see if the stranger was still at his heels, only to notice the sheen of blood in his view. How could they keep up? Casper was no longer a witch testing his illusion magic in the backwaters of Louisiana, but somehow he sensed he was back there in those moments of becoming someone else’s prey and each direction seeming to lead him towards a dead end without much hope for an escape.

#casper.para #e: the masquerade #task 001 / childhood memories #prompt.#// more maybe added later

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raytm · 2 months

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“we could do it, you know? take off. live in the woods.” (dany ♥️)

the old, faded pews felt scarcely the consecrated hall worthy of whispered reverence and the evocative dissemination of their elusive, yet deific sovereign DIO. deidara reveled in the way the retainers recoiled or fled as if his passing the threshold into their gilded cage was in itself blasphemous. there was a petulant middle finger bestowed in greeting and even from the shadows their features distorted in revulsion. they had made it blatant that he wasn’t one of them, wasn’t someone who devoted their life to a man whose face they did not know, whose influence was so ancient it was suffused with dust and mildew. he had been sent on a mission after being debriefed in conspicuity and how those who sought them were to be dispatched with discretion. he pretended to listen, their faces held a similar loathing. he strode in like the sanctity was held in his disfigured hands, with no intention to prostrate himself before a holy entity and behest good fortune. If there was one thing he had retained from his youth; sinking his fingers into power and prosperity, was that no old, sandy bastard was going to rise from the earth and bestow upon you his favour; in spite of what the attendants gossiped.

the assassination in question had gone off without a hitch. the helicopter disguised as a wealthy merchant’s, traveling to a villa for vacation, had been scoped out and destroyed in accordance with the thoroughly devised albeit thoroughly boring, plan. however, the way the man’s shriveled face had contorted in terror rang through him as a pleasant hum and the way his throat had contracted desperately as deidara thrusted his fingers and clay into his mouth embossed itself in his mind’s eye in euphoria. it had ossified in his throat, depriving him of the air he so desperately tried to inhale, particles filling his lungs, nestling in his apertures until the explosion that distended his stomach and filled his bulging corpse with blood and torn viscera went off. he kicked his heels up on the pew infront of him, his mouth smug, toying with the badge he’d stolen off the man’s SPEEDWAGON FOUNDATION jacket. he couldn’t read it, but presumed it was his name. he was less human in deidara’s eyes and more corpse, his eyes dilating, blood trickling from his ears and nose. he had been chastised last time he was assigned because apparently the foundation had a proclivity for sticking its nose where it wasn’t supposed to and being flagrant with his executions earned him a serial killer’s epithet. that wasn’t condoned by the higher ups so he was sanctioned with three weeks of tedious lurking without so much as a single man to kill.

he had anticipated her footfalls as she too stepped into the colossal cage for DIO’s worshippers and, with himself included, his less than appreciators. “ i’m back.” he flicked the badge in the air, it glinted in a subtle shaft of light cast in from one of the shattered and barred windows and caught it effortlessly. it was a sing-song drawl and it accompanied a more sincere grin. dany leant over him, long strands of her hair cascading past his shoulders, lustrous in the arid, afternoon glow, her smile akin to his. listlessly he raised a single hand, the last evidence of that man’s existence tucked away in his pocket, she was far more interesting, resting it gently against her jaw. “ isn’t the father’s illustrious scheme living up to your expectations.” deidara tilts his head back to look at her, resting on the pew behind him, a precarious balance. “ but i wouldn’t be against it, this place is a fucking hole.” he somehow doubted the eminent DIO would want to be resurrected in the sort of place that harbored the scent of sweat and decay; wasn’t he meant to be someone important. “ i’ll go if you go.” he says and means it, for his tether was to her, never to DIO, one of the many reasons his followers found him detestable. he wouldn’t have been bothered if this place erupted into an inferno, a resplendent replication of the helicopter as his diminutive, arachnid shaped bombs had exploded inside the engine. “ did you have a particular woods in mind ?"

#MOTHEFUCKER LET ME POST IT GNGNGN #* 💥 . ⊹ 𝐷𝐸𝐼𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐴. › 𝐢𝐜.#jjba au /#NFJFFJF

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halfrest · 2 months

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he had once thought he could handle a drink or two here or there, get away from the sickness that came with overindulgence, keep things measured, keep his head on straight and become a normal person about it — funny. two relapses later, parker knew he wouldn’t ever become that kind of normal. that kind of normal didn’t exist for someone like him; someone who would always try to fill in his deficiencies by any means possible, desperate to do so. one drink would lead to two which would lead to five and then to him blacked out until the morning after when regrets would pile in on top of a pounding headache and dry mouth. he supposed that’s why they called it an addiction. bound up on a drinking haze during most of his college years plus change, he had since become self-aware in more ways than one. progress. progress in the form of two years without one drink, a steady-ish job; music creative vying for the role of director — maybe a studio of his own, and working on boundaries in relationships to avoid those holes he used to dig himself so deeply into. an attempt to be proactive rather than reactive. it almost worked, but there were still loose strands. some more obvious than others, called a “learning curve” per his therapist, although parker wasn’t sure that applied if he was claiming willful ignorance. he had followed the rules this time, didn’t date until one year of sobriety, but all boundaries kind of blurred with salem. blinded by love or whatever rolling stones title was an awfully surface-level way of putting things, but he didn’t know how else to. he knew how he felt. he always did — didn’t have to be drunk for that. but, the problem was parker never knew how salem felt. not truly. not from the start, sharing kisses tethered with the taste of malibu rum and nicotine at the back of some cab to now, settling to an almost domestic sort of routine: eating dinner at the table, talking about their days, fucking after. he would say he loved every version of them because he did, but didn’t because of what could be said or not said in response. a precipitous balancing act. none of it was her fault, but his for carrying on without a word and without boundaries. as his key slid into the lock, he had a tumult of incredulous thoughts — salem changing the locks to keep him out, salem in bed with someone else, salem with his things packed up ready to send him away. all stupid and parker felt stupid as the door opened to her shoes at the entranceway, her own keys hung by the wall; those sights allowing giddiness to overtake whatever sad-man-doubts he had come over with. “hey, baby,” he greeted, voice loud enough to reach wherever she was. parker shook the brown bag of takeout he had with him. “i got us burgers and fries.” ( @vanisheveryday )

#* parker / int .#* parker / salem .#vanisheveryday #addiction tw #alcohol use tw #yay

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dearlittlecanary · 2 years

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If You Give a Lab a Cluster . . .

Two years ago I wrote this commission for @eclecticegomaniac ! Originally posted under my now lost side account @.bearswritingaccount. This is a Steven Universe fictive for their original character and Steven! It ended at 5,103 words.

Lab Rat: a person or thing used as a subject for experimentation Inhumane: without compassion for misery or suffering; cruel Betterment: the act or process of improving something’s standard or process Mankind: human beings considered collectively; the whole of the human race

There was once a time, when the lighthouse brought a sense of uneasiness, perhaps even loneliness. However, that was in the past, and now, now they were in the future; and Steven wouldn’t give that up for the world. It wasn’t quite sunset, nor was it still afternoon. Rather, it was that peaceful time when the sky was just beginning to turn, the soft rose golds, burnt oranges, and crisp golden well, golds, were starting to wake from their dianural slumber. As pretty as the sight was, that wasn’t the one that had captured Steven’s attention. Rather, it was the young woman that sat beside him. If you asked him which part of her that held his heart the most, Steven would be hard-pressed to find a proper answer. Was it her spit-fire personality, which always kept him tethered to what mattered most? Was it the fact that she never seemed to be far, allowing him to have someone to rely on when he needed it most? Or was it something more cliche, more . . tangible? Such as her eyes, as mysterious and tempting as a starless midnight sky? Her hair, which was always pulled back in it’s signature braid, a beautiful shade of strawberry blonde that seemed to exist no where else? Steven would say that it was all of those, and at the same time, none of them. He had grown up learning all kinds of different definitions of love, and each time he tried to apply one to what he and Mia had, none of them seemed to fit just right; but, is that really a bad thing?

“Penny for your thoughts?” an achingly familiar voice questioned, mirth never straying far from her words. Steven blinked, said thoughts scattering like tadpoles that had just been startled by a skipping rock. A soft smile pulled at his features, it was also so hard to keep one from forming when he was around her. “I was just thinking about you.” he said honestly. Mia couldn’t help the quick glimmer of . . perhaps surprise, that flickered through her gaze before she laughed, a sound that Steven knew he would never get tired of hearing. “Surely you have better things to think about.” No sooner had she finished her sentence had the boy shook his head. “If I could think about nothing but you all day I would.” Okay, so maybe he had been brushing up on flirting skills in the library. He wasn’t very experienced when it came to things like this, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to try his very best. “Well that would certainly make for some interesting lesson plans down at the school.” Mia replied, that ever-present tone of mirth coating her words. Steven couldn’t help the snicker that quickly turned into a full-blown laugh at her words, clearly in agreement.

Unbeknownst to both of the young teens, their date was under a rather scrutinizing and overly disdainful watch. A nearly silent drone, a BlackBear-289 (a rather small and surprisingly un-bear-like drone), hovering by the rails of the lighthouse; it’s attached camera zooming in on the pair without any trouble at all. “We have eyes on Subject 0190.” a disembodied voice spoke, travelling to a small yet elite strike team that was perched on the cliff-face, away from any prying eyes. “You’re clear to initiate Project CL-164. Be advised that the Subject is accompanied by one of the Crystal Gem threats. Be prepared to take injuries, possible casualties. Remember. . . failure is not an option.” The voice itself was rather monotone, almost robotic. As if it didn’t care what it was sending this team to do. After its warning about failure, the voice faded into static, and the lighthouse hill seemed peaceful once again; the air as tranquil as a hidden pool in the forests of lore. But alas, the peace and tranquility lasted only another heartbeat, for such things were never built or meant to last.

The team of four scaled what was left of the cliff with ease, having come up behind the two teens. Their plan rode heavily on the element of surprise. The team was dressed all in black, wearing advanced headgear, their faces entirely covered, with nothing giving away their identities. One individual pulled a slender canister from their waist, the only sound being made was the pin being pulled. Steven and Mia turned, the sound startling both of them, but by then it was too late, the grenade was thrown. Just as Steven summoned his shield, it exploded against the ground, the concussion grenade spitting smoke, a bright white light and a high-pitched squeal, not unlike the feedback of an old television or radio. A pained cry escaped the teens, and the team wasted no time in moving in, pulling crackle rods from their belts. Electricity sparked off of the blue rods, the setting on the sticks set to stun; enough to render the teens unconscious should the blow(s) land. While failure wasn’t an option, bringing Subject 0190 back dead would certainly hasten their own meeting with the reaper. Their very organization rode on her existence, after all.

Speaking of, Mia was the one who recovered from the grenade first, using her gem-given abilities to bend the light that the grenade had given off to make the light equivalent of a smoke-screen, giving time for Steven to recover as well. Unfortunately, while this was a great idea in theory, the headgear that had been issued to the team counteracted the movement easily, the same way a baby gate would deter any toddler from dangerous areas. Of course, this wasn’t a detrimental factor, at least, not to Mia. But then again, she had always been overconfident when it comes to situations like this. Beside her, Steven had recovered, his hands now covered in those ‘bubble boxing gloves’. “Ready?” he questioned. “Do you even need to ask?” came the retort. The grenade’s residue had cleared, and now the teams faced off, the tension akin to an old fashioned stand off in the Wild West, though it was clear this duel wouldn’t be as honorable.

“Subject 0190, you have one chance to come with us amicably.” one of the lab’s bounty hunters said, their voice sounding just as robotic and monotoned as the voice that had come through the drone some minutes before. Steven raised a brow, glancing from the team of four to Mia for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough. A look of pure fury, much like the wrath of a God that had been awakened from their slumber far too soon, was on her features. In the back of his mind, Steven was casually comparing her to an Amazonian. She certainly had the fight and determination of one. “I’m never setting foot back in that place willingly.” she snarled. “If you want me, you’ll have to drag my corpse back.” Of course, Steven had no intentions of letting that be the case, or well, any of it for that matter. “As you wish.” came the eerily calm reply before the team darted forward with the precision of a panther that had been lying in wait for its prey.

Mia dodged the first blow with ease, while Steven used his bubble gloves to block the ones aimed for him. Drawing her sword from her neck, Mia parried away the next blow with confidence, almost laziness really. Matching the lab’s lackeys blow for blow, Mia and Steven moved in tandem, it was a wonder they hadn’t accidentally fused yet they were so in tune with each other’s battle motions. Any spectator would assume that they were communicating in some unspoken way, so deep was their bond. Unfortunately, when it came to those that followed a belief so blindly, to those that made the title ‘zealot’ look like child’s play, such a bond was something to laugh at, to scorn even. “Are you done playing?” The black clothed assassins spoke as one, as if they shared a hive-mind mentality. For all Mia and Steven knew, they did. Were they even human? Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

With renewed vigor, the elite force pressed harder, their blows reaching near supersonic speeds. Of course, such a thing is exaggerated, but that was certainly what it felt like. Steven grunted in exertion, trading his bubble gloves for his actual shield as he tried to knock back one of the individuals, however, in doing so, he left his right flank open. This was when the numbers game truly came into effect, and there were no words to describe the startled and pained shout that escaped Steven. Of course, at his cry, Mia slipped up, her head practically snapping to find him, his name falling from her lips in a panicked nature. “Steven!?” And that was all it took. One of the enforcers practically rammed their rod into the small of her back, not hesitating to use excessive force. It was a wonder the girl didn’t poof, but then again, she had always been the hardy type. Steven stumbled away from the two that had been taking some mighty liberties with the blows that rained down upon him, in an effort to get to Mia; and it was her turn to have her name dropped so fearfully. “Mia!!” It was to no avail. Steven wasn’t too sure where his final blow landed, he just registered the unhesitating waves of currents that wracked through his body, and he fell to his knees, unable to help the one he loved; who was getting similar treatment.

The last thing he saw was Mia passing out in the arms of their attackers, Steven’s final thoughts being ones of failure.

Opting to leave the Crystal Gem hybrid where he lay, the lackeys picked up Mia in a rather careless fire-man’s carry, opting to go down the hill instead of climbing the cliff again; so as not to risk damage to the Subject. At the bottom of the hill, an unmarked and unremarkable white van waited for them. Tossing Mia in as though she were nothing more than a sack of rocks, two of the individuals climbed in after her, while the other two moved to the front of the car; heading back to what was left of Ocean Town. After it’s Great Disaster, much of the townspeople had left, opting to live in more safer residential areas; which made things far easier for the Lennox Scientific Research Center (L.S.R.C). No longer did the head researcher need attend those press conferences, or attend the town meetings, claiming that their research was perfectly humane and safe; keeping up that angelic front. No, now their deeds could be done truly without shame, no longer did they have to hide in the dark like monsters, hide their natures. No longer did they have to fear the people misunderstanding what they stood for.

That being the betterment of humanity, that is. Some may say that the LSRC was playing at God, trying far too hard to make Earth and mankind perfect, so much so that they had long since forgotten their morals. It was bold of them to even assume that the Center had any morals to begin with, really. “We have successfully apprehended Subject 0190.” the driver said, speaking to a seemingly invisible ear-piece. “Excellent.” came the simple reply. The rest of the drive passed in utter silence, one could hear a feather drop, so deathly quiet it was. It wasn’t long before the team arrived at the institution; which in and of itself was just as unremarkable as the van they had arrived in. The logo was the only identifying mark on the otherwise spotless white and gray building. It sported limited windows, and only two exits were visible to the naked eye. The front, which boasted the pair of simple glass doors, and then the back, which was a stainless and heavy duty steel garage-esque door, which was the one that the van pulled up to. After sitting for about thirty seconds, the door opened, giving way to the lab itself. Though, this first room was rather forgettable, it was filled with countless vans that were identical to the one in which Mia rode.

The next couple of actions passed rather quickly. The individuals left the van, one of them carrying Mia out (in another careless fireman’s carry), only to hand her off to a team of researchers that looked as though they had just left a Doctor Who convention. After Mia had been passed off to them, she was brought to an observation room, devoid of anything but a medical bed, which was fitted with metal cuffs. Setting her down with the care that the enforcers had been lacking, the same researcher that had set her down made sure to secure her while the others (about six or so) flitted about her like bees at a freshly bloomed flower, the scratching of their pens filling the room until it seemed as though there was no other sound that existed in the world. Each camera sported a camera, and each of them were focused intently on Mia, each at different angles and zooms, so that the lab wouldn’t miss a single thing. Once the researchers had gotten their fill of notes (for now that is), they exited the room, retreating to a hidden observatory, waiting with bated breath for Mia to come to.

Some might wonder why they had waited so long to bring her back. The reason for that was simple. It wasn’t as though they had been afraid she would leave, nor were they afraid that they would lose complete and utter track of her. You see, the drone that had been stalking her and Steven on their date, was only one of many that had followed Mia throughout her life. She had been under constant hidden surveillance since she had first left the lab. In addition to the drones, hidden cameras had been placed in the areas and establishments that Mia frequently visited. The lab also had no qualms about hacking into existing security footage in order to keep track of their precious little Subject 0190. Of course, that brings us to the reason as to why she was brought back now. It was through this constant surveillance that the L.S.R.C had gained so much information and knowledge on gem-kind and what made them tick, so to speak. The biggest nugget of knowledge that they had gained, had been that of the cluster and the ‘Gem Mutants’ as the Crystal Gems had called them. The lab’s team (and more specifically the head of it) had been intrigued as to what may happen when a small fused gem-shard cluster was integrated in the same host that a ��pure’ gem called home. Of course, Mia’s history of becoming corrupted made for an unexpected and rather wild factor in the experiment, but at the same time, that only made the ideas of what could happen all the more intriguing.

Speaking of the host. . . it wasn’t long after the researchers had retreated to their observatory ‘ledge’ had Mia come to. Her first thoughts were of Steven, for the last thing that she had seen was him being beaten down that team of clods that had dared to lay a hand on them. Her second round of thoughts were trying to figure out just where the hell she was, trying to piece together what she remembered. It didn’t take long, especially as she had tried to move in order to get a better view; only to discover that she couldn’t get very far at all, perhaps a centimeter. Everything came crashing down then, with the force of a tidal wave in a thunderstorm.

It was harder than she thought to push down that equally large wave of fear that roared up within her.

Fortunately for Mia, Steven didn’t intend to let her feel (or try to not feel) that fear for long. Coming too, a groan escaped him; the sound mixed with pain and exhaustion alike. Spitting out dirt and grass, he pushed himself up as he looked blearily around him. It took only a few seconds to realize that Mia was gone. It took only a few seconds after that for Steven to be on his feet and using his floating ability to jump down to the temple. While a part of him wanted to get into the Dondai and race to get her back himself, he knew that he would need the backup; especially if more of those black-clothed goons were wandering the lab. He didn’t know much about it, just what Mia had told him all those years ago, but what he did know was enough to send shivers of fear and worry alike down his spine. Bursting through the door, Steven didn’t hesitate to speak, the words spilling over his lips as quickly and harshly as a waterfall that had just shaken off the last ice of winter. “MiaandIwerehavingadateatthelighthousehillwhentheseg--”

“Steven slow down!” Pearl said, raising a hand, eyes wide at how frantic Steven looked. “Yeah man, you look like you’re about to pass out.” Amethyst said, looking over Steven’s . . . disheveled appearance. Steven hesitated, then took a deep breath and tried to start again, trying to be a little calmer. “Mia and I were on the lighthouse’s hill, having a date, when these guys from the lab came and attacked us. They overpowered us and took Mia and now we have to go get her back before they do something horrible to her.” It was a wonder that Steven managed to say that all without yelling honestly. That’s not to say that a part of him didn’t want to scream and shout and throw apart the entire temple, but the logical part of him was winning out. For now. He was trying to push down those feelings of failure, incompetence, and frustration. There weren’t enough words in English or Gem or any other language, really, to describe how inadequate he felt. First it was Spinel. Then it was Blue-Bird. Then those two Lapises, and now . . . now he had lost Mia to the very people that had tormented her since she was a little girl. And while he knew that she was more than strong enough to take care of herself. . he knew that she shouldn’t have too.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt as though each passing second was a year long. The other gems, to their credit, had been quick to move, working through their shock more efficiently than Steven ever could. “Let’s go then dude!” Amethyst said, eyes wider than Steven had ever seen them. Mia had long since become a part of the family, and an attack on the family, was essentially a death sentence. Letting the gems practically usher him to the Dondai, as it was impossible to warp to the laboratory, Steven couldn’t help but feel on autopilot. Once he was in the car however, he seemed to come to life a little, his movements jerky; the only sign that gave away his emotional distress. That and the speeding of course, when he actually managed to get the car into drive. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning whiter than snow.

I’m coming! He wanted to scream, Please don’t be afraid.

Please don’t give up. Please don’t give up on me.

Steven’s unheard pleas were for naught, for several reasons. Of course, there was the obvious answer. Secondly, Mia couldn’t even hear them. Besides, at the moment, she was a little preoccupied. . Now that she had come to, a voice was carrying through the space. “Subject 0190, otherwise known as Mia Lennox, Human Host, otherwise known as Rainbow Spectrolite, Alien Gem, are you aware of your surroundings?” Like the voice that had been used by the brutes that attacked her and Steven, the voice was robotic, monotone, as if it’s life was nothing but black and gray. Mia didn’t bother answering, not seeing any reason to cooperate with them. There was a minute or two of silence. “Subject 0190, we are aware that you can hear us.” the voice said, before repeating it’s earlier statement. Once again, Mia didn’t say anything, and instead flipped off one of the cameras. However, this seemed to be answer enough to the voice and the unseen observers. There was another few minutes of silence, perhaps the white coated sheep were trying to figure out what question to ask first. Mia idly (and rather condescendly) wondered how they didn’t pass out from the excitement that she undoubtedly brought to their tiny brains. “Are you aware why we brought you in today?” the voice finally asked, as though she was being pulled over. “Well I sure as fuck wasn’t speeding.” she drawled. “Did I run a red light? A stop sign?”

There was an almost silence, for Mia could just hear the scritching of pencils coming over the intercom. Unfortunately, it did nothing to help her figure out where the room was. “It’s good to see that you retain some sense of humanity.” Mia couldn’t (and didn’t really try to) resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Since when is humanity and humor the same thing?” Honestly, Mia couldn’t stand holding a conversation with these people, but it served as a good distraction. She was trying to figure out how to get out of here, and the working idea was to use her abilities to try and melt the cuffs. The only problem with that was the constant surveillance. Even if she managed to get her hands free, she had no idea how many individuals in black they had, or even what other weapons they had. . .

These concerns only lasted a moment though. She was Mia Lennox after all! She could accomplish anything she set her mind to, come hell or high water! There was no way that she was going to sit still and let the lab do whatever they wanted with her, not again. Not ever again. So, she did her best to keep her movements subtle. All she needed was a little laser right? She could do that just by pointing her finger. . . maybe. “You have been brought back to us because we have a procedure you must undergo. For the betterment of humanity, you will be the one that brings us closer to salvation.” While the words, the mantra really, was eerie enough, hearing it said through a robotic voice made it even creepier. Mia knew that those words would be haunting her dreams without a doubt. Though, the sound of a new ‘procedure’ didn’t exactly sound all that promising either. “Will there be tea and cookies after?” Mia asked, though it would take a total dunce to miss the sarcasm that dripped from her words, thick like honey. Listening to the faint echo of pencils scratching on their clipboards, Mia took her chance to try and cut the cuffs around her wrists. It was a painstaking process. She didn’t really care if she hurt herself while she was doing this, no, she was more worried about the cameras catching on to what she was doing. “Why do you feel the need to ask questions that you already know the answers to, Subject 0190?”

“Does that mean ‘yes’?” Mia replied, not skipping a beat. She could practically hear the eye roll through the camera, the voice changing the subject. “Are you familiar with the gem cluster at the center of the Earth, Subject 0190?” The question caught Mia completely off-guard, her little laser plan halting in her surprise. “What about it? I’m certainly not helping you adopt it, if that’s what you’re getting at. You’re not exactly parents of the year.” The Cluster was actually rather sad. She remembered Steven’s story about it when he had come back from saving it with Peridot. It had also helped them fight Yellow and Blue Diamond when they had come to try and claim Steven for their own. . She would be rather be shattered than help the lab freaks get their hands on it. “You misunderstand. We have a piece of it.” Mia felt as though the floor had just been ripped out from under her. Her brain seemed to be working overtime in order to figure out just where the hell they were going with this. “Unfortunately, many of our tests on it. . . have been inconclusive.” Well that could mean any number of things, honestly. “So, we have decided to go ahead with our next phase of the experiment. To study how our piece of the Cluster, otherwise known as Project CL-164, reacts with a human host that has already been integrated with a ‘pure’ gem. Of course, you have already been corrupted, but have also been healed, so while you are not a truly ideal candidate, you certainly exceed many of our expectations as it is.”

If Mia could breathe, she would. If she could come up with some kind of snarky reply, she would. But it seemed as though she stopped functioning altogether. It wasn’t as though she hated the Cluster, itself, in fact she was sure that it was quite nice. No, rather, she hated that she was once again going to be a guinea pig, a lab rat. She hated the idea of having another gem, or in this case, gems, forced onto her. It was hard enough keeping Spectrolite out of her head. She didn’t want to have to fight to just be herself, she didn’t deserve such a fate. Though, once again, it seemed as though she had no choice. The voice, seemingly having taken her silence as a ‘sure go ahead, I’m totally fine with this’; clicked off, and a previously hidden door slid upwards, for it was integrated within the wall. Four researchers walked in, and activated previously hidden wheels on the bed that she was strapped down on, wheeling her out of the room. A few seconds after she started moving, the true gravity of the situation seemed to come crashing down on Mia, and she began to thrash, to struggle. “NO!” she shouted, not once, not twice, but rather over and over again, until she was practically blue in the face. She took a breath then, and was about to continue shouting some more, but one of the researchers held her arm down and she felt the familiar prick of a needle; and the room started spinning. “N-No!” Of course, it wasn’t anything to knock her out, not yet. They hadn’t quite decided if the operation would be more successful if she was unconscious . . . or not. After all, these shards weren’t like the Spectrolite they had implanted oh so long ago, and anything less than perfect was a failure, and failure. . . . was not tolerated in the Lennox Scientific Research Center.

Wheeling Mia into a more than expensive medical wing, it seemed almost as though someone went through every modern medical catalog and ordered one of everything; forgetting how big their designated room was. Everything blinked or beeped or both, and if Mia wasn’t already on some kind of drug, she would have thought that she was having an overdose episode the way that her surroundings all ran together. (Though, quite honestly, this was more likely due to the serum that had just been administered to her). The researchers paid the seemingly wordless babbles of Mia no attention, letting her head roll from side to side and up and down while she tried (unsuccessfully) to take in all of the room, for it seemed to her that each time she looked in a new direction there was a new thing to see. Just what had they given her? She wasn’t sure, but she did like the warm and fuzzy feeling it gave her, it reminded her of a blanket that had just come out of the dryer. “We need to integrate the CL-164 shard into a nerve-heavy area.” one researcher said. “The neck or spine is out of the question, we have no idea how either gem will react being in such close proximity to each other, and we need Subject 0190 alive for as long as possible.” another chimed in.

“The hand perhaps?”

“Above or around the heart?”

“In the center of her forehead?”

For each suggestion, a black ‘X’ was marked, and it wasn’t long before her body was seemingly covered in them, each one marking a vital organ or places where nerves were known to accumulate. Finally, the team came to a decision. “The heart it is.” The words were said with clinical detachment, as if they had asked for a specific surgical tool. Perhaps it was a blessing that Mia didn’t really register what was about to happen to her. Around her, the researchers skittered about, getting scrubs on and wash their hands thoroughly, their actions reminding Mia of busy bees, and well, because of her fun little drug, they actually started to resemble bees. Not realistic bees, thank goodness, that would be far too terrifying. Coming back to her side, the researchers unclipped her classic overalls, so that her shirt was on display. “Scissors.” With a few efficient motions, the last remaining garments were cut away. “Scalpel.” One of the researchers wheeled in the small gem cluster as another handed over the requested tool. The small cluster seemed to be made up of four different gems, and they were melded together in a shape that didn’t seem to be invented yet.

Mia thought it looked like a star honestly, but she was soon distracted from the shining thing when the warmth she had previously felt started to almost evaporate in a sharp and almost painful way. This of course, was due to the researchers cutting her open, the scalpel cutting through her skin with ease, bright red standing out starkly against her skin and the otherwise stainless steel. Just as the researcher in question was about to make the second incision, Mia squirming at the notion, the doors burst open. Steven and the other Gems bursting in with fury unbridled, their weapons all at the ready. Taking in the sight, Steven could no longer hold back his rage, his true rage, and once again, that pink tint came over his skin; and he lunged towards the researchers with every intention of making sure they had to crawl out of that room. Pearl, the unofficial medic of the team, rushed to Mia’s side while the others backed Steven up.

Caught completely off guard, the researchers barely had time to call in for back-up, not that any would have arrived anyways; for the Crystal Gems had taken care of them before they managed to find Mia. Speaking of, she was staring wide-eyed all around her, her motions almost frantic. “Steben.” she tried to say, her tongue feeling heavy, a side effect from the drug. “Steben.” she repeated, a low whine almost daring to enter her tone. “Shhh, you’re safe now.” Pearl said softly as she did her best to patch Mia up safely and quickly, all without hurting her too much. “He’s fighting to save you.” Indeed he was, and he was being utterly ruthless about it. The researchers that went down under his blows took a good second to move again, though such a thing didn’t seem to bother Steven, at least, not at the moment. Once all the researchers were taken care of, and the few backup lackeys that had somehow managed to get past them in the first place, Steven was quick to join Pearl’s side, who had just gotten Mia free from the table.

Taking her into his arms, a sense of relief settled over him. “I’m so sorry.” he said, his voice no higher than a whisper. It was a wonder it didn’t crack. “Steben.” was all she said, and he couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes, the pained smile that pulled at his lips. “Yeah. It’s me.” Mia seemed to relax a little in his arms, which only caused him to hold her closer. “Let’s go home.” he said, louder, addressing all of the Gems at that point. Taking their leave from the building, Pearl drove them home, Steven sitting in the back with Mia; not daring to leave her side for even a second. She had fallen asleep in his arms at some point, and she looked so peaceful, so at ease. He couldn’t help but acknowledge the consequences of his failure, the fruits of his incompetence. A few silent tears streamed down his cheeks. “I won’t let them hurt you ever again.”

“I swear.”

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