#maintaining artificial grass

[reasonsforhope]

"Marginal improvements to agricultural soils around the world would store enough carbon to keep the world within 1.5C of global heating, new research suggests.

Farming techniques that improve long-term fertility and yields can also help to store more carbon in soils but are often ignored in favor of intensive techniques using large amounts of artificial fertilizer, much of it wasted, that can increase greenhouse gas emissions.

Using better farming techniques to store 1 percent more carbon in about half of the world’s agricultural soils would be enough to absorb about 31 gigatons of carbon dioxide a year, according to new data. That amount is not far off the 32 gigaton gap between current planned emissions reduction globally per year and the amount of carbon that must be cut by 2030 to stay within 1.5C.

The estimates were carried out by Jacqueline McGlade, the former chief scientist at the UN environment program and former executive director of the European Environment Agency. She found that storing more carbon in the top 30 centimeters of agricultural soils would be feasible in many regions where soils are currently degraded.

McGlade now leads a commercial organization that sells soil data to farmers. Downforce Technologies uses publicly available global data, satellite images, and lidar to assess in detail how much carbon is stored in soils, which can now be done down to the level of individual fields.

“Outside the farming sector, people do not understand how important soils are to the climate,” said McGlade. “Changing farming could make soils carbon negative, making them absorb carbon, and reducing the cost of farming.”

She said farmers could face a short-term cost while they changed their methods, away from the overuse of artificial fertilizer, but after a transition period of two to three years their yields would improve and their soils would be much healthier...

Arable farmers could sequester more carbon within their soils by changing their crop rotation, planting cover crops such as clover, or using direct drilling, which allows crops to be planted without the need for ploughing. Livestock farmers could improve their soils by growing more native grasses.

Hedgerows also help to sequester carbon in the soil, because they have large underground networks of mycorrhizal fungi and microbes that can extend meters into the field. Farmers have spent decades removing hedgerows to make intensive farming easier, but restoring them, and maintaining existing hedgerows, would improve biodiversity, reduce the erosion of topsoil, and help to stop harmful agricultural runoff, which is a key polluter of rivers."

-via The Grist, July 8, 2023

#agriculture #sustainable agriculture #sustainability #carbon emissions #carbon sequestration #livestock #farming #regenerative farming #native plants #ecosystems #global warming #climate change #good news #hope

[hanilessa]

You're more human than you might think

` Wanderer x Fem!Reader

` Genre: romance

` Author’s notes: for you, my dear @silverbladexyz! i hope you enjoy it <3

You gently stroked the wounded ear of a little rabbit, who sat trustingly on your lap and ate the delicacy offered to him — fresh green grass and ripe red apples. Your heart sang joyfully in your chest as you peacefully watched this view. The wounded ear, from which dark red blood had previously flowed, gradually stopped bleeding, and this was a sign for you that you could start treating the wound.

Your heart bled every time when small children approached you with a request to heal a small injured animal that they found on the street. You could never refuse them because you were a kind and sympathetic person, and your heart ached when you saw small animals that were injured. Everyone in the area knew that you were a good nurse, and you never refused to help anyone, kind-hearted and generous. But what they might not know is that you rose to the surface from the depths of hell.

The artificially created Khaenri’ah puppet that you were couldn't consider yourself a living and compassionate person. But why, every time you saw a wounded person or animal, did your heart overflow with pain and compassion? Was there really something alive in you? Or have you tried to imitate life by trying to help the people around you? It was a heavy burden that you have been carrying for five hundred years.

The rabbit in your hands continues to eat the grass, and you can feel with your hands how soft its white fur was. It pleasantly caresses your skin, and for a moment you close your eyes to let go of all the thoughts that torment you. A few more moments pass, and you hear the sound of someone's unhurried steps next to you.

"Miss nurse is sleeping at her workplace. How unprofessional." You heard a familiar voice, and your heart suddenly began to beat rapidly in your chest, and you hurried to open your big beautiful eyes, meeting Wanderer's gaze.

His cold eyes smoothly explore your entire figure, sweeping over your body and stopping at the little rabbit that continued to sit on your lap. In turn, you notice a small kitten in Wanderer's hands. Your heart fluttered excitedly.

"What's happened?" You ask, your voice trembling with excitement as you see the wounded animal in the man's arms.

"People don't notice where they're going. So vile." The man snorted as you carefully rose from your seat and placed the rabbit in a small basket.

"Please wait a little." You say and hurry to treat your hands with a special tool to start treating wounds on the bodies of poor animals. "I have to finish my previous case."

Wanderer only nods, continuing to maintain silence in the infirmary, while you were treating wounds. Your heart beat relentlessly in your chest as you treated the wounds on the body of the rabbit, after which you proceeded to treat the wounds of the kitten, whose tail was very tattered and mangy. You wondered how cruel some people were.

When you finished dressing the small wounds, you made sure that the animals were fed and kept in a safe place for them. You felt a little better when the rabbit and the kitten started showing a little more activity. With a happy smile, you turned to Wanderer, who had remained silent all this time, and saw that his cheeks slightly blushed when you smiled at him.

"Did Lesser Lord Kusanali ask you to bring a kitten to me?" You asked timidly to keep the conversation going and break the awkward silence.

At the mention of Nahida, the man was a little confused, but immediately frowned and snorted. You were friends with Nahida, and the two of you often discussed many interesting stories and facts. It was amusing to watch how Wanderer got embarrassed.

"Why do you think that I only fulfill her requests?" The man snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and then timidly looked away from you, continuing to say, "Maybe I did it of my own free will. And I wanted to see you again."

You were a little taken aback by his confession, your cheeks blushing red, but after a moment you pushed away the embarrassing thoughts and replied, "You're more human than you might think."

The kitten and the rabbit continued to eat the food offered to them. Wanderer snorted defiantly, but a slight semblance of a smile appeared on his face.

"Same as you."

#wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x female reader

[lateraniansweets]

Whether you write for this or not doesn’t matter much, I just really wanted to share this idea. Vash with a reader who knows he’s a plant and, seeing how this world has no wildlife, decides to make him a paper flower or flowers as a way of trying to connect with him.

awww thats so cute!!! i added embroidery flowers if that's okay with you!!

Flora

Plants like the flora kind do exist in No Man's Land but they're rare and mainly the rich own them. People would keep their plants under lock and key or spend their life savings buying a single one.

You could count on one hand the instances you've seen flora in your life.

All from a distance, of course.

At least until now.

Ship 3's biodome is in your eyes what paradise looks like. It's vast, with grass and all sorts of flora planted in sections, from vegetables, fruits, shrubs, trees and the decorative sort like roses.

It's the most flora you've seen your entire life.

Vash is two steps behind you, looking lovestruck as he watches you admire the flowers.

You stop in front of a group of violet flowers and turn to him. "What are these called?" you ask, gesturing to the flowers.

He hums, stepping closer and crouching down to get a better look, "They're campanula—bellflowers."

"Bell...flowers?"

"Mhm," he tugs at your hand, gently urging you to crouch alongside him.

Happily, you oblige, shoulders brushing against his.

"They're called that because they look like bells," Vash explains, caressing one as you lean against his shoulder, "See?"

"I do," you answer following his example and caressing another flower.

Subtly, Vash wraps an arm around your shoulders, intertwining his hand with yours. You lean against his touch, breathing out a sigh. A comfortable silence envelops the geodome, the artificial wind blowing as the suns slowly set.

For a moment you could imagine that the two of you were on Earth taking an afternoon stroll at a park.

"I wish we could bring some flora with us," you mumble against his shoulder.

"Same. I bet they'd smell nice."

Bringing a plant along with you on your travels would be improbable. Flora, as you've learned from Luida tended to be sensitive. As nice as the idea would be, you knew neither of you would be able to take care of it.

Vash presses a kiss on your temple, "We should go now. I promised Brad I'd help him with some maintenance. "

"I see," With wobbly legs, you stand up. Leaning down on the still-crouched Vash you give him a quick kiss on the forehead and on the beauty mark under his left eye. "See you later at dinner then?"

"Mhm."

You leave the geodome with an idea forming in your head, realising Vash left his coat in his room.

You and Vash leave Ship 3 with packs full of supplies provided by the Ship's residents and a freshly maintained arm.

Luida hugs you tightly, "I'm sure he'll love it." she assures, the smile lines on her face crinkling.

"Really?"

The older woman chuckles, "Yes, he definetly would. It's a thoughtful gift."

"Now," the older woman releases her hold you, "You two be safe out there alright."

"Alright." You walk away from the woman and down the sandswept metal ramp that leads out the SEEDS ship. Turning on your heelm you wave the woman goodbye before walking to Vash's side.

"What was that about?" asks Vash, taking your pack from you so he could carry it.

"Nothing..." Heat rushes up to your cheeks.

"It's definitely something!" He moves closer to you, "So..." Vash starts, curiosity in his voice as his hot breath fans in your in. "What is it?"

You stop in your tracks abruptly, making Vash bump into you.

"Check the inside of your coat."

"Huh?"

"Just do it, okay!"

"Okay..?"

Vash methodically goes through his many coat pockets, feeling for whatever this something may be.

Excitement bubbles up inside him but it quickly dies down when he feels nothing other than a couple of his own bullets.

"Mayfly," He pouts, "there's nothing in he-OH!"

Turns out that 'something' wasn't inside his coat but in the coat itself.

There were flowers sewed in his coat, red and green threads standing out against the blue cloth of the inside of his coat.

Vash brushes his thumb against the red flowers embroidered on the inside of his coat, right over his heart.

"They're..." His breath is caught in his throat.

You step closer, avoiding his eyes as you inspect your work. It was an amateur's work at best but it turned out well enough considering your skill and the time you had.

"Geraniums, " you finish for him, placing a hand over his, the prosthetic a familiar metallic cool. Finally mustering the courage to do so, you look up at him. "They're your favorite right?"

They are, It goes unsaid.

Vash told you about Rem and his time on the SEEDS ship. A hundred fifty years into the past humanity roamed the stars searching for a new home and with them they took remnants of Earth.

It's all distant to you. All you've known are the endless dunes of No Man's Land.

"I-I know it looks a bit wonky. I'm not the best at embroidery and-and—"

The packs Vash was holding are dropped down on the ground as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you in a tight embrace.

"I love it. Thank you."

"You-you do?"

"Of course I do!" Vash pressed a kiss on your cheek, "It's beautiful, Mayfly. Thank you."

You hug him back, pulling your bodies closer together, heart swelling with joy.

okay I kinda didn't know how to end this so duandnwbs. it's currently 3am and I'm stress writing because I've got a policy paper proposal thingie in a few hours ajdjabreb I'm so nervous aaaa

also I just realised I should probably title some of my stuff fjsneb

#trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #^asks #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader

[artbyblastweave]

Gideon the Ninth Liveread: Chapter 10

Harrow is still missing in action. Noted casually, because Gideon doesn't care per se, but this is absolutely a length of seperation that would be setting off alarm bells within any other necro/cavalier pair; for all her complaints about Gideon not being able to maintain the charade, Harrow's lack of regard for Gideon strikes me as the fundamentally weak link in their plan, most likely papered over only by the fact that the other houses have no frame of reference for how the Ninth conducts it's operations. Also, I’ve had the thought that the other houses might not care; the whole "fake cavalier" thing seems tailored to the scrutiny of a social environment much more heavily populated. Harrow was gearing up for some real court intrigue, but Harrow and Gideon are marooned with just 16 named characters, all of whom have their own shit going on.

Funny aside; Gideon doesn't know what Fish are.

More details on skeleton mechanics. Harrow's specific skill at boneology (and that line I've seen floating around, "we do bones, motherfucker" is shoring up my growing belief that each of the houses has a Hunger-games-like arbitrary speciation in their flesh magics; it's a sign of great skill when you can get skeletons up and running without the assistance of connective tissues or any other fleshy bits. This is potentially a cultural engineering thing- an attempt to delineate between living slave-and-indentured-servant castes and pure robotic servitors. An attempt to head-off the exact bullshit Harrow is pulling with her parents, in other words.

Trying to guess which house this new antagonistic house is. First, second, third, fourth, fifth, seventh and ninth are accounted for; this is either sixth or eighth. I get the sense that the necro may have artificially arrested their aging somehow, and with it possibly their emotional maturity/brain development? It would explain at least in part their Cav's disgruntlement. Or maybe the fact that the Cav has actually clearly seen a ton of use as a meat shield while the Necro is in silk and chain-mail too thin to fulfill its function. Actually, this looks like the only pairing thus far that’s seen real action. Most of the rest are kids, or Magnus, who does not, you know. Have the vibe of a guy who’s experienced true horror.

Gideon's reaction to the necro's thousand-yard stare is telling; her recollection of Crux, of Sister Lachrimorta, of the Reverend Parents, all emphasize this need to be wanted; to be of use; Crux's version is painful because it conveys disappointment, the Reverend Parents because they convey fear. And as she leaves the dining hall, her response to the Lyctor Trials is that she feels "suckered;" she isn't wanted here, she isn't useful here.

"The Stinging Slap in the face that she didn't even have Harrow." Okay, here we get a sign that Gideon views Harrow as a comforting absolute even if she nominally hates her. I've been wondering more than a little what the hell the grounds for a turnaround in their relationship were going to be; here we get a single inch of concession. (Also, open call to the peanut gallery- what does/did the insufferable discourse surrounding this relationship look like? Abuse apologia? Power Dynamics? This whole series feels like a hotbed of Facewearer discourse.)

Okay, my Bonesaw assessment of Dulcinea swells in its hold on my mind. She wanted in on Gideon's personal brand of suffering because it seemed like a romantic way to die, and lost interest because of the aesthetic mismatch. I'm inclined to say that this is callous towards Gideon's situation but given Dulcinea's state it feels like a grass-is-greener situation more than anything truly appropriative.

So the seventh house deals with... reversing aging? Arresting the spread of disease? Or the progression? This is mentioned to be a hereditary issue, so perhaps their brand of necromancy was influenced by 10,000 years of trying to counter what’s happening to Dulcinea. And, as a point of comparison, I can imagine that both Ninth and First House’s skill with bone automatons developed downstream of their chronic manpower problems.

Dulcinea twigged to the sword discrepancy. This makes sense; Her Cav is proportioned like a super mutant and seems unlikely to have exclusively trained with toothpick rapiers. I’m not sure if Dulcinea is the only necro who's capable of noticing this discrepancy at a glance- there are other fairly militaristic houses present- but she’s certainly the only one paying enough attention to Gideon specifically to notice.

Okay, Protesilaus is back. He reports that something is shut. What’s shut? Dulcinea sits and looks harmless, and she can afford to because she’s got her Cav off executing her plans for her, whatever they are.

So, final roundup! I sense a love interest. Noting, belatedly, that the very first thing Dulcinea does is give Gideon an opportunity to be helpful; and through this whole sequence it becomes clear that Gideon just kinda... does stuff if people ask nicely and make her, specifically, feel wanted and useful. She gets chased out of the dining hall, painted as a wrong and intrusive Thing, and moments later falls head-over-heels for the first person who makes her feel actively desired, even just for rote manual labor. Dulcinea’s appraisals of Gideon have this real.... charge, a suspicious charge, I felt like I was watching a spider wrapping up a fly with every request Gideon granted- and there’s a level on which it’s very sad, because a person less starved for affection would find being approached like this off-putting. Dulcinea is rotating her like a specimen! But to Gideon it’s a fantastic experience for reasons she doesn’t even have the vocabulary to articulate. I can’t picture her instinct being to confess everything at the slightest provocation to anyone else on this rock. 

Notably, however, I never have to hurriedly scroll past any posts about Gideon and Dulcinea being cute together- and unusually for this series, I have no idea why that is. This is one of the few elements of this story I’m experiencing completely blind, and I’m extremely excited to learn whatever fucked up circumstances lead to Harrow pulling ahead of Dulcinea as the intuitive romantic lead.

#gideon the ninth #gideon the ninth liveread #gtn #the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb liveread #dulcinea septimus #gideon nav #blastweave livereads #thoughts #meta

[semi-imaginary-place]

Houseki no Kuni chapter 99 "Beginnings"

.

.

"The chapter was great. I was having some AoT flashbacks but the direction 99 went was so cathartically depressing and peacefully sad at the same time. love how Rock-kun is the perfect embodiment of tranquility and peace with life; unlike Phos, who was constantly changing and chaotic. Rock-kun and Phos' conversation over contentment and regret in existence was wonderful. A measly pebble and a literal god finding common ground with one another is poignant as fuck; topple that with the final panel of having yet another beautiful scenery in such an empty time for the story... it hit me in the feels. The remaining mystery that needs to be answered is how Kongou's creator spoke to Phos, no? I'm expecting some flashback chapter right after this." (Wakivuu_)

"Personally I think 98 fits well thematically so I wasn’t that worried, I knew Phos would eventually pray for them as they attain enlightenment (much like Bodhissatva who prays for all sentient beings to “end their sufferings and pain of life” which in this case the Lunarians). And I really love that rock! Frizzle frizzle. I love his song. Also, the fact that Phos sleeping in the black panels was in a complete parallel to chapter 1’s Morga waking them up, only this time it’s Rock, and it’s been eons that has passed enough for the star to evolve into a white dwarf. Really amazed how Ichikawa can bring so much detail every chapter, I get too overwhelmed with the insufferable agony every chapter that I tend to miss out on parallels, I think I need another reread tbh. Loved this chapter, also hoping for a flashback!" (wallnosekyla)

ch1 and ch99 parallels. In both Phos lays down for a nap in the grass, at this point in his life he is purposeless and unfulfilled, existing to pass the time. In the first chapter he is called awake by Morga into a society that does not value him for the inherent characteristics of his body. Gem society is static, gems are generally content with the way thing are, and things only start getting shaken up when Phos pushes for something different and the others follow in his wake which leads to the eventual destruction of gem society and all of humanity. In the second set of panels there is no one left to wake Phos so he sleeps until enough time has passes that the sun has become a white dwarf, long enough for rocks to gain sentience.

The first gem red diamond wanted to be more like Adamant so Adamant molded the gems in the shape of humans, made them eyes, and covered them in powder. Phos in turn tries to give the rock all the things humans had like sight and mobility. However the rock is not dissatisfied with its existence, the rock does not want to become human. This is in contrast with all of the human descendants we meet who one way or another become dissatisfied with their existences; from the Moon People who are dissatisfied with existence and wish to cease existing, to the gems who through contact with the Moon People become dissatisfied with their gem bodies and wish to become beings of pure spirit like the Moon People, to the Admirabilis who struggle to maintain their populations and sentience.

Phos has become the only true human combining spiritual (moon pearl), mineral (phosphophyllite, lapis lazuli), and flesh (fossilized shell), as well as the last creation of humans (adamant eye), and a god or artificial bodhisattva, and this simple rock is more satisfied than Phos. (there's also probably some discussion to be made that humanity's final hope, the praying machine Adamant broke and it's only after humanity's descendants made another one out of their own that the souls of humans are allows to cease but I lack the relevant PhDs to analyze that so I'll leave it to someone else)

(in Shinto, everything has a spirit)

#hnk #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk 99 #phosphophyllite

[separatist-apologist]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a man who is used to feeling nothing.

All that is about to change.

For day 5 of romance week (but maybe we're not gonna tag this one): Feelings Realization

Read on AO3

CW: He is a murderer, I can NOT be more upfront about that.

The first time Eris Vanserra saw Arina Novak was with a broken nose. 

A bruised eye.

Ripped leggings.

Mascara ran down her cheeks, dried from tears long since shed. He didn’t know her name then—he’d been on his way home from a run when she appeared beneath an orange street lamp. The very first thing he noticed was her legs—long and toned. 

The next was her hair, tangled and blonde against the warm brown of her skin. She turned her head, green eyes nervous like a gazelle, as if she expected to be followed. Not by him, though she wasn’t wrong. Eris didn’t have his mask or his gloves with him, which meant he had to take more care not to be seen. 

But he did change course to see where this woman was going. He wanted to know who had beaten her which was a new feeling for Eris. He didn’t care about other people and never had. There had always been something broken in him—while his brothers felt deeply, fell in love and made friends, Eris had never felt anything at all. 

He had to seek it out, had to create a circumstance that might make him feel fear, feel excitement, feel passion. It was always fleeting, always faded. It was artificial but this? This was organic. There was something about the blood on her face or the shape of her body that kept Eris’s feet moving. 

His heart raced as they made their way into a denser part of the city—nicer, safer. Not for her, this pretty little mouse. He merely blended in far easier. She turned at a cross walk as if she realized he’d been behind her for blocks, though those jade eyes slid right over him.

Eris looked liked he belonged. Haughty, handsome, and dressed well even in his work out clothes, he was merely more of the same type of man she likely saw at her local coffee shop every morning. 

No one looked at her, and for some reason, that made Eris angry. Did no one see the violence on her? Or did it merely not register? He followed behind her through the busy intersection, unable to get the sight of that bloodied nose from his mind. He wanted to touch it. Wanted to set it for her and put a knife in her hand.

Eris wanted to show her exactly where to press to inflict the most amount of pain without killing someone. Wanted to show her how to exact her revenge, to take whatever it was she wanted so the next time someone put their hands on her, she could remove every finger from their body and shove it in their throat.

The thought excited him. Eris shook his head, drinking in the last dregs of the summer air. Autumn would be upon them soon. High rises gave way to one of the trendier neighbors filled with brownstones and cupcake shops, all of which were lined with breezy cherry blossom trees and patches of meticulously maintained grass. He had no reason to be here, though she did. She made her way up the three steps of one of those old, expensive homes toward a door painted a pretty hunter green. Eris hung back in the shadows, unseen when she looked over her shoulder and dug for keys. 

He memorized the street and the number before creeping closer. This woman, whoever she was, kept all her windows open. Foolish for her, lucky for him. Creeping around the side, wholly unseen by anyone on the street or the neighbors on the other side of her, Eris made his way to the back where he found her stripping off her clothes angrily.

She was crying.

Rage was an emotion he was more familiar with, though it was, like all the others, usually a flicker and little more. Fascinated, Eris crept closer to the window where the now naked woman stood. Inside, he could see a large bed, unmade from when she’d woken up that morning. Rosy sheets and a white duvet with patterned pink and blue flowers lay haphazardly, half draped against the floor. Her pillows were rumpled and on the floor was a week's worth of worn clothes. 

To the immaculate Eris, it was offensive to see how casual and messy she was. He itched to crawl inside her window and pick it all up and, again, put a knife in her hands. One thing at a time, he decided before turning back to the bare expanse of her body. She was stunning, all lush curves and lean muscle. The tangled blonde waves of her hair fell halfway down her back, the blood stained ends teasing over her spine. 

She turned, letting him see perky breasts and a strip of hair teasing her pussy. Eris wanted her—it was a revelation. He wanted to touch her, not because he needed release and, objectively, she was beautiful. There was some draw to her, as if he’d been waiting his entire life specifically for her.

She wiped her face, turning helplessly in a half circle. Her window was cracked and he could hear the stifled scream as she pressed her palm to her mouth. 

She’d looked at herself in the mirror and realized she needed to go to the hospital. That was lucky—for him. 

Don’t shower, sunshine. 

Eris pulled out his phone and shot a quick text into the emergency room—he was only on call one day a month these days, though they were always desperate for help. He’d come in to see her, though. And as she pulled on a clean pair of jeans and tied her hair up in a bun, Eris was already slipping off.

Waiting.

ARINA:

Arina sat in the exam room with shaking hands. She never knew if she was supposed to lay on the bed or sit in the nearby chair. Insead, she sat in that hard, plastic chair and listened to the sounds of the emergency room around her. Children wailed and someone in another room was shouting indiscernible nonsense. 

She wanted to go back home. Wanted to crawl up in bed and sleep until her face didn’t ache, until her heart wasn’t so bruised. Three dates. That’s what she’d given Jack and tonight, she’d intended to sleep with him. Had shaved every inch of her body, had scrubbed her skin and made her hair and face look nice.

And he’d decided to try and take it anyway. He and his roommates he’d let hold her down while Arina screamed and kicked and thrashed. She’d escaped thanks to a neighbor who’d heard the commotion and began banging on the front door, but not before Jack had fucked up her face, her ribs, her peace of mind. 

The nurses had looked at her with nothing but sympathetic pity when she walked in, like they knew exactly what she’d been through without needing her whispered confession. She just wanted someone to set her nose, to tell her if her ribs were broken, and maybe send her home with some extra strength tylenol.

The green curtain separating her room from the rest of the hall pulled open and a man stepped in. She wished it had been a woman, and certainly not a young man—he couldn’t have been older than early thirties, and was handsome. 

Beautiful.

“I’m Doctor Vanserra,” he said, offering her a half-smile. 

Amber eyes fixed on her for a moment, troubled by whatever he saw. He didn’t look like any of the people she’d seen so far, though he had a white coat over his navy button-up tucked into his charcoal slacks. His short, auburn hair was pushed casually off his elegant face, neatly styled. She might have appreciated who well groomed he was if she hadn’t wanted to never see another man ever again.

He held a clipboard in one his large, broad hands. She hated that she was noticing that about him—lean, tall, well muscled and when he came fully into the room, brought a crisp, spicy scent with him. 

“Arina Novak?” he asked, brows pulled together. “Mind telling me your date of  birth?”

She rattled it off numbly as he patted the paper covered bed she’d avoided. She wanted to ask him for another doctor, but when their eyes met, some of her fear settled and she couldn’t explain why. 

She hopped up and he took the swiveling stool in front of a computer, though he was looking wholly at her.

“Says you came in for a broken nose and possibly fractured ribs. Want to tell me what happened?”

She swallowed. “I, uh…”

A tear slipped down her cheek, wiped quickly on the back of her hand. “Bad date,” she finally managed. She couldn’t look at him, and so instead chose to look at her wrists, purpling from the force with which she’d been held down. 

“We have nurses who are trained to—”

“It—” she cut him off quickly, wiping the corner of her eye on her sleeve. “I um—what I mean is—they…I got away before…”

“Okay,” he said, his voice rough. “I understand what you’re saying. You don’t need to tell me what happened unless you want to. I’m going to touch your face.”

She looked up at him, blurry from the tears she was trying so hard not to shed. Not in front of this man, not over fucking Jack. 

“I said no,” she told the doctor, because it felt important. It hadn’t mattered, but still she’d said it. 

His fingers were gentle as they reached for the bridge of her nose. Pain lanced through her despite how careful he was, and with a soft crunch, Arina could breathe again. Her eyes watered, tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks, and yet it was done. 

“Can I wipe your face?” he asked. 

Arina appreciated how careful he was being—how he told her everything that was happening. “Yes,” she whispered. 

Doctor Vanserra, wiped the blood and mascara, and salt from her skin before bandaging the bridge of her nose. 

“You’ll be swollen for a couple days, but still just as pretty,” he said with what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. There was a tightness to his eyes that betrayed him. “Lift up your shirt for me.”

Arina’s fingers shook, and yet she did as he asked. Vanserra’s fingers were gentle, probing her bruised flesh against her ribs and her spine, looking for damage. He listened to her lungs and heart before pulling away. She noted his hand, flexed at his side and wondered what he would have done if he’d been jumped by three men.

“I’m going to send you for an x-ray before I let you leave,” he told her, turning toward his computer. His fingers flew across the keys, his mouth pulled in an unforgiving frown. He’d pulled out a laminated badge that told Arina his first name.

Eris Vanserra. 

He didn’t smile in his picture. 

Arina took a breath, ignoring the way it burned, as her phone chimed. She fished it out of her pocket, hoping it was Elain who was out of town with her boyfriend. Arina wanted to crash at Elain’s place for a couple days while she got herself together. She was afraid Jack might figure out where she lived and come back for her.

It was Jack.

Can we talk about tonight? 

Eris was standing over her, eyes on the phone cupped in her hands. 

“Hang tight, alright?” he told her, dragging his gaze back up to her face. “I’ll get you out of here in no time.”

He started to turn and Arina, unable to say why she did it, reached for his wrist. He turned, fingers brushing her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, wanting to throw herself into the doctor and sob. 

Thank you for taking care of me.

It was his job, and the bar was in hell if a man just doing the requirements of his profession. He took a breath.

“Tell me their names.”

Arina blinked. She didn’t even know the roommates, let alone why he wanted to know. Unless he wanted to tell the police, which Arina was certain would only fall back on her. She dropped his hand like he’d burned her, settling them in her lap.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice dark and dripping with heat. He vanished behind the curtain. Arina curled her knees into her chest even though it made it harder to breathe, thinking she’d be alone for a while.

Eris returned a moment later with a blanket draped over his arm. He said nothing as he wrapped it around her shoulders. She was surprised to find it was heated.

“These things can take some time,” he murmured. “You should try and rest while you wait.”

“Doctors orders?” she asked, surprised she’d managed to make some semblance of a joke.

He rewarded her with a heart-stopping smile. “Exactly.”

Eris left again, though she half wished he wouldn’t. It was selfish and absurd—she wasn’t in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and Eris Vanserra had other people to see. Arina opened her phone again and sent Elain another text.

Silver lining? The doctor is hot.

Elain finally responded. 

I just saw your message. Are you okay? What happened?? You can crash at my place but my little sister is there too, so you might have to share space. 

That sounded like a nightmare. Arina settled on the bed, careful not to put too much weight on her ribs, and began texting Elain back. She was light on the details because she knew her best friend. Elain would absolutely blow up her romantic weekend with this boyfriend Arina knew very little about. 

Lucien. 

She assured her friend she was fine, that it was just a little scrape and a misunderstanding. She could explain it all later, when Elain was home and not focused on her own life, her own fun. Though, Arina wished Elain was there with her. That she wasn’t so alone.

She dozed, waking to a warm hand on her cheek and the amber eyes of Eris Vanserra peering down at her.

“We’re in,” he said casually, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “Only took me three hours, but we managed it. Come on, I’ll wheel you down and a nurse will bring you back.”

He helped her to the ground and to the wheelchair waiting at the edge of the small, sanitized room. Arina groaned when she sat, exhausted and aching in the aftermath of her night. Eris merely waited patiently before releasing the breaks. 

Touching her pocket, Arina twisted as Eris led her into a quiet triage hall. “I forgot my phone.”

“It’ll be waiting when you get back,” he said in a tone that told her he did not care about her phone at all. 

“What time is it?” 

“Two in the morning,” he offered without any cheer. She’d come in around eleven thirty.

“You weren’t lying about waiting,” she said as Eris used his badge to open a set of swinging double doors. 

“We had to wait a little, but it’ll be worth it,” he promised. “I don’t want to send you home suffering.”

God, she liked him. That thought slid through her unbidden and in an effort to keep herself from doing something embarrassing, Arina shut her mouth while Eris wheeled her through the hospital. 

“What do you do for a living?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. It was almost banter.

“I teach high school English,” she said with a faint smile. “And on the weekend, I teach ballet to toddlers.”

“Oh?”

“I’d do it full-time if it paid better,” she said, unsure why she was telling him this at all. Maybe it was the absence of Elain and her desperate need for connection. For proof the world was still good and there wasn’t anything fundamentally broken in her. 

“You like…kids?”

“You don’t?” 

“There’s a reason I work with adults,” he finally told her, turning a corner carefully. There was not around, just them, and for some reason it made their conversation feel heavier. “I don’t understand children very well.”

“At least you know that about yourself,” she said, hands still twisting in her lap. Why were they talking about children? “I don’t know if I ever want any of my own, but I like being around them.

They see such goodness in the world and I…” a lump was building in her throat. She didn’t want to cry in front of the hot doctor again.

“Makes sense,” he murmured. 

There was no more chat—about children or otherwise—as he took her into the dark room where her ribs and spine would be pictures. Eris helped her up before leaving, promising he’d see her just as soon as he had the results. 

And maybe it was wrong.

But she wanted to see him again.

ERIS:

“Long night for you, Vanserra,” came the flirty voice of a nurse whose name he didn’t remember—didn’t care about. He glanced up from his spot in front of the computer, borrowed in a cubicle that wasn’t really his. He was typing up his notes on Arina because that was a requirement to ensure her insurance covered her visit, though he needed to remember this shit, too. 

He intended to direct her straight to his office in the aftermath so he could do the follow-up. 

The nurse was objectively pretty, but Eris didn’t shit where he ate, and he certainly didn’t fuck people he worked with. His eyes flickered up, well aware he did not look pleasant. Her smile faded.

“Uh…Doctor Moreno said he’d take over if you wanted to head out.”

“I’ll finish this case,” he said crisply. 

“Tragic, huh,” she said sympathetically. Eris’s fingers ached and still he kept typing. He wasn’t going to gossip about Arina. “Was she raped?”

Eris looked back up at her. “Do you need something?”

Her cheeks flushed. 

Get the fuck out of here.

Eris didn’t hurt women or children. Never had, never would. He didn’t consider himself honorable because he didn’t—he merely had no appetite to harm creatures who held less power than him the way children did, and killing women felt too much like a cliche. His cock worked just fine, thank you very much. Eris was too busy killing men like his father. 

Cruel for cruelty's sake. Powerful and largely untouchable. After all, how often had his mother had that same bruised eye, that cut lip, those fractured ribs? How often had she packed him and his brother up for a shelter and called the police, filed a restraining order.

And how often was she dragged back home by the cops, denied that order of protection by judges, and threatened with him and his brother if she didn’t comply? Those sorts of men thought they were untouchable.

Eris very much liked cutting them apart piece by piece before disposing of them somewhere inconvenient. Somewhere embarrassing. 

And while his mother was so proud of her eldest son for becoming a doctor, Eris had done it out of practicality. He couldn’t get caught because he didn’t know how to sever an artery, for Christ’s sake. He was a good doctor. A great doctor, even. His patients liked him, his staff respected him.

But he was a better killer. The police didn’t even realize they had a killer. 

He drummed his fingers on the gray laminate of the desk before submitting his note and turning to the phone in his pocket. He’d swiped it from her before he’d woken her up. Eris didn’t know what was wrong with him, but when it came to her, he felt strangely tight—possessive. 

He opened it and, without an ounce of remorse, began downloading an app that would send him every text she sent, every call she made, and most importantly, her location. 

He couldn’t help himself as he pilfered through her texts. 

Silver lining? The doctor is hot. 

That made him smile. It excited him. He couldn’t read her at all, had no idea what she was thinking. And that wasn’t too unusual—he’d never been terribly good at that, though he’d also never cared what anyone else was thinking or feeling. All her stuttering stops, her fidgeting hands and inability to look him in the eye made sense. 

He’d work on that later, both in and out of the mask. Eris was going to fuck her hard, and raw, and stupid, and afterwards he was going to lock her up in his apartment where no one could touch her ever again.

But before all that, Eris needed names and to get that, all he needed was her phone. Setting his vanity aside, Eris found the name he was looking for. 

It was, perhaps, the most common name in the city. Jack Anderson.

Still, that name came with a dating profile picture of a generic man with brown hair—was that her type—and a phone number. Eris could work with that. He saved that for later, for when he was well-rested and clear. 

Eris found it odd, when he was giving those pictures of her bones, how relieved he felt. He’d been fairly certain it was just bruising, but seeing the swelling without the tell-tale fractures filled Eris with pulse-rattling relief. More emotions he was unaccustomed to, that she pulled from him simply by breathing.

He wrote her a script for the pain he knew she felt and then made his way back to her. Arina was curled up on her side, her blonde hair spilling over her beautiful face. He understood wanting her. Eris had never wanted anything in his life until he’d seen her earlier that evening.

He wanted her now. Wanted her enough that he brushed those strands of hair back, furious all over again. 

“Arina?”

She woke with a start, frightened at first before she realized where she was and who she was looking at. It was almost uncomfortable to realize she didn’t fear him. Why should she? He was nothing more than her physician and he’d done a good job.

“I’ve your x-rays,” he said, holding up his envelope. 

“Good news or bad news?” she asked, wincing as she tried to sit.

“Good,” he assured her. “Your ribs are just bruised. Nothing is broken. A nurse is working on your discharge paperwork—I’ve written you something for the pain and I’d like you to follow up with me in a week just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“I have a doctor,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning. She’d come, Eris knew it. It was what made him shrug his shoulders casually.

“Follow up with your personal physician, if you prefer. I can have everything sent over.”

Over his dead body. 

“I can follow up with you,” she murmured, shaking out her hands. Eris only then remembered he still had her phone. He pulled it from his coat pocket. 

“Nurse found this,” he added, his face betraying nothing. She offered him an exhausted smile and he wondered if she’d find it inappropriate if he offered to drive her home. “Do you need your parking validated?”

She hesitated. “I walked.”

Of fucking course she did. He intended to teach her there were predators roaming the streets—like himself, though she was safe from him. No one else could boast that, but Arina could. 

“I’m leaving after I wrap up. Let me drive you home.”

Those cheeks flushed again. “Yeah, uh…if you don’t mind, I think I’d feel safer.”

He offered her a nod before heading out to get his things. Eris cracked his neck as he walked, thinking it was absurd she felt safer around him. That she should have felt horrified, given the things he intended to do in order to have her. The way he’d lie, cheat, and utterly manipulate her until she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. 

And still, it pleased him greatly that she trusted him all the same.

Foolish, and still, Eris was a man reborn when he returned for Arina, tucked tight in another wheelchair. Eris rather enjoyed pushing her around—taking care of her, he realized as they walked. Arina was too tired for polite conversation and the bruises on her pretty, golden skin were far more pronounced. 

“On your feet,” he murmured when they reached the garage. He hadn’t parked close enough—and thought carrying her was a little too much for one day. Eris, too, needed some distance to get his shit together. 

Still, Arina took his hand and Eris just…didn’t let go. He kept it in his hand as he led her to his car, dropping it only when he pulled open her door. He didn’t think she noticed at all. Arina pressed her head against the glass, which would leave a smudge—something that ordinarily would have bothered him. 

“Tell me your address,” he murmured, only because he wasn’t supposed to know. Arina whispered it, the only words she said until he pulled up, back at her door. Eris was panicking at the thought of sending her alone inside, and had no excuse to go in with her.

“Make sure you eat something,” he urged, reaching for her thigh. Arina looked over at him and he thought she looked sad. 

Vulnerable. 

“Water, too,” he said before digging in his back pocket for his car. “Call me if you need something, okay?”

He knew she wouldn’t. Still, she took the car and said, “Thank you. For everything, I mean. This was…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he replied.”

He wasn’t done with her.

ARINA: 

She must have slept the whole day. Arina woke confused–it was night again. Her phone was dead, and her head throbbed. She sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes before looking around her bedroom. Something was…off. Arina couldn’t place what, exactly, was out of place, only that it looked different than before. 

Maybe that was just the aftermath of her night talking. She reached for a glass of water on the nightstand—one she didn’t remember pouring—and gulped until it was empty before she slid the charging cable into her phone.

What did she remember?

She remembered Jack, and his friends. The punishing throb in her face wouldn’t let her forget what he’d tried to do to her, how he’d planned it with his friends.

How stupid she’d been. Arina shook her head. She didn’t have it in her to cry again. Instead, she stood and made her way to the bathroom, trying to think of anything else.

Like Eris Vanserra, the doctor who had driven her home. Who’d given her his card with those burning eyes—who looked so angry on her behalf. The doctor was proof the world wasn’t so bad, that she’d get over this. And when she saw him again, Arina hoped she was less bruised, less sad. 

More charming. 

Though, maybe it was fucked up to want the first man who’d been nice to her in the wake of trauma. Arina shook that thought from her mind and stepped into the shower. Her sleep schedule was going to be wrecked for the next week if she couldn’t make herself sleep through the night. 

Feeling slightly more human in the wake of floral scented soap and scalding water, Arina wrapped a towel around her body and padded back into her bedroom. 

She slid on a pair of plaid sleep shorts and a tank top before wringing out her hair and reaching for her phone. A cheerful message from Elain and two from Jack populated a lock screen she’d never seen before.

Before it had been a picture of her and Elain grinning. Arina was sure she hadn’t changed it—and certainly not to the ghost mask from Scream. She stared for a minute, trying to make sense of this new image which she was sure hadn’t been there when she’d gotten out of Eris’s car. She remembered looking at the time.

She would have seen it. 

It was angled like a selfie…like someone had taken it with her phone and then set it as her background. Arina opened her phone, going to pictures first where, sure enough, the image sat among her usual memes and selfies as though it belonged. 

Arina exhaled.

Her phone chimed. 

Come to the kitchen

Arina’s heart pounded. The number was saved to her phone with that same picture of the mask—named Ghost. Self-aware.

Still terrifying. 

Arina should have called 911. She knew she was every stupid protagonist in a horror movie, the opposite of a final girl as she stepped out of her bedroom with nothing but her phone in her hand. Whoever this person was had been in her house, was still there. 

It only occurred to Arina that it was very possible that this Jack or one of his friends, come to seek their vengeance when she reached the end of the hall. It was too late—whoever was behind that mask was standing in her kitchen holding a large, curved knife.

Arina dropped her phone to the floor. 

It was a man, dressed in well tailored, black slacks and a matching black shirt with a vest over his chest. His large hands were clad in gloves and his face hidden behind that white ghost mask. Muscular, tall, built well enough he could easily over power her.

Arina couldn’t breathe as he cocked her head.

She was going to die. 

He crooked a finger, beckoning her forward. On her kitchen table, he’d spread three pictures.

“Put down the knife,” she whispered, stunned when he not only set it to the table, but it slid it across the wood in her direction. She was certain his eyes were on her as she lunged for it, gripping the cool, steel hilt in her hand. 

A dark chuckle filled the room, as if she’d done exactly what he wanted. 

“A gift, little mouse,” he murmured before crooking that finger again. Nostrils flaring in an attempt to suck down more oxygen, Arina crept closer despite every instinct that demanded she run.

Dragging her eyes from the mask, Arina looked at the trio of pictures on her table. Her stomach lurched—it was Jack and his roommates, headshots taken from their linked in, if she had to guess. Gloved fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face to the man who was far too close.

Dangerous!

He ran that leather thumb over her bruised eye socket.

“Which. One?” came that dark, cold voice. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked him. He merely ran his finger over the ache before nodding his face at the pictures. He’d brought her a massive knife—he’d broken into her apartment.

“Who are you?”

There was a beat of silence. “Your salvation,” he finally said. She tried to pick out that voice, sure she must have met him somewhere, must recognize it deep in the caverns of her mind.

He was modulating it, she realized. It was too deep, slightly mechanical. 

“Which one, little mouse?” he all but whispered. 

Arina turned back to her pictures before pointing at the sandy blonde grinning cheerfully. He’d hit her with the back of his hand, taking her by surprise. 

“What are you going to do?”

His fingers left her face, trailing down the side of her neck to grip her throat ever so slightly. “You know what I’m going to do,” he said, head cocked again. 

Arina swallowed. “Don’t—just let it go.”

Another dark chuckle. “I can’t do that.”

“This is…this is—”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “You belong to me,” he said, his voice low and rough. Arina was going to be sick. She was shaking so hard she wasn’t sure how she stood before this man, who’d so casually declared he felt he had some sort of ownership on her.

“I’ll call the police.”

He laughed again. “You won’t. If you want to stop me, take my gift and plunge it in my heart.”

She looked at the knife in her hands before looking back up at him. He took the opportunity to run the hand holding her throat back up her face, pushing his thumb between her lips. The weight of him settled rough against her tongue, not gagging her but close. 

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Arina pulled back only to have that same hand fisting in her hair. “How badly did he scare you?” She closed her eyes, trying so hard not to remember. 

Think of the doctor—think of how nice he was, how he cared—

“Tell. Me.”

“He put his knee on my throat,” she said, because he had—it was how she’d managed to twist away. His most sensitive parts had been within grabbing range. She’d reached and twisted until he fell backward and then rushed up while Jack’s pants were around his waist. His friend ripped her by the hair and Arina had begun screaming, which drew the neighbor, even if she’d earned that brutal kick to the ribs.

Ghost loosened his hold on her hair. “I’ll bring you his head.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered, setting the knife on the table between them. “Whatever you think you need to avenge I…”

“You’re scared.”

It wasn’t a question, but an observation. As if he didn’t understand her emotions, couldn’t figure out why she’d wrapped her arms around her body to keep herself from falling apart. 

Fingers grazed her bruises. “They would not have been so forgiving of you.”

“I got out.”

“But you’re still scared.”

Arina felt like she was talking to an alien. She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Yes—because you broke into my house. And my phone.”

“So I could give you this,” he said, gesturing at the knife. “And so I could talk to you.”

As if it were utterly reasonable to just walk into her locked home in the first place. When Arina just stared him down, forcing him to hear himself admit that yes, he’d broken into her place so he could talk to her, he tried again. “You’re alone—unprotected. And you’re scared.”

He kept repeating it, waiting for her to acknowledge it specifically.

“Yes,” she finally agreed. “I’m scared.”

There was a pause before he snatched up those pictures. “I’m not.”

“Wait!” she called, grabbing his bicep as he turned for the door. He looked over those broad shoulders, leaner than she’d first thought, but still well-muscled. 

Powerful.

“The police will think—”

“They��ll think what I want them to think, little mouse,” he replied. Arina dropped him even as the scent of him slammed into her senses. Achingly familiar. Crisp and spicy. She’d smelled that cologne before, though she couldn’t place where.

“I’m not your little mouse,” she told him, resentful of the nickname.

The mask hid his face, but Arina swore she heard him smile. “No, I think not. You’re more like sunshine, aren’t you?”

“I’m not asking you to do this. I’m not going to thank you if you do.”

“Sure you will,” he disagreed. “When this is all over, I think you’ll be standing right beside me. Knife in hand. Dripping in blood.”

“Sounds like a nice little fantasy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Arina was terrified of this man, of what he was telling her, because some small part of her wanted it to be true. She wanted to know who he was. 

That dark chuckle made her shiver. “My fantasies of you are a different sort. You’ll find out soon enough. After I’ve earned it.” And as he slipped back out into the waiting night, Arina wasn’t sure she wanted to know what rituals he imagined he needed to complete in order to have her. 

ERIS:

Eris needed a drink. 

He needed a gallon of liquor, to be precise, though he’d settle for caffeine. His night had been a mess—two since he’d stood in Arina’s living room and watched her shake before him, unable to figure out what it was about him that frightened her so much. 

One since he’d tracked down Dylan Grady and slowly suffocated him. Arina had said he’d put his knee on her neck and Eris had been all too happy to replicate that experience, edging Dylan for hours, holding him between life and death before he finally ended it. 

Disposing of him hadn’t been terribly hard given Eris had done it in Dylan’s very bedroom. The other two were out doing God knew what, and Eris would have paid good money for the other two losers to step inside and realize death was waiting for them.

Assuming they even realized what was waiting for them. Eris rolled his shoulders, thinking he only had to work half a day before he could go home and sleep. Arina would be at her school, which meant there was no chance of running into her before the evening. He was tempted to walk straight to her place and sleep in her sheets.

He refrained. He was too tired, which meant she might catch him before he’d built the same obsession with her that he felt. She’d tell someone, and Eris go to jail because he’d finally caught feelings and became careless and stupid.

He kept waiting for his interest in her to fade. He waited as he saw his usual patients and as he wrote up his paperwork. He waited on the drive home and again when he made it home where he showed, jerked himself off to the thought of her, and fell face first into satin pillows so he could dream about her. 

He woke to the sound of pounding on his door. Eris sighed, throwing on a pair of black sweatpants before padding to the door.

Lucien was on the other end, tanner than Eris remembered. Lucien looked like a fucking hippie with his hair half braided off his face and the golden brown skin of his face lightly burned from his time in the sun.

“Yes?”

“You busy tonight?”

Eris had fully intended to go see Arina. He didn’t respond, though it didn’t matter. What Eris lacked in being friendly, Lucien made up for it in spades. It had always been that way between them, and Eris supposed, begrudgingly, he did have some affection for Lucien. Love, even—if someone had hurt his little brother, he would have wiped them off the map.

Lucien pushed into the house, too casual in his khaki shorts and that salmon-colored shirt. “Elain wants to know if you’ll double with one of her friends tonight.”

“No.” The idea was abhorrent.

“It’s not like that. She’s had a rough couple day and she’s scared to be home by herself,” Lucien cajoled as Eris made his way into the open kitchen for a drink.

“The last time you tried this, I couldn’t shake her for a month,” Eris reminded Lucien with irritation.

“She’s not going to want you. I swear. It’s…it’s just so she’s not a third wheel.”

“Why don’t you stay home?” Eris suggested, pouring himself a glass of water. “Let them go out without you.”

“Eris,” Lucien said, bracing his hands against the marble countertop. “All you do is work.”

“I like working.”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling like he always did when he was trying not to wrap his hands around Eris’s neck and squeeze. Eris knew he was going to give in, even if it meant putting off seeing Arina another night.

“Fine, I’ll go. What’s she scared of?”

“She went on a real bad date. Don’t look too hard at her face, alright?”

Eris’s heart sped up. “What’s her name?”

“Arina. She’s very nice,” Lucien added, as if Eris needed to be reminded. Eris felt stupid—he’d seen her lockscreen, had read the messages between Elain and Arina. He’d been too distracted by his rage over what had happened to her and his own planning to realize Arina’s Elain and Lucien’s Elain were the same. 

“Let me get dressed.”

Lucien rewarded Eris with a smile that wasn’t entirely deserved. Still, Eris relished this chance to run into Arina outside of her apartment or the emergency room. A chance to be the hot doctor in real life—where he could be charming and witty when he wanted to be. 

Eris dressed himself as casually as he could, picking a marigold shirt he rolled the sleeves to the elbows of, and tucked into navy pants. He was careful with his hair before spritzing cologne to his neck and following Lucien out. They were going to his brother's place, conveniently located three floors down, which Eris appreciated. He’d been Lucien’s reference with the co-op board, afterall. Everyone liked Dr. Vanserra.

Even when they shouldn’t. 

Still, visiting his younger brother made their mother happy and Eris cared if his mother was happy. He cared, he supposed, if Lucien was, too. And he was happy Lucien had Elain, who Eris could admit wasn’t awful. Was cheerful and funny and someone he might also care if she was harmed.

Eris was uncomfortable by the time he stepped out of the elevator and into the sanitized hall that smelled faintly like vanilla. Elain was baking and the scent carried. Lucien’s shoulders straightened as he reached for the door, allowing them both in.

And there she was. Glee burned in his chest at the sight of her. She was wearing yellow, too which only convinced Eris on some level, she was thinking about him, too. He’d certainly been envisioning her gold hair when he’d dressed, which now cascaded in glossy waves down her bare back. Her sundress was dotted with little white daisies, capped sleeved and just low cut enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath. Her long legs—the legs he’d first seen out on the street—gleamed bronze in the waning sunlight filtering into Lucien’s living room.

But it was her face that Eris couldn’t drag his eyes away from. She’d worked some kind of magic with the bruise, hiding the worst of her attack from Elain and Lucien. Eris could see her as she ought to be—glowing, beautiful, bright. Only her lip was still cut, still a little swollen beneath whatever shade of pink gloss she’d coated them in. 

Arina was studying him, too. Lucien and Elain were speaking, but Eris didn’t hear them. He wanted to hold her face so he could see how she was healing—wanted to ask her if she was still scared. 

If she’d seen the video he’d sent her that morning. 

“...my brother,” Lucien finished with a smile, pulling Eris back to reality. 

“Hello,” Eris said. He wasn’t about to break HIPPA or embarrass her by telling his brother that he’d been the doctor she’d see the night of her attack. 

Arina’s eyes were wide. “Eris,” she said, rising from the chair she’d been sitting in. Eris could have died at the sight of her, was breathing hard, and fuck what was he supposed to do with his hands— “We’ve met.”

“Oh, good!” Elain said, clearly apprehensive. She remembered how he’d treated her last friend, then. “It went…well?”

“Very well,” Arina agreed, offering him a smile of straight, white teeth. Did she know she had him on his knees? That he would have done anything for her? Eris merely inclined his head. He wasn’t in a mask and couldn’t just tell her what he wanted. 

Both Lucien and Elain exhaled a breath. Lucien was eyeing Eris, a silent question hanging between them.

What happened between you two?

Eris offered Lucien nothing that might betray him.

Mind your own business. 

Elain handed Eris a beer and he went to a black two-seater and plopped himself among the cushions. Arina hesitated for a moment, looking at the chair she’d been perched in.

“I don’t bite,” he lied. He very much did, and intended to just as soon as he had her beneath him. She might like it, then. 

She might bite him back, even.

Eris had to cross his leg in order to keep anyone from seeing what his line of thought was doing to his cock. 

Arina sat beside him, stiffening for a moment before relaxing into the softness. There was still an ocean of distance between them, too far for him to even press his thigh to her own. It was better than nothing, though. Here, he could drink in the scent of her, warm like vanilla and salted lime. He could see the thrum of her pulse in her throat, the flush on her cheeks. 

Across the room, Elain and Lucien exchange a covert look, though said nothing. Elain wanted to play a board game and Eris wanted to be within touching distance of Arina. She wrapped her own bottle around her lips and Eris was momentarily wrecked, so unfocused he wasn’t sure he was even breathing. 

Lucien pulled out Cards Against Humanity and a bottle of tequila. Eris wondered if he could get Arina up the elevator and into his bed before the night ended. Not for sex—though he wanted that, too. 

He wanted Arina not to be afraid. Not of him.

Not of anything. 

The game quickly devolved, and Eris was happy to be there so long as Arina loosened up. The more time passed, she seemed to relax, the once tense muscles in her body loosening with each passing laugh. And Arina did laugh. Her laugh was like nothing he’d ever heard, settling in his chest like his very heart. Eris knew he was well out of his depth and suspected Elain was aware, given how she kept looking at Eris with those knowing eyes of hers. 

Arina had her head on the back of the couch, so close he could have scooted and propped her cheek on his shoulder. With the night winding down, Eris needed a reason to get her alone. He found it in the kitchen, when Elain and Lucien conveniently vanished down the hall. Arina was separating bottles into the recycling when Eris finally made his way toward her.

“How are your ribs?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

She looked over at him with those big, mossy eyes. “Still hurt, but I’m drinking water and resting like you said.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, hooking a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face toward him. “And your face?”

Her breath was warm against his skin. He could still feel her tongue pressed to his gloved finger and the heat of her mouth. Her lashes fluttered. “Better.”

“I heard you’re not sleeping,” he added, his mind racing. “Do you ne—”

“I don’t need anything,” Arina said firmly, misunderstanding what he’d been offering. Maybe that was for the best. He nodded and took a step away from her.

“How about a ride home?”

She hesitated before glancing down the hall. The apartment was suspiciously quiet. “Probably, actually. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Eris agreed with relief. He’d have this little time with her before he returned. His things were already in the trunk, easily changed into if he was careful in his backseat.

“My keys are upstairs,” he old her, nodding toward the door. 

“You live in the same building as your brother?”

He couldn’t help his smile. It was so easy around her. “Who do you think got that degenerate through the door? Lucien could have been a doctor if he’d wanted.”

“Isn’t he a lawyer?” Arina asked, slipping into the hall beside him.

“Exactly,” Eris agreed. 

“If that’s your definition of disappointment, I’d hate to see how I rank,” she said lightly, though her eyes were tight. Eris didn’t know how to navigate this—did he tell her he liked her, or did he agree her career was worth very little? He couldn’t remember anything from high school other than he’d liked cutting up animals and he was terrified someone would see the bruises on Lucien’s body and separate them. 

“Tell me about your dance studio,” he said instead. Her cheeks flushed, telling Eris he’d said the right thing. 

“It’s not my studio. I work for the studio,” she clarified. “I want my own, though. Maybe someday, if…” she bit her bottom lip. 

If you’re married to a doctor with an obscene trust fund? 

That also seemed like the wrong thing to say, though it was the truth. Eris did fuck all with that money. It would be nice, he thought, to see his father’s hard earned wealth spent on teaching children to dance. Or making his wife, who Beron Vanserra would have found entirely unsuitable, happy. 

The elevator doors opened and Eris ushered her up, his mind racing. She wanted to go home, and he wanted to be with her. These weren’t opposing ideas, at least to him. Probably to her. 

“Someday,” Eris agreed, stuffing his hand in his pocket to keep from touching her. “How did you meet Elain?”

“College. We were roommates.”

Eris stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse he owned, only slightly pleased by her wide, impressed eyes. 

“I can’t imagine rooming with Elain. She’s so…well behaved,” he finally managed, snatching his keys from the side table right outside the elevator. Arina was peeking around the corner, which prompted him to add, “Would you like a tour? You can stay, if you like.” In his bed. With his cock buried in her body, preferably. He wondered if fucking her would be enough to cure him of his fascination, or if knowing what it felt like to have her beneath him would only make things worse. Eris was starting  to suspect the latter and even hoping for it. Not that life was meaningless before her, but he’d had to chase down the feelings now roiling through him constantly. He had to create them for himself, had to manufacture the perfect conditions in order to feel the anxiety, the excitement, the lust that he was always feeling just by thinking of her. 

Arina’s cheeks burned. “Oh…no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.”

Eris let her see a fraction of his disappointment. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“I just…” Because she was attracted to him. Eris could work with that. He rounded on her, hands at his sides.

“A date, then? Would you do that?”

He’d forgotten the right order of things. It was date, sex, and then the knife. He was all backwards. Take her on a date, let her see how charming and interesting he was before he put his face between her legs and his cock in her throat. 

She could keep the knife. Eris had plenty more, could turn her house in a small armory if she wanted. 

“A date?” Arina pulled him from his thoughts of stripping her naked.

“Yes,” he agreed, flashing her a smile. “This weekend? After I see you and you’re no longer my patient?”

She bit her bottom lip and for a terrible moment he thought she might tell him no. He kept forgetting how they’d met—a date gone terribly wrong. And though she was in his apartment, not attacking her was an incredibly low bar.

“Where?”

“I’ll plan it,” he swore, trying not to seem too desperate. “Somewhere public—open. Dinner and something else?” he offered. 

She relaxed and Eris could have kissed her. “Saturday?”

“Eight o’clock,” he agreed with another easy smile. “I’ll handle everything and I’ll pick you up.”

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

“Perfect. And you already have my number,” he reminded her, forgetting that he was technically Ghost in her phone. He would need to get another or she was going to piece things together too quickly before she had a reason to care about him.

“On your card,” she agreed with a smile. 

“That’s for work,” he said with a frown. “Why don’t you give me yours and I’ll text you.”

And with that, Eris was given Arina’s phone number with a smile. He already had it, to be fair, but it was nice to get things from her he didn’t have to steal. Eris took her to his car where the light scent of her filled his nose, and managed to drive her home without sliding his hand beneath her dress.

She thanked him, though, with a kiss on his cheek. Leaning over just outside her dark apartment, Arina pressed her mouth just above his jaw.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes bright and hopeful. He couldn’t help himself. He just needed to know—was she forbidden and therefore exciting, or was this something real? Sliding his fingers under her chin, Eris turned his own face toward hers slowly. He gave her enough time to pull back, to tell him to stop because the lord knew there was no way he was going to.

He closed the distance between them, restrained by his seat belt. Lips pressed to hers, eyes closed. 

His whole body ignited like nothing he’d ever felt before. She was soft, her mouth inviting, and she kissed exactly the way Eris liked. Not too wet, not too breathy. Just the right amount of pressure and somehow she placed her own lips against his own in exactly the right way. Eris knew he was fussy and overly particular and maybe some of his attraction was how well Arina navigated around his own issues without any awareness. 

Eris was burning. Blood racing, body taut. Every inch of him was wholly aware of her. Her fingertips grazing his cheek, the way she still tasted sweet despite the beer she’d been drinking. Eris wanted to drag her into his lap. Instead, he let himself deepen the kiss, his fingers tightening on her face. 

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, drawing the softest gasp from her. Arina sank her teeth against his bottom lip, nipping ever so slightly and Eris was wrecked. Utterly ruined, unable to stop himself from grasping her face and really kissing her like he wanted. Like the man he was and not the man he was trying to be. Messy and rough, like he wanted to devour her.

Because he did. Eris pushed his tongue into her mouth, groaning when her own met him, looking for the taste of him. He didn’t mean to take it too far in his car, given how badly he wanted to keep kissing her. Eris wanted to push the seat back, to let her straddle his lap, and kiss until they were both exhausted.

He bit her bottom lip harder than he’d meant to, reopening the cut on her delicate skin. Blood flooded their mouths and Arina yanked back, fingers rushing to the wound.

“Sorry,” he panted, though he wasn’t sorry at all. Her lips were glossy and red and he could taste the metallic salt on his tongue. “I—fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she panted, her eyes big and dilated. “I should go, I think. Before…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, well aware of what she’d been about to say.

“Saturday, still?” she asked timidly, as if she’d given him too much and now he might change his mind. Eris still meant to wine and dine her. He was starting to think he could have his cake and eat it, too. That he could have her without a mask at all, that she could see him as he was and like him just as much as he liked her.

That he could make her obsessed with him.

“Saturday,” he agreed. Arina offered him a smile and slipped out into the night.

He wasn’t going far. 

ARINA:

Arina was having a horrible nightmare. She knew it was a nightmare and yet she couldn’t get out of it. Arina was tied up, forced to wait on Jack and his horribly dead blue eyes as he made his way toward her. How had she never noticed how utterly soulless he seemed? How had she not realized there was no light in his face?

Kissing Eris in her car had made her realize there was a difference. Where Jack had always been cold, even in his pleasure and delight, Eris radiated heat. His eyes were full of passion.

He was alive.

He was there, too, in this nightmare. Crumpled on the ground as blood seeped from a wound in his head. He’d come to help her, the valiant doctor who inexplicably liked her. And Jack had bashed him over he head while Arina was forced to watch, screaming and begging him to stop. 

I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything.

He’d turned, then, holding a curved knife in his hand.

What will you do for me, little mouse?

Arina jerked awake in the dark, gasping for air. She was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and yet cold. She’d kicked off the blanket sometime in the night. Arina pressed a hand to her forehead, blinking as sleep threatened to claim her again. She was so tired and knew if she flopped back to the bed, she’d fall right back into the nightmare.

Beside her, something—someone—shifted. She turned her head, certain she was going to see Jack there.

“Oh,” she whispered when she found the outline of that familiar white and black mask. “You.”

“You were having a nightmare,” he said, as if that explained his presence.

 Arina tried to force her heart to slow, to remind herself whoever this man was, he was trying in some fucked up way to help her. 

“Why are you back?”

He leaned his lean, masculine body against her headboard. “You’re scared.”

He said it like he didn’t understand why. “Yes.”

“You didn’t respond to my video.”

Arina had only watched a few seconds of the video he’d sent her. His muscular knee pressed to the throat of one of her assailants had given her far too much satisfaction and she’d quickly closed out, afraid of what that said about her. 

She meant to say something rude to him, but the only thing that came out was a whispered, “Thank you.”

He went still. “Thank you? I thought you weren't going to thank me?" They’d both expected fear or fire. Not gratitude. But she was. Arina felt better knowing that, regardless of what it would mean for her once he was finished doling out retribution, none of those men would ever hurt someone again. She would be the last. 

Arina forced herself to ask, instead, “When you’re finished, are you going to kill me, too?”

“No,” he said with what she swore was a soft laugh. “Not you. Never you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he murmured.

“Spell it out for me,” Arina replied. She needed to hear this man say it.

“You, little mouse. I want you.”

“I suppose this is the part where you say I owe you?” she asked, waiting for him to agree. Surely a man who could so easily kill another person had no qualms about taking anything else he wanted. He was stretched out in her bed, dressed in all black with his ankles crossed, boots dangling just off the edge as though he couldn’t stand the thought of messing up her bed sheets. 

“I’ll wait,” he replied with a shrug of broad shoulders. 

“That stalker will wait?” she scoffed.

She could feel his eyes boring holes in her skin, could practically hear the smile that cracked his face. “I have rope and a blindfold in my bag. If you find it so offensive, I could show you exactly what I want from you right now.”

Arina had a date with Eris in a week. Eris, the hot doctor who’d kissed her in her car, who smelled otherworldly and looked at her like—

Like he’d burn the whole world down to have her. Like he fucking cared. Arina took a breath of air, eyes fluttering shut. That scent—she hadn’t recognized it the first night Ghost had stepped into her apartment, too wild with terror. 

What were the odds the stalker and the doctor had the same cologne? 

“If I let you tie me up, do you promise to stop if I tell you to?” she whispered, pretty sure this was a monumentally bad idea. She could be wrong. It could be a coincidence, or just her desire to project her own interest in one man onto another. Ghost could be little more than a truly deranged man that she should try harder to dissuade. 

“I’ll do you one better,” he murmured, reaching across the bed to slide his gloved hand up her bare leg. “Everything we do tonight will be just for you.”

“And…and I can’t see your face?” she asked, wondering what she’d do if it was Eris beneath. She barely knew him.

All of this was wrong. 

“Not yet.”

“But you will?”

“When you’re ready,” he agreed. “When you aren’t so scared of me…when you’re ready to use that knife under your pillow.”

“I’ll never—”

“You will,” he interrupted firmly. “Now. Lay back for me.”

Arina swallowed hard. This was her moment to say no, to start screaming or call nine one one, even.

Not lay against the pillows. 

“Good girl,” he whispered, brushing those gloved knuckles over her cheek. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

And then the bastard swung his legs off her bed and instead of going out through the door, went to the window, opened it and slipped into the night. She’d wondered how he’d managed to get in and she supposed know she knew.

It was fixable with a block of wood. Arina suspected he’d find another way in, but how amusing for him to roll up one night thinking he’d slip in her window only to find it locked.

Maybe even alarmed. 

Still, Arina didn’t move. She stayed among the pillows, her heart racing when he very easily slid back in through the window. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had rope and a blindfold, the purpose of which ought to have frightened her. She did sit up when she saw him circle it around his hands.

“Relax, little—”

“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped. 

“Ah, yes, sunshine. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Arina believed that. “Not too tight,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t tie you up at all if I thought you wouldn’t try and see me,” he murmured. 

He came toward her, slipping the surprisingly soft blindfold over her eyes. Wholly lost to the dark, Arina didn’t feel as scared. Not when fingers clad in leather carefully reached for her wrists and bound her in rope—not so tight it hurt, but enough that once he had her secured to the headboard, she wasn’t going to get out unless he wanted her too.

She swallowed.

“How much do you value your clothes?” he murmured, sliding something cool over her skin. Arina shivered. Was that a knife?

“I don’t care,” she whispered. The knife dragged over her collarbone, just sharp enough to make her heart race without actually hurting her. The sound of fabric ripping filled the silence. He cut the straps of her top first before moving clean down the center. A little tug and then Arina was wholly topless. 

There was silence, and then the brush of bare fingers against the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, baby,” he murmured, still in that fucking mask. She just needed him to take off the mask so she could hear his voice. Arina swore she had Eris’s committed to memory. 

He slid those same fingers into the waistband of her shorts, allowing Arina to lift her hips so he could slowly pull them off her body. 

There was another moment of silence where she assumed he was appraising her. Arina would have given anything to know that he thought of her. 

“I’m regretting my promise,” he finally managed, his voice half strangled. “Look at you…”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, fingers trailing up and down her inner thigh. “I want to devour you.”

“You’ll have to take off the mask,” she whispered, jerking when she heard something thud to the floor. He’d stay silent now if he was Eris, and he’d keep talking if he wasn’t. Arina curled her fingers to fists, tugging every so slightly. 

“What are you—” she choked on her words when his tongue slid over one of her nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Arina could only exhale, well aware one of his hands was still lazily making passes up and down her leg. 

It was the car all over again. He’d started unhurried, like he’d had all the time in the world. At first, Arina had thought he was trying not to scare her. When he’d tilted her face toward him, she’d had the same feeling she had right now.

Eris Vanserra wanted to devour her. 

He wasn’t rushed, switching between breasts while licking the valley of skin between like a man with nothing but time, but there was an urgency to him that she’d felt before. How long, she wondered, before her mouth was filled with blood.

She’d thought that was an accident.

Now she thought he’d done it because he liked it. Assuming, of course, Arina’s gamble was right. That the man currently touching her was the doctor and not someone else. She exhaled a breath, yelping when the finger on her leg slid up the middle of her pussy.

He groaned against her skin, too soft to truly know for certain. Arina arched, delighted when teeth snagged on the sensitive flesh, tugging just hard enough to edge pleasure with pain. Arina wasn’t so proud to admit that this was how she liked it.

She could forget what this man was as he licked down her body, fingers teasing her flesh. He spread her wide open, bending her knees so he could really get a look at her. It was strange, given Arina’s experience with pussy eating was usually over enthusiastic men who didn’t have the skill but dove right in, or men who had no interest at all and tried their hardest not to even look.

She suspected he had the skill and the interest. Anticipation skittered along Arina’s spine, her arousal heightened by the loss of her vision. She couldn’t see what he was doing or if he even liked what he saw.

Cool metal replaced his finger and Arina jerked.

“Shhh,” he murmured, teasing her clit with the smooth handle. Over and over, until Arina relaxed, her fear slipping away. While he toyed with her, he kissed and licked up her thigh, let his breath fan over her aching flesh, and then switched to her other leg. Arina was wound up, wiggling her hips to try and convince him to put his mouth on her. 

The blade of his knife left her clit and Arina was rewarded for her patience with his tongue. She’d forgotten he even had it, moaning softly as pleasured washed gently over her. This was what she needed, she told herself. It didn’t matter who was giving it to her. He’d chased away the nightmare that Arina had all but forgotten it right until the handle of the knife pushed into her body.

She clenched around it, crying out at the cool intrusion.

“Take it,” he whispered roughly. Was that Eris? Or did she just want it to be him? “Look at how fucking wet you are.”

And she was. She could feel the easy glide of the handle, of her want coating over her skin to make each pass of his tongue smoother, softer. The minute he realized she wasn’t going to fight her, Ghost unleashed himself.

Arina felt bad for the people she shared walls with. She couldn’t help herself. His mouth was something else and combined with the pump of the blade, she was lost. Rolling her hips against his face, body clenched tight around the handle, Arina was begging.

“Please,” she heard herself pant, unsure what she even wanted. Maybe for this to go on forever. His tongue was everything, licking broad strokes before pulling back to tease and suck and nip.

Every time Arina came just a little too close, he’d pull back, fucking her slower while offering languid, unhurried swipes of his tongue. She knew what he was doing. Each time she was denied, Arina built harder, edged hotter. When he finally let her go, Arina was going to scream.

She was going to beg him for his cock, was what she was going to do. 

Arina needed to come. When he pulled back again she all but sobbed in frustration. He chuckled and she didn’t even care who he was. Maybe he wasn’t Eris. Maybe he was some dark avenger who had his sights set on her. She didn’t care. 

“Please,” she begged again, rolling her hips into his face. He groaned, back to licking and fucking with single minded focus. Heat danced along her skin, her nerves electrified. She chased that rolling pleasure up, up, up, and this time, when she hung over the precipice, he let her fall. She’d been right about screaming—Arina was almost embarrassed by the noise that escaped her throat. She tried to clamp her thighs around his face but he shoved her back open, using his body to keep her from pushing him away.

He didn’t stop. Not when she begged or thrashed or pulled at her restraints. Now that he’d made her come, he was bound and determined to do it again.

And again.

And again.

Arina begged, her body shaking around him. She was exhausted, and maybe that was the point. By the time he pulled up and slammed his mouth against her own, Arina didn’t want to ask him to fuck her anymore. She wanted to go to sleep. She wondered if he’d guessed her intentions—or if he was merely greedy.

She knew one thing, though.

The moment his teeth sank vicious against her bottom lip, splitting open the wound from before so her mouth filled with blood, she knew exactly who was pressed against her. 

He groaned at the taste of copper and salt, mingled with the musky sweetness of her own body.

Eris Vanserra had come to finish what he’d started.

#do we tag this one besties? #honestly it feels pretty well behaved #like YEAH hes stalking her but he also respects the word no #and hes killing people but FOR her like is that not romance? #i personally choose to believe it is #anyway here is 12k words of eris being insane #part two on tuesday #i get a day off to scream (as a treat)

[teafuelledwriting]

An Uncommon Witness

[Inspired in a big way by a larger project idea that's crawled out of the quagmire. Barely edited and written in one sitting. Enjoy. TW for blood and inferred gore.]

Detective Harper arrived on scene damp and annoyed. Three days of heavy rain had flooded enough streets to clog up traffic, making travel a miserable affair. Even now it rained, the air heavy, humid, and stifling in the early morning, heavy clouds hanging low overhead as they threatened to drown half of Southbank. 

At least he didn’t have to stand around in it, like the poor bastards guarding the scene's perimeter from absent crowds.

Ducking under the white and blue police tape, Harper nodded in greeting to Constable Myles, huddled in her raincoat, moisture trickling down her dark tan cheek. 

“Another one?” Harper asks, loud to be heard through the rain, and Myles nodded, lips twisting.

“Same M.O., same symbols,” She said and they walk off path, sodden grass sucking at their boots. “Tourists found the victim on the walkways by the 88’ Pagoda, preserved. Whoever did it hung up a bunch of tarps to keep it clear from the rain.” 

“They want us to see, you think?”

“Haven’t been shy so far,” Myles shrugged a shoulder, the walkie crackling with chatter, barely audible over the din. “Maybe they wanted the rain off while they worked. Either way it’s the same. One victim, killed on scene in a ritualistic manner. Area around the body painted in blood, presumably coming from this and previous victims if the patterns consistent.”

“We know who it is?” Harper asked as they climbed broad stairs leading to the pseudo tropical-rainforest and wooden walkways meticulously maintained by the grounds crew. A popular spot in the sprawling parklands, it was a little respite from the sun and heat, nestled between the oversized ferris wheel and a whitewashed block of overpriced restaurants. If the rain hadn’t kept the tourists and locals inside, the horror on display would be plastered all over social media.

“Yeah. Mark Cooper, forty-five years old, an IT specialist, works across the river in the CBD.” Myles flipped over a water splotched page in her notepad. “Like the other scenes, his clothing and possessions were left folded neatly to the side, wallet included, three hundred in cash plus credit cards intact.” They head up a concrete ramp and step under the cover of trees, the scent of rich soil cutting through the smell of rain and metal. Their boots thunk on the wooden walkway that twists and winds between ferns, trees and over a flooded artificial stream. 

Harper spotted the tarps immediately, four of them arranged to direct rain away from the naked, ruined body posed with terrible care. One leg laid straight, the other bent, foot behind the knee of the first. The arms were stretched overhead, palms upwards and carved into a bloody mess. Cooper’s skin had been painted with dull blue bands around his limbs and torso, framing the symbols cut into his skin. His face they left alone, eyes open, covered with a strip of hand woven cloth, his expression eerily at peace.

Around him, the dark, damp wood was marked with candles burned to nubs, the white wax pooling through the gaps of the walkway, stars in a constellation of dark bloody lines encircling the murdered man.

Forensic techs went about their work like plastic garbed ghosts, snapping photos, taking samples, hunting for prints, fibres, a scrap of something to give them a foot up.

Harper paid them no mind as he studied the tableau. The same pose, the same set up. A lot of work went into whatever ritual was being performed, a lot of care which took time and effort, likely more than one participant, even if Cooper had been drugged out of his mind like the other three victims. Some of the symbols had been recognised, letters a combination of runes and various occult symbols, the body itself laid out like the Hanged Man from tarot.

Despite the humid warmth, a chill enveloped Harper and he shivered.

“And no one saw anything,” he muttered. “Four scenes like this in a public space, hours of work at least and no one saw a god-damned thing!”

Myles opens her mouth as the radio on her shoulder crackles, the voice garbled and hard to hear.

She sighs and clicks the handset. “They’ve been fritzing all day. Repeat that, over.” She says and the walkie crackles again. Harper picks out one word from the noise. Witness.

“Where?” He demanded. 

Down the slope, towards the churning brown of the Brisbane river, a trio of constables shift, looking anywhere but the woman standing in the rain with a broad black umbrella. Tough boots, jeans, and a grey jacket, she stood still, patiently waiting as Harper paused by the officers. 

“We have a witness you said?” He asked Buckler, the oldest, a tall, broad shouldered man with a fishers tan. He grimaced. 

“We think we might,” He said with a pointed look at the youngest, his fresh out of the academy partner, Mae, a slight lean man of Asian descent. “Tell the detective what you told me.”

Mae’s Adam's apple bobbed as he licked his lips. “She turned up while we were securing the scene, didn’t ask us what was going on until we were done, just asked to speak to the detective when they arrived. She’s been waiting ever since.” Mae glanced at the woman, and cleared his throat. “Might just be a freak wanting a look.”

“Or maybe she saw something,” Harper said. “I’ll go have a chat, thanks Buckler.”

“No worries, Detective.” Buckler jerked his thumb and he and Mae head along the taped perimeter as Harper ducks under the tape again.

Outside the cordon, the air felt lighter, the sound of the rain sharper on the boardwalk. 

“You asked to speak with a detective?” he called and the woman’s umbrella tilts, showing a pale face framed by short choppy brown hair, eyes bruised and shadowed from lack of sleep, but clear and piercing, examining him as he approached. Mid-thirties, Harper guessed, no make-up, pierced nose, and clean. Not a vagrant, and if she used, she was sober for the moment.

“I did. Thank you for coming to talk with me, detective…” She trailed off and Harper nodded, pulling out his notepad and a pen.

“Harper. You are?”

“Anna Franklyn. With a ‘Y’.” Her gaze flicked past him. “Another ritual murder.” It wasn’t a question. 

Harper gave her a sharp look. “You know anything about this incident? Did you see anything?”

“I know what I’ve been told,” she said, voice blunt. “I didn’t see it, but I know who did. I’m here to help them talk to you.” Anna nodded her head towards the wooden Pagoda. 

Harper’s brows rose. “Help? You’re a translator?”

Something flickered in her expression, a flash of amusement that came and went.

“Of sorts. I don’t know how long he can hold on for so, shall we?” She started walking and frowning, Harper followed her, lengthening his stride till he caught up. 

“Just a few questions before we get there Miss Franklyn, what’s your relationship to the witness?”

“Known him for a few years, more of an acquaintance than anything else. When I heard the ritual took place here, I came to see if he saw anything.”

Harper’s frown grew as he jotted down a note. “How did you hear about it?” 

“After the first two, people started paying attention,” Anna said as they turned off the walk to climb the wide shallow steps leading to the hand carved pagoda, a relic left over from Expo 88. It was a narrow, spindly thing a few levels high, no steps leading up, no purpose save for decoration. “No one does that much work, with that much detail unless it’s building to something.”

“And you know something of these kinds of…” Harper trailed off, hoping for a bite. The more people said the more they gave away.

Anna glanced at him. “I know a lot.” She paused on the top step, and dug a hand into her jacket. “Detective, whether you accept it or not, the ones doing this believe in it. And your only witness needs your belief.”  From her pocket, Anna pulled out a small, squat jar, glass, the brassy top giving it away as a repurposed pot of Tiger Balm. She held it out to him, expectant.

Harper looked at the jar, then her, and then to the Pagoda, the doors usually locked for the night standing open. It was dark, a dim warm light glowing within. Another shiver crawled up Harper’s back.

“What kind of belief, Miss Franklyn?” He asked, looking past her. The closest constable was back the way they had come, and over the rain… Any trouble would be heard but he didn’t like distance.

“The hasty kind.,” Anna said, frowning herself. “Put this on your eyes and ears or you won’t get a damn thing. Waste time and you won’t get his account.” 

Harper narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m gonna need more information before I smear an unknown substance all over myself.”

Anna’s eyes flicked upwards, reminding him strongly of the popular girls in high school, forever impatient with his clumsy attempts to chat them up. 

“It’s oil, olive oil from Greece infused with rosemary and grave dirt. It washes off.” Anna said, opening the jar and with her fingers, dabbed a small amount around her eyes, over her lips and her ears. The jar was thrust towards him, Anna’s sharp gaze pinning him in place, not a hint of mischief or trickery on her face. “Consider, you have no fucking idea what’s going on and you want to know more. I want to help. If shit goes sideways you can arrest me. How's that?”

Harper blinked. She was dead serious. 

Glancing again at the Pagoda, the familiar structure somehow more ominous in the dim morning and the rain, looming above them like a silent sentinel, Harper considered. No harm in going along for some information, right? Back up was close by and the woman was a fraction his height and weight. He had good chances if it came to violence. Still, something in his gut worried at him.

“All right.” Harper took the jar, and dabbed his finger into the oil. It didn’t smell all that bad, felt a little gritty as he applied it to his skin and it tingled, warm and steadying. “Where’s my witness?”

Anna cocked her head to the side and beckoned, leading Harper towards the Pagoda, folding down her umbrella as she stepped inside.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” she said to the empty space. There was a wooden bench to one side where a black bag sat slumped to one side. A small candle on a tin dish burned, the flame flickering once. “The detective, Harper-” She paused, glancing back. “Inside, detective.” 

Harper scowled. “You know I can charge you with interference with an investigation, right?” He growled, stepping over the low wooden threshold. “There’s no one…” He trailed off, blinking against the dark. “Here?”

On the bench sat a man, wiry and thin, bony arms leaning on bonier knees, his neat shirt ruined by a single dark splotch dead center of his chest. He looked up from his hands, skeletal and long fingered, eyes milky, face gaunt. Solid and real but everything in Harper knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He hadn’t been!

“Tadaaa,” his voice rumbled, felt as much as heard and Harper gaped. His stomach had gone cold, like he’d swallowed a ball of ice, and inside his layers of rain coat and button down and vest, his skin prickled like he stood in a static field. 

“Wh-What the f-” Harper started and Anna gave him a hard look.

“Your witness. You have until the candle burns down. Fifteen minutes,” she said and looked at the man with an apologetic expression. “Cops.”

The man on the bench nodded as if he understood. “I saw. I saw it all. They called us to witness. Will you listen?” He asked.

Harper’s jaw clicked as he closed his mouth. “Everything?” He asked and the man on the bench nodded again.

“All.”

“Alright, uh… Sir…” Harper licked his lips and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’m listening.”

The dead man spoke. Harper took his notes. 

Finally, he had a lead.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #original writing #teafuelledwriting #short horror story #creative writing #cosmic horror #writing tag

[supernovafeather]

Desperate Times

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Content : arranged marriage, mention of war, enemy to lover, hurt/comfort.

Words : ~2760

Your animosity towards the House Atreides is no secret. They may be proud of their legacy but you see through their little game pretty clearly.

As sharp as your disdain towards it is, you have to admit that Duke Leto is a rarity in this universe. According to his politics on Caladan and to your spies, he does take at heart the good care of his own people and is really protective of his values - as long as it doesn't impact his planet. The problem it creates is that he is the one that gets listened to the most.

This is what you observe all the time whether you visit Caladan or you get visited by him, and this infuriates you to no end. Eyes locking on this man, mouth commenting his arrival with respect, ears buzzing with curious comments. This never fails to happen. Recently you have come to a worrying conclusion : your own planet prefers him over you.

"I may not have chosen the best time to invite you."

Duke Leto concedes that point as you walk side by side along the coastal cliffs of Caladan, finally far from the unnerving court protocols of this stupid planet. You are not against rules, far from it, but it is unbearable to witness how respected he is, how natural it is for him to be appreciated. It makes your blood boil instantly. All of that bowing, titles, praises for him whilst you are seen as the ruthless and barbarian foreign ruler...

"There is no right time to invite me." You reply with a cold voice. "I presume you will never learn from your mistakes on the matter."

"I never will." He confirms calmly with a nod. "But you always accept my offers, so if I had one guess to make it'd be that I never choose the worst moments."

This doesn't need any answer from you so you decide to ignore this comment. The environment surrounding you, as boring as it looks, is one of the things able to calm you down. A seemingly infinite sea, high natural cliffs, grass, rocks, the salty smell in the air, the wind... all of this lulls you into some part of your own mind you wouldn't suspect to exist. You got raised to shed blood whenever your House judges it necessary, and to shut the mouths of too talkative witnesses. How can simple things such as the ocean be enough to tame some values you have learned all your life ? There is not even any ocean on your planet, only small artificial lakes.

"I hope you enjoyed your lunch." Leto says.

"I did." You admit dryly.

Leto Atreides infuriates you. So why do you feel some kind of respect for him ? What is wrong with you ? Where are your family values gone ? You should be plotting against him to get rid off his existence. He has no heir, no wife, not even any known lover. Many in your government thought he was hiding some potential homosexuality, but your spies denied it confidently. He is the only Atreides remaining. You should plan something, anything, but no you are walking with him after a space travel that cost so much. He is lucky that your planet is so luxurious or you wouldn't have wasted your time with his antics. He always insists for you to come to "improve the links between the both of your planets" but you doubt it is the main reason.

"You were splendid this morning my Lady. This ceremonial dress suited you perfectly. Was it a tribute to your mother's last visit on Caladan ?"

Another significant detail is how well he conveys emotion with simple words, and his eyes. You must admit that he sounds sincere. It takes you a while to answer after fighting this urge to smile, especially due to his incredible memory. He's learned to pay respect to your bloodline despite its sad weakened state. Glory is far behind and even doing your best to maintain it is seemingly to no avail. Especially with the Atreides' power and influence beaming throughout the galaxy.

"Thank you. And yes, it was."

"I am glad you think of Caladan as worthy enough to make so much effort for a diplomatic visit."

"Let's not exaggerate." You reply with a scoff. "You invite me regularly, so I do my best to be a respectful guest. Politeness is precious."

"This and the fact that you rarely decline my own offers almost make you look polite indeed."

You are about to snap at him when the tone of his voice soothes you effortlessly. This light shake towards the end betrays his repressed laugh and his amused eyes examine you for a second. You hate him so you advert yours from his, clenching your fists with all you self-inflicted will. Calm down. He was only joking with you, it is a part of human interactions. But at the same time having this type of exchange with him disturbs you. Why would he risk a diplomatic incident ? It must be some hidden agreement between the Emperor and the House Atreides. It's obviously some kind of conspiracy. Why would he waste his time for your almost eradicated lineage ?

"Maybe you are right." You say absentmindedly.

The Duke usually controls his expressions pretty good, always careful with the feelings showed to the ones surrounding him. But you have to admit that his eyebrows raised in pure surprise are rather comical. He looks like another man. More open. Sympathetic.

"Thank you for acknowledging it my Lady."

It shouldn't do things to you to see him watching you this intently. Apparently your behavior made him curious. Not that you would complain, after all he has really beautiful eyes, a powerful gaze able to grasp anyone's attention. Have you changed this much after getting around him so many times ? Each of your encounters has been pretty short - two weeks or three. Had it been enough to weaken you even more ? Dark times are ahead of you, you don't have time for this stupidity that is starting to plague you.

"Why do you insist so much on inviting me ?" You ask as you witness his neutral face coming back. "This time more than the others. I don't remember any urgent matter evoked during yesterday's meeting."

"Our efforts to maintain peace between our planets are essential." He says. "We have had many cases of... disagreement. However we also witnessed how powerful our armies get once collaborating with each other. Our mutual safety measures are precious."

"I see." You reply.

"Our help can also be useful for you. I heard about this discontent erupting from time to time."

You stop dead in your tracks, your offense clear enough to turn his lips into a thin line. He knows he crossed a line or two there, and he better remember it.

"I beg your pardon ? We don't need your involvement in our own politics. We accept to share our military funds for specific military exercises and it is more than enough. Unless you, all-mighty Duke Leto, have never disappointed nor faces any criticism on your own planet ?"

"This is not what I implied my Lady." He corrects. "We all did face criticism - both of good and bad faith - but what I am doing is offering you some help if needed. We both know that the fish and water shortage are starting to reach a critical point for your people. You can't let your people starve. You are not this similar to your father."

"If you want to open some new commercial routes you only had to say it." You snarl as you don't want to admit your situation too openly. "And never talk about my father like this. He did the right thing to preserve us."

"Is it worth it to let 10% of your total population get wiped out of existence at every generation my Lady ? Is it really worth it ?"

"Nature regulates things properly. Overpopulation is a problem and will get solved. It's not like my family would make the poor's starve on purpose. We rebalance things."

"You are more clever than this and have more moral than this, we both know it. You praise how rich your planet is yet don't have the food and water necessary for your survival. It's only a matter of time before they try to get you."

His warnings make you flinch. Never this man has ever watched you like this, with some dark anger directed to you. Leto Atreides is more powerful than you, more experienced, and more responsible than you ever will be. Obviously he also noticed this gut-wrenching fear of yours : getting your own people turning against you for good. You remember what happened to one of your mother's advisors during a period of strict food restriction in the rocky mountains of the North, and definitely don't want to end up as their dish as revenge. What a shame to end up like this.

"Do you really think you know my planet more than I do ? Because you are wrong."

"I recognize a leader facing a wall."

This man is right. As always. When have your education failed so miserably ? Why are you not the wise and powerful leader you have always wanted to grow up into ? The kind of ruler respected and listened to in times of need. This is what your parents tried to prepare you for : the burden of a small planet cursed with extremely limited resources, depending of others, but with a people too stubborn to accept to rely on some foreign help. And you failed them. It's not even a planet made of sandy deserts or frozen ones. You can cultivate the land. But without water...

It hurts immeasurably and you turn your back him, crossing your arms as you watch this immensity agitated with waves rolling. All this water that could get it's salt removed to get used. All those ships flying over your head from time to time in relative silence to bring resources to Caladan. You saw the impressive statistics of this army protecting those lands and your father told you how impressive the Atreides' fleets are once fully mobilized in the air and on sea.

You tense up as you feel a firm hand resting on your shoulder. From the corner of your eyes you see the blackness of his glove. You feel the warmth spreading to your skin then to your flesh as he tightens this friendly grip.

"I am not looking for a new enemy." He says gently. "If I do spend so much time with you it's for a good reason. And you know it is a good reason if you let me talk."

"You keep on humiliating my lineage." You scoff.

"We can unite our forces. For good."

"I don't want to deal with another bill or contract between our planets." You sigh. "It's vain. My planet is lost and you know it. Wait for it to get taken by force by thousands of separatists in the decade."

"House Atreides can help."

His confidence has you turning to him. You don't want to look desperate... but you truly are this time.

"What's in your mind ? Unless the Emperor offers us graciously infinite amounts of water for our crops there is nothing to do."

The Duke nods, clenching his jaws briefly. He ponders something, examining your face carefully.

"If you want to get your House back into the Emperor's esteem, there is a solution."

It hits you hard enough to advert your eyes from his. You thought of this possibility, balancing pros and cons carefully with your closest and most-trusted advisors. But marrying an Atreides is not a light decision, especially when this means to see your family name erased for good afterwards. But after all... this doesn't mean that your genealogy would stop there.

"So I guess this is what you want : I give you at least one heir you seem desperate to have for your own House survival, and you give what is needed to protect me and my people ?"

"The heir is not a question for now my Lady." He says softly. "We both need each other for our own survival. I can offer you guidance against the factions threatening your planet with a civil war, and you can offer us amongst of the most ferocious warriors from this corner of the galaxy. The Emperor notices your wish to get back into wider political matters and thinks of it as the return of your past glory, and the House Atreides gets seen as the protector of the weak - don't look at me like that please, it's their perception of it, not mine."

You see many flaws in his speech but temptation is raging in your heart. One of the main criticism against you is that you are the last of your lineage already weakened by all the famines and civil wars. Coupled with the powerful Duke of Caladan so popular and envied out there...

"The Emperor won't fall into this and you know it." You say sourly. "He keeps an eye on anyone challenging him. I wouldn't be surprised if he started to consider your House as a potential rival one day and I'll be seen as desperate."

"He had a lot of respect for your parents. He hasn't turned his back to you completely."

"I need to be useful to him I guess."

How far you are from your dreams of independent domination of this corner of the galaxy.

"We all have to " he comments with the same lack of joy in his voice. "This is how it works. For now at least. Take the time you need to give me your answer. Just know this is an open door for you. I would be honored to make you my Duchess."

This is extremely straight-forward, even from him. You never got any potential proposal before due to the dangers surrounding you and you don't quite know how to react, and you are even more lost when it comes to such statement. You want to believe it is only linked to politics, but his sweet gaze directed to you tells another truth.

"I hope you do realize what kind of trouble could get brought to you by such action my Lord." You say in a voice softer than you expected it to be.

"Do not worry about me. I have thought of it for a while now. It sounds like an obvious choice to me."

"You would get control over a small planet torn apart by hunger and hatred for you own wife. Rebels are well-trained and merciless."

You let this pair of folded fingers caress your cheek, and you don't comment the way the Duke tries to hide it by pretending to put some hair behind your ear. You don't comment the way he then direct his hand to your chin as he comes closer. You don't say anything about those lovely eyes captivating yours.

"War erupts from uncertainty. Bring it back, and most of your problems will get erased for at least a generation. You are the one having the power to decide. I won't do it at..."

Is it acceptable to interrupt him like this ? Do you have the right to stop a Duke - especially such a respected one - by kissing him ? What's sure is that his own confusion mirrors yours. It was a quick peck on his lips due to your lack of experience with those things, but you feel like... wanting more. Much more with him. And he feels seemingly the same as his eyes dwell this seductive glint now, one engulfing you totally as he pulls you gently to him by your arms.

"Is this your answer my sweet ?" He asks with a grin.

"It is." You confirm with a nod. "Was it too soon for this ?"

"For some, maybe. Not for me."

It feels good to take your own decisions as you peck him on the lips again. There is some kind of innocence erupting in you as he starts deepening the kiss. You don't know well how to respond to it but you do your best. Your future already looks brighter than ever.

- - - -

Thank you for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it !

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @samsspade @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino

#leto atreides #leto atreides x reader #leto atreides x you #duke leto x reader #duke leto x you #duke leto

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 2) Chapter Twenty

Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twenty: Planet Exploration

Summary: (Y/N) and their friends finds themselves on a strange planet with hidden sides and a strange civilization. Although it is beautiful, it is trapping them, so what is manipulating this paradise?

Mouse Note: MC gets their "unprofessional thoughts" moment.

            Captain’s Log: While making a routine exploration of the unexplored Gamma Trianguli VI, one of my men has been killed by a poisonous plant.

            “As soon as we get out of the way, beam the body up,” said Kirk to the Bridge.

            “Aye, Captain,” said Scotty. “It’s a shame about Hendorff. We seem to have a problem here, too.”

            “What is it?” asked Kirk.

            “We’re losing potency in our antimatter pods,” said Scotty. “I don’t think it’s serious, but we’re looking into it.”

            “What’s causing it?” questioned Kirk.

            “I’m not sure, sir,” said Scotty, woe to admit he didn’t know what was causing an engineering problem. “But we’ve run measurements of the electromagnetic field of the planet, and they are a wee bit abnormal. That might have something to do with it.”

            “But you say there’s nothing to worry about?” asked Kirk.

            “Well, sir, I didn’t exactly say that,” said Scotty.

            “Well, stay on top of it,” said Kirk. “We got a job to do here. Might as well finish it.”

            “I hear it’s nice down there,” said Scotty.

            “Yeah, it’s nice,” said Kirk. “If we’re a little more careful, we shouldn’t run into any more trouble.”

            “I could do with a  nice walk in a garden, with green leaves and grass,” said Scotty. Clearly, he wanted to come down if there was a chance.

            “We’ll do the walking, Scotty,” said Kirk, amused. “You get on that antimatter pod. If it gets any worse, let me know, we’ll beam up. Kirk out.” He closed his communicator.

            “I find that most unusual, Captain,” remarked Spock.

            “Well, Scotty will handle it,” said Kirk. “We got a job to do. Turn up anything on your tricorder?”

             “Indeed. Subsurface vibrations for miles in all directions,” said Spock. “Quite strong, fairly regular.”

            “That is weird,” agreed (Y/N). “No animal could do that.”

            Spock nodded. “No, it seems to be artificially produced.”

            “Mallory?” called Kirk, and a security officer walked over.

            “Yes, Captain,” said Mallory.

            “We’re heading for the village we scouted earlier,” said Kirk. “Avoid contact with the humanoids. And I want you and Marple to make a full reconnaissance, and be careful. There may be other danger besides poisonous plants. Keep in constant communication.”

            “Aye, aye, sir,” said Mallory.

            “Captain,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            “Yes, (L/N)?” said Kirk, copying their furtive tone.

            “There’s a humanoid hiding directly behind us. I sensed their emotions and then spotted them. They’re moving quite agilely,” said (Y/N).

            Spock glanced at his tricorder and nodded in confirmation. “Bearing 18.”

            Kirk furrowed his brow and nodded in acknowledgement. He’d keep an eye out.

            “What is it, Mr. Spock?” asked Chekov.

            “A visitor,” said Spock. “One wanting to maintain his anonymity, I should say.”

            He followed (Y/N) and Kirk as they carefully moved around the clearing, watching for any of their watcher’s movements. Chekov returned to Yeoman Landon’s side (he had a little crush on her, and she definitely liked him back).

            “Mr. Chekov, Yeoman Landon, I know you find each other fascinating, but we’re not here to conduct a field experiment in human biology,” said Kirk, walking up to them.”

            (Y/N) snorted unceremoniously in amusement as the pair blushed and stepped apart. Their embarrassment mixed with their clear preference for one another in an entertaining mix.

            “Anything?” asked Bones.

            “Whatever it is, it moves like a cat,” said Kirk in reference to their guest.

            “Jim, I don’t like this,” said Bones.

            “Neither do it. All hands,” announced Kirk. Everyone moved to his side. “We’ve been watched, we’ll probably be watched. We’re moving out. Formation L.”

            Spock stepped to (Y/N)’s side as they began the walk. He wanted to stay by their side in case anything happened. (Y/N) too stuck by Spock’s side. Both were equally invested in the other’s welfare, so if there was any danger, it would really be a competition to see which could protect the other more (and likely get themself hurt in the process).

            Continuing their exploration carefully, Kirk stopped them by a strange rock and had Spock examine it.

            “Interesting. Extremely low specific gravity,” said Spock. “Some uranium, hornblende, quartz.” He easily broke it apart in his two hands.

            (That prompted a few thoughts in (Y/N)’s mind that were vaguely along the lines of “that was hot. strong and smart. wow. i’m so in love with him” and a few others that were a little less appropriate)

            “Fragile, good cleavage,” said Spock. “An analysis should prove interesting.” He tossed one half of the rock to the side, and as it hit the ground a few meters away, it exploded. The group jumped back, and (Y/N) grabbed Spock, pulling him away from the heat and debris by his arm.

            “Would you mind being careful where you throw your rocks. Mr. Spock?” coughed Kirk as the dust cleared.

            Undeterred, Spock blinked as if the explosion was just a minor surprise. “Obviously highly unstable, Captain. This could be a find of some importance.”

            Carefully, Spock set the rock he still had on the ground, and they began their walk again, (Y/N)’s hand still resting on his arm until they realized and retracted it. Spock missed the contact and wished he had the courage to initiate more. With most, he felt it necessary to keep physical distance due to his culture, but (Y/N)…He wanted to be close to them. They felt safe. And so, as they walked, his fingers twitched out towards theirs, so close that a little more movement would have their hands brushing. Spock curled his hands into fists. He hadn’t touched hands with someone in years—the intimacy was unparalleled on Vulcan—and he couldn’t cross that line. Not when he was just friends with (Y/N). Nothing more. Spock being in love with them didn’t mean he could cross such a boundary.

            “Enterprise to Captain Kirk,” said Scotty on the communicator.

            “Kirk here,” he replied.

            “Scott, sir,” said Scotty. “Our antimatter pods are completely inert. I couldn’t stop it, but I know why.”

            “Why?” asked (Y/N).

            “Something from the surface. Like a pail of water on a fire,” said Scotty. “A beam maybe, or a transmission. And it’s still on. I’m having it analyzing, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And it’s pinpointed in the area of that village we located down there.”

            “We’re heading there now, Scotty,” said Kirk. “Do you need any help?”

            “Well, there’s nothing you could do about it, sir. And there doesn’t seem to be any any immediate danger,” said Scotty.

            “Alright, Scotty, We’ll try and find out what’s going on down here. Kirk out.” He shut off the communicator.

            “If Scott is correct about the force coming from the surface, it may have to do with the vibrations I read earlier,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Especially if it’s mechanical, like we thought. Maybe a generator?”

            “If so, an immense one,” agreed Spock. “Probably subterranean.”

            “What’s that?” asked Kirk, seeing Bones examining something.

            “Some of the thorns like those that killed Hendorff,” said Bones. As he spoke, no one noticed a flower turning the groups direction as they huddled up around Bones and Kirk. “See this stuff on the end? It’s like saponin, only it’s a thousand times stronger.”

            “Peculiar stuff to find in paradise,” said Kirk.

            (Y/N) glanced up and spied the strange flower turning towards them. It was aiming towards Spock, who remained unaware as he did recordings on the plant thorns.

            “Spock!” they cried, shoving him to the side as the plant fired thorns into their side. They gasped and collapsed as the poisonous saponin dripped into their bloodstream.

            “(Y/N)!” Spock’s voice betrayed urgency as he rushed to their side. No, no! He felt for a pulse, alarmed when he could barely feel one. He felt a rush of emotion fill his heart. Spock couldn’t handle them being so close to death. It was tearing him apart as he failed to see their chest moving.

            “Security alert!” shouted Kirk.

            Spock supported their body as Bones began scanning them and pulling out all his tools, determined to save them. Spock refused to let go of (Y/N), watching as Bones prepared as syringe. “Are they alive?”

            Bones injected the syringe into (Y/N). “I filled them with enough Masiform D to make the whole crew turn handsprings, and they’re not responding. We’ve got to get them back to the ship.”

            “Kirk to Enterprise.” Kirk contacted the ship quickly, knowing Spock was preoccupied with checking on (Y/N)’s condition. He prided himself on being efficient, but the Vulcan threw everything to the wayside when it meant (Y/N)’s health and safety.

            “Scott here, sir,” said Scotty.

            “We’re beaming up,” said Kirk urgently. “Notify Transporter Room immediately. And make arrangements to pick up Mallory and Marple. They’re scouting ahead of us.”

            “Aye, aye, sir,” said Scotty. “Standing by.”

            “Energize,” said Kirk.

            They dissolved, but instead of reenergizing on the Enterprise, they remained on the planet. The Transporter kept trying to get a hold on them, but it wasn’t working. They were stuck.

            “Scotty, energize,” repeated Kirk. No response. “Scotty, what’s the matter?”

            “We can’t make transporter contact, sir,” said Scotty urgently. “The entire system’s inhibited. The way it is now, we couldn’t beam up a fly.”

            Spock’s head snapped up as he held (Y/N) tighter to his chest. If they couldn’t get back up to the ship, (Y/N) could…die. Spock’s human instincts were kicking in as he worried for his love’s safety.

            “Scotty, is the transporter malfunction tied in with the trouble you’re having with the antimatter pods?” asked Kirk.

            “I don’t know, sir,” said Scotty. “I’ll check it and get back to you. Scott out.”

            (Y/N) gasped suddenly as the Masiform D kicked in. Sitting up with Spock supporting them, they looked around to get their bearings.

            “(Y/N)?” said Spock, trying to keep his voice steady. A slight quaver of worry made it through. “Are you alright?”

            “My stomach is turning, but I think that’s from whatever Bones gave me,” said (Y/N). “Otherwise, I think I’m okay.”

            “Watch it, I saved your life,” grumbled Bones, but not actually angry. He was relieved (Y/N) was alright. They were friends, after all.

            Spock nearly breathed a sigh of relief at seeing (Y/N) act so natural. After Hendorff’s death, he had worried the other plants were as deadly. Luckily, this one’s poison was reversible with treatment. However, he was equally upset that (Y/N) had risked their life for him. He couldn’t be the reason they died. “(Y/N), what were you trying to do?”

            “You didn’t see the plant, and I didn’t want you to get hurt, so I pushed you out of the way,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Thereby risking your own life?” questioned Spock.

            (Y/N) smiled sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t mean to.”

            Spock’s eyes closed for a moment in an expression of exasperation. “I can assure you, my reflexes are good enough that I can move out of the way if needed.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” said (Y/N). But if you’re in danger, I’m going to protect you. I love you.

            “But…thank you for your consideration,” said Spock.

            “No problem,” said (Y/N), smiling as Spock helped them up.

            Oblivious idiots, thought Kirk and Bones simultaneously.

            “Kaplan, take post,” ordered Kirk. He looked at the rest of the group. “Not only is something after us, but it’s after the ship as well.”

            “Captain, to affect the ship at this range would require a highly sophisticated planetary defense system,” said Spock. As he spoke, the sky rumbled as dark clouds raced across the sky. The sudden change in weather was unnatural.

            “Thirty seconds ago, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky,” murmured Kirk. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled. Kaplan, standing a few yards off, was struck and disintegrated. “Come on!” shouted Kirk, running back for cover as more lightning struck near them. Spock hand wrapped around (Y/N)’s arm as he pulled them close for safety.

            “Phasers,” ordered Kirk once they regrouped. They passed two other smoking marks on the ground. They had barely evaded lightning strikes. “A beautiful day,” remarked Kirk sarcastically. “Not a cloud in the sky. Just like paradise.” His communicator beeped. “Kirk here.”

            “Mallory here, Captain,” said the security officer. “I’m near the village. Coordinates 118 by 220.” However, his voice barely came through as static buzzed.

            (Y/N) glanced worriedly at Spock. Whatever was affecting the Enterprise clearly controlled more of this planet than they realized, and it was working against them.

            “Mallory. Mallory, are you alright?” said Kirk. “Come in.” They still couldn’t make out what he was saying after those first few words.

            “Captain, those coordinates are a short distance in that direction,” indicated Spock.

            “On the double.” Kirk ran off in search of Mallory, not wanting to lose another officer. The rest of the landing party followed.

            Mallory ran towards them. “It’s over there!” He clearly had seen something else in the forest. “I never saw anything like—!” He stepped on one of the deadly rocks, and it exploded. Mallory was thrown to the ground.

            “Mallory!” shouted Kirk as he heard the explosion. “Marple! Step back!” Marple stopped before he too tread across the dangerous territory. “Rocks…”

            Bones knelt by Mallory’s body. “He’s dead, Jim.”

            “Hendorff. Kaplan. Now, Mallory,” said Kirk, angry and sad.

            “Captain, you couldn’t have stopped any of this,” said (Y/N).

            Spock nodded. “In each case, this was unavoidable.”

            “I could have prevented it all,” insisted Kirk.

            “I don’t see how,” said Spock.

            “A walk in paradise…among the green grass and the flowers. I should have beamed up at the first sign of trouble,” said Kirk.

            “You are under orders to investigate this planet and this culture,” said (Y/N).

            “I also have the option to disregard those orders if I consider them overly hazardous. This isn’t that important of a mission…not worth the life of three of my men,” said Kirk sadly. “I dropped my guard for a minute because I like the smell of growing things, and now there’s three men are dead, and the ship’s in trouble.”

            “No one has ever stated that Starfleet duty was particularly safe,” said Spock. “You’ve followed the logical and correct course and done everything a commander could do.”

            Kirk nodded sadly. “Thank you, Spock.”

            “Captain,” said (Y/N), glancing to the side as they felt new emotions enter the clearing. “Our friend is back.” They nodded imperceptibly in the direction.

            “Marple, Mr. Chekov, at attention,” said Kirk. He spoke quietly. “Gentlemen, someone is behind that rock. I want them. Marple, cut around the rock to your right. Make a loud noise. Be careful. Mr. Spock, you, (L/N), and Chekov create a diversion, and make it loud.”

            “Mr. Chekov, your tricorder readings are totally inefficient!” said Spock loudly.

            “Uh, mind your business, sir!” said Chekov dramatically. “For your information, I have a very high efficiency rating!”

            “No way you do!” said (Y/N) loudly.

            “Yes, I do!” declared Chekov.

            “Ensign, I will not have you address your superiors in that tone!” ordered Spock.

            “What do you want, violins?” cried Chekov.

            As they argued and their spy listened in, Marple and Kirk circled around and caught him. Kirk punched him and prepared to fight, but instead of attacking, the man started crying.

            “I won’t hurt you,” said Kirk, realizing he was afraid. “Do you understand? I won’t hurt you.”

            “You struck me…with your hand.” He seemed surprised, as if it had never happened before.

            “Well, I won’t strike you again,” said Kirk. The landing party joined him, realizing their little diversion had done it’s job. “You’ve been following us, watching us. Why?”

            “I am the eyes of Vaal,” said the man. “He must see.”

            “Who is Vaal?” asked Kirk.

            “Vaal is Vaal,” said the man. “He is everything.”

            Strange. He seems confused on why we would ask, thought (Y/N). “Do you have a name?” they asked.

            “I am Akuta,” he responded. “I am the leader of the Feeders of Vaal.”

            “Akuta, we come in peace,” said (Y/N), smiling as they tried to keep him calm. “We would like to speak to this Vaal.” They figured they’d need to, if they were ever going to get out of this place.

            “Akuta alone speaks to Vaal,” said Akuta. “I am the eyes and voice of Vaal.”

            So Vaal is their leader, with some religious-like following. Best to treat it respectfully, thought (Y/N) as they assessed their situation as they were trained to do as a negotiator.

            “Why were you following us?” asked Spock.

            “It is Vaal’s wish,” said Akuta.

            “Captain, this is fascinating,” said Spock. He reached up, and Akuta flinched. “If you will permit me, sir.” Akuta let Spock touch the small wires woven into his hair. “Antenna.”

            “They are my ears for Vaal,” confirmed Akuta. “They were given to me in the dim time, so the people would understand his commands and obey.”

            “The people of Vaal. Are they nearby?” asked (Y/N).

            “We are close to Vaal so we may serve him,” said Akuta, nodding. “I shall take you there.” He turned and began leading them through the forest.

            “Enterprise to Captain Kirk,” said Scotty through the communicator.

            “Kirk here,” he replied as they walked.

            “Captain, something has grabbed us from the planet’s surface, and we can’t break loose,” said Scotty urgently.

            “Are the warp drives still out?” asked Kirk.

            “Aye, sir,” replied Scotty regretfully. “All we have is impulse drive.”

            “Put it on maximum,” ordered Kirk. “Full emergency circuits.”

            “They’re all on, Captain,” said Scotty.

            “Status. Are you still holding?” asked Kirk.

            “We might be able to pull out with warp drive, but without it, we’re like a fly on flypaper. Even worse, we’re starting to lose ground,” said Scotty.

            “Maintain full reverse thrust against the pull,” commanded Kirk. “Put a team on that warp drive. Get it working.”

            “It’s no good, Captain. With maximum thrust against the pull, we’ll only be able to maintain full power for sixteen hours. Then we burn up for sure,” warned Scotty.

            “Scotty, you’re my Chief Engineer. You know everything about that ship that there is to know—more than the men who designed it. If you can’t get those warp engines working…you’re fired,” said Kirk, using the threat for motivation (not actually meaning it).

            “I’ll do everything there is to do, sir. Scott out.” The communication closed.

            “Tell us about Vaal,” invited (Y/N) as they walked by Akuta.

            “All the world knows about Vaal,” said Akuta. “He, he causes the rains to fall and the rain to shine. All good comes from Vaal.”

            “Can you take us to him?” asked (Y/N), smiling. “We would like to speak to him.”

            Spock had to admit, he would be swayed if they were trying to negotiate for his trust. Their bright smile and gentle tone would have him singing like a bird with whatever information they asked of him.

            “I shall take you to him, but he will not speak to you. He speaks only to me,” said Akuta. He turned and continued on through the forest.

            “Interesting,” remarked Spock to (Y/N).

            “I wonder if Vaal will give us the answers we’re looking for,” said (Y/N). “We’ll find out soon.”

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

#logos and pathos #s'chn t'gai spock #ambassador spock #star trek spock #mister spock #spock #spock x reader #spock tos #tos spock #star trek tos #star trek the original series #star trek fanfic #star trek #star trek x reader #x reader #nb reader #x nb reader #x gn reader #gn reader

[sinisterexaggerator]

Random headcanons for my own enjoyment:

What kinds of things does Cad Bane like? What might make him happy or put a smile on his weathered face (besides credits and recognition of his accomplishments)?

***

Basking on a rock while staring at the clouds, most likely on a temperate planet. I imagine him laid out, arms behind his head, shin propped against his knee as his foot idly wags back and forth.

Top shelf whiskey. He likes the combination of the burn and the smoothness going down. Neat, no ice.

Turning off the artificial gravity in the Justifier and floating around to and fro when in deep space, just for the kark of it. Plus, it confuses his droid.

A hot cup of caf to cure a hangover.

Todo 360. He may put up airs, but he doesn't mind him looking after him. It's nice to have someone(thing) around that cares. "Mr. Bane, please don't forget to eat again today." "Yeah, yeah, get off m'back."

Playing Dejarik with Todo. Sometimes he lets him win.

Making jokes at Todo's expense just to get him all flustered on purpose. He finds it amusing.

Stargazing when planetside.

Having no destination in mind. Sometimes he just likes to wander through empty space. Maybe he tries to get lost on purpose to give himself a challenge, though it is nary possible.

Just flying in general - it's freeing. He also likes it when he can sit back and relax, making poor Todo do all the work.

Oiling and cleaning his blaster. He likes to maintain it himself. It's a meditation.

The smell of said gun oil.

Grass under his feet, or walking barefoot in the right terrain.

Rain and thunderstorms. They're peaceful, and he likes the scent of the rain.

Swimming. Like floating around without the artificial gravity, he also likes floating in water. I also imagine this takes pressure off his joints, thus allowing him to relax and eases his aches and pains.

Hair, and also fur. I imagine if he had a pet he would often stroke it more for himself than for the animal. Perhaps it's relaxing. He also likes to play with human hair.

Hand massages - if he trusts anyone enough to do it for him, that is.

A homecooked meal - something warm and filling.

A nice hat, obviously, or a little treat for himself from time to time. Usually whatever it is would be very practical, or an addition to his wardrobe or weapons stash. I see him as frugal for the most part.

Going hunting, in the traditional sense. Maybe he likes to source his own meals from time to time. I can see him on some backwater planet after a quarry that would be considered edible. Maybe he saves the pelt for a blanket.

Trinkets, knickknacks, or otherwise collecting things that are fun to roll between his fingers. Maybe he likes them because they're shiny or valuable in some way.

Pillows and soft things to lounge on in the privacy of his quarters.

Being alone just so he can breathe. Maybe he's a deep thinker sometimes, especially in his old age.

Crunching into a fresh, live insect as a little snack when "real" food is lacking, though he likes the taste.

Research. He likes to know as much as possible about his targets, for instance, before undertaking a job - or his employers, for that matter.

Maybe he checks the news in the morning just so he can gripe and complain to himself about the state of the Galaxy and everything that's wrong with it. He's a grump - complaining might even be fun for him as a way to vent his frustrations, especially to Todo. "Who died an' made Palpy boss'a all dis? Why don' dey jus' chuck his ass out'da senate building? I gotta do e'rry thing m'self?" "You are so right, Mr. Bane. They should hire you to kidnap him again!"

A pretty guy or gal; flattery; one who can't resist his charms and makes him feel good about himself, if only for a short time. Not to say he likes cheesy pickup lines, but he does like his ego to be stroked on occasion.

Telling stories and listening to himself talk when he's feeling sociable, which is rare.

Making fun of people behind their back, and just shit-talking in general.

Being the boss and being in charge of an operation. He likes to be the one calling the shots.

A nice, long, warm shower after peeling off that insulated suit. Not talking in the sonic, neither. Real water. Sometimes his scales are itchy. Nothing like sloughing off old shed.

Solving complicated math problems. Maybe it's like Sudoku for some people. It scratches an itch in his brain. Maybe he does them just for fun sometimes, I.E. he loves puzzles.

Speaking of puzzles, I bet he loved setting up the boobytraps on Black stall station, whether he ever used them or not.

Blowing things up. He's fond of explosions.

Napping.

Doing nothing at all. Sometimes, it's just nice to stare at the ceiling.

#Cad Bane #Headcanons #Cad Bane Headcanons #Star Wars #Duros #Clone Wars #Bad Batch #Book of Boba Fett #BOBF #Bounty Hunter #Bounty Hunting

[self-written-god]

T | 1543 | m/m human/faerie | fantasy elements | garden fairy, pre relationship

He hasn't been to his childhood home in a couple of years. He wanted to, but his divorce pushed that plan down his to-do list.

Now that he was free from the annoying adult stuff in his life, he decided to spend some time reminiscing. Look through old photographs, and see if his mother gave away the green bunny he won in second grade.

The house felt smaller than he remembered, or maybe he was just taller. It was still more spacious than the flat he's been renting for the past few years. Upon looking around he was relieved to not see any cobwebs or as much dust as he anticipated.

He opened the windows to let in fresh air and gazed out towards the garden. It changed a lot from what he remembered. After his father passed away, his mom started spending all her free time there, and what once was just a gazebo surrounded by a few rose bushes, turned into a labyrinth of greenery.

He expected it to be overgrown and withering, but while a bit wild and unkempt, it looked as lively as ever. Life buzzed around, and the soft wind moved the tall grasses and leaves.

The trees he didn't remember were now so old that he looked around the kitchen to check if he was in the right house.

But there was no mistaking that red stain on the ceiling from the time his uncle had tried to get his dad into winemaking.

The side door needed oiling, the sound it made upon opening grating at his teeth, but he was surprised it opened at all. Usually, it got stuck after being unused during winter.

This, and the state of the garden made him wonder if his mother had anyone taking care of it. Certainly, no one would be doing it so long after she left?

The bushes weren't trimmed and flowers escaped their designated patches, littering the stoned path. Everything felt wild but not overtly so. Like a dog that listened only to the commands it felt like obeying. Alive and free, but not feral.

He took a walk around the garden, which spanned about two-thirds of the property. But unlike the house, it felt bigger than he remembered.

It might have been due to the changes it underwent during his absence. Flowers he didn't know the names of, trees that had grown throughout the years, topiaries that lost their shapes. There was even a small artificial brook slithering between the flowerbeds and decorative grass. Once again he wondered who was maintaining it. And paying the bills. The water must have been coming from somewhere after all. 

He decided to take a closer look the next day and was about to turn back when something shiny piqued his interest. Following the shimmer with his gaze, he found a scatter of decorative gems around the flowers and leaned down to further inspect them.

Under closer scrutiny, they looked like opalescent shards, each very similar in shape. He didn't take his mom for someone with a taste for such tacky decorations. They felt out of place in her garden, but he decided to leave them alone for now. Maybe it was the gardener taking care of this place who added them.

*

Alarm bells started ringing in his head when he took a cursory look around the house and found more of the shiny tchotchkes in the guest bedroom. Million possibilities and questions started running through his head as he looked at the rumpled sheets, the overall lack of dust and the book left on the nightstand. Someone was living here.

He ran down the stairs and opened the fridge. It was dark and empty.

"What the fuck."

He took a look around instead. Spotted the dishes on the drying rack, and crumbs on the countertop. He hastily opened the breadbox to find a couple of buns left there.

Either his mother left someone in charge or there was a squatter he had to take care of. 

Dealing with people was exactly what he came here to avoid, so he wasn't thrilled about whatever, or whoever was coming.

There was a possibility that somebody saw he was coming and ran away before a confrontation could happen. How he hoped that was the case. For now, he decided to wait and keep at what he's been doing. 

The TV was still there, and so were many other expensive items, so at least he knew he wasn't dealing with a thief. Not much seemed to be moved at all, like whoever was here was sticking to the guest room, the kitchen, and of course, the garden. The rest of the house was untouched, although some cleaning must have been done now and then to keep the layers of dust at bay.

He'd been contemplating leaving a note and going out for groceries when he heard the side door creaking open. He thanked the hinges for announcing the hopefully-gardener and ran down the stairs the quietest he could.

His abrupt arrival startled the person nevertheless, causing them to drop the basket they were holding and send mushrooms rolling everywhere.

Unfazed by that, he just stared. The man, woman, the thing, shined the same way the garden shards did, like it had spread its skin everywhere. Everything about them was long. The hair, the limbs, even the ears. Behind them, dragonfly wings shimmered in the last rays of sunlight and below was a tail, its colours shifting and making him realize what he found earlier must have been scales.

Their eyes, big and insect-like, widened in recognition.

"You're James, right?"

Despite its delicate features and wearing what resembled a dress, the creature's voice sounded masculine. But his mama raised no animal, so he had to make sure before he started running his mouth.

"Uh, yeah. James, I use he/they pronouns. You?"

They smiled, a tiny thing that lit up their face.

"Iris, he/they too."

Now that he had this answered, he went further with his line of questioning. 

"Have you been living here?"

"Yes." Iris kneeled to gather the mushrooms. "I've been helping your mother for years. She lets me stay here and tend to your garden."

James got down as well to help out.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Martha showed me your photographs. You haven't changed that much."

He wondered if the toddler bath photos were also included there. The basket was filled back up, and he watched as his mother's secret gardener stood up and stretched, wings flapping behind him.

"What are you?"

Iris put the mushrooms in the sink.

"Martha's friend."

He had his back to James now and he could see everything. The bumps on his shoulder blades turned into wings, the spine between them covered in scales and expanding into a tail. The apron-dress contraption he was wearing was tied above it, but the skirt part was cut in the middle so the tail could roam freely. The tiniest move and the fabric would part, giving anyone behind a full view of his ass.

"Sorry, if I knew I had guests I'd wear something more fitting for company."

James looked up but Iris wasn't turned in his direction, focused on cleaning his forage.

"I don't think anything would make me stare less," he admitted, getting a full belly laugh in response.

"What, you don't have men this handsome back in the city?" he looked over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. James let out a surprised laugh himself. 

"The kind with wings? No. Sadly, no."

"Travesty."

A travesty indeed, he thought, watching the expanse of skin in front of him.

"I'm a forest spirit. A fairy, if you will," Iris said, finally, and it made as much sense as everything else on this day, but having any kind of explanation put his mind to rest. James settled on a kitchen chair and just watched him for a moment.

"I'm gonna stay here for some time." He wasn't sure if he should ask for permission first. It was his mother's house but Iris was the one taking care of it.

"Okay. It would be nice to have someone around again."

Eventually, James stood up and plugged in the fridge. It buzzed into life.

"Why aren't you using the fridge?"

Iris frowned at him.

"I only make enough to eat so there's no leftovers."

James made a face. He lived on leftovers most of the time, but a fairy guy probably could spend his time cooking three times a day.

"I'll go get groceries. Need anything?"

Iris mulled it over and a sudden glint in his eyes told James he was about to request something embarrassing. He reflexively rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, I can get you pads, laxatives, or adult diapers. Just say it."

The fairy just kept looking at him, unfazed.

"Some lube and condoms would be nice."

James wasn't going to blush. He was an adult, they were both adults. At least looked like ones.

"What kind?" he asked, like a reasonable adult man that he was.

The grin he got in return was in no way innocent and faerie-like. All inhuman parts took reins and Iris' gaze turned, predatory.

"Whatever you like most."

#monsterlovetober2023 #monster lover #monster romance #fantasy romance #human/monster romance #monsterfucker #monster kink #teratophillia #terato #monster boyfriend #spooktober #fairy romance #human x monster #human x fairy

[captaindibbzy]

You ever think about the miles and miles of carpet that goes from manufacture to rubbish dump with a brief stop off in a house flipping project, that must get ripped up again the moment someone actually intends to use the house to live in? Horrific bland and identical grey carpet in every room in the house without pause.

And the identical white/grey kitchen cupboards. Oceans of paint that go on walls that are just destined to be covered or removed again before anyone ever has to live with them.

Weird little strips of grass that's not worth buying a mower to maintain. Or worse, artificial grass.

Walls removed, walls replaced. Doors removed, doors replaced.

We have sterilised this building if all potential personality with a colossal waste of resources destined to be evicted the moment anyone has to actually look at this for five minutes.

#personal

[notwiselybuttoowell]

…According to moral standards of the Enlightenment, the sophistication of one’s own education and manners should be reflected in the refinement of material possessions. Maintaining a smooth and lush lawn therefore signalled virtue, since it affirmed the essential role that discipline plays in the mastering of life itself.

Beneath the lawn lies a stratification of intricate ideological and ecological problems that over time have become naturalised. In practice, a lawn is hard to maintain. It is perennially thirsty. Fertilisers and weedkillers pollute and poison. Mowers and blowers are costly, noisy and damaging to the environment. And, crucially, lawns are the grave of biodiversity. Wildlife has little to feed on and nowhere to hide.

As climate change provides dramatic proof of our unsustainable relationship with nature, artificial turf has become a popular alternative to grass in countries that now routinely experience severe droughts. However, laying green plastic carpets made of recycled car tires over already compromised ecosystems is far from the kind of solution we need. It is becoming apparent that the lawn is a manifestation of our deep disconnect with nature: the materialisation of our lack of understanding, or care, for the complex relationships woven across plants, soil and our cultural histories.

Just as during the Enlightenment art instilled our love affair with the lawn, today’s artists are determined to untangle the complex aesthetic, ideological and ecological knots that keep our passion for mown grass alive despite mounting evidence that we’d be better off without it.

Martin Roth’s installations of Persian carpets sown with grass seeds question our desire to control nature on the grounds of our cultural conceptions and, ultimately, to disregard the natural ebbs and flows that characterise organic life. In different but related ways, Amsterdam-based artist Diana Scherer grows grass roots into patterned moulds to challenge the nature/culture dichotomy. “What does the term “natural” mean in the Anthropocene?” the artist asks through her installations and photographs. Scherer’s work reveals grasses as complex organisms whose networked existence is defined by time and space in ways that often remain invisible to us.

Pointing to ecological sustainability, in 1997 Lois Weinbergerplanted a meadow of plants that grew freely among disused train tracks in Kassel, Germany. Almost two decades later, Australian artist Linda Tegg grew a meadow of native grasses and other indigenous plants outside the State Library Victoria in Melbourne. Her project attracted wildlife to an otherwise sterile, paved urban area and envisioned a landscape in which ecological and cultural balance are two sides of the same coin.

Artists are also inviting us to rethink our relationship with the lawn from the ground up by prioritising biology over aesthetics. In Revival Field Mel Chin filled a swath of land with grasses and other plants to test their ability to absorb pollutants from soil compromised by industrial activities. In a similar vein, Frances Whitehead’s Slow Cleanup project, which ran between 2008 and 2012 in Chicago, enlisted the help of plants to regenerate the polluted soil around abandoned gas stations. Petroleum and other pollutants can be absorbed by soil microbes attracted to phenols and sugars exuded by the roots of some plants. Rather than simply providing recreational spaces, Whitehead’s new urban gardens actively engaged communities to learn about plants and ecology.

Whether addressing the implicit meaning of lawn aesthetics, foregrounding the complexity of plant life, inviting us to reconsider the importance of biodiversity in our gardens, or educating us about the regenerative properties of plants, artists (often in collaboration with scientists) have sparked our curiosity and, most importantly, demonstrated that our responsibility to care for our gardens extends beyond the wellbeing of our families. The pollinators, the water, the soil, the air, and the invisible networks of fungi and bacteria that support life on this planet matter now more than ever. No garden is too small to make a difference; it’s never too late to rewild.

Thumbnail image of Linda Tegg's Grasslands, more artists are discussed in the link.

#excerpts #rewinding #gardens #didactic art #modern art #art installations #biodiversity #anti lawn #lawns #art #environment

[welcometomyfloor]

Ridonculous Race Season 2, Team: The Jocks

I finished the picture!

Also, quick sketch-ies of their swimsuits because I wanted to.

Notes on the Original and Modified Character Designs:

Brick-

I made his crew-cut fluffier because the floof keeps him looking young and not like a grown-ass man. (I also got rid of that stupid maple leaf widows peak whatever the fuck his hair line is because I fucking hate it.)

I never realized how stupid the shorts where until I saw him drawn in other styles. Dawn didn't even need to look at his aura, she just saw the shorts and said "that's some bottom shit chief". And, as you can see, I did not change it, because I love that for him.

And now, I present a "rant" about Brick's tank top: one thing people seem to forget about Brick is that he's kind-of a show boat. Like, his first confessional was spent flexing his arms and talking about how "strong and capable" he is. That being said, he's the only other TD boy to ever wear a shirt with their bathing suit (the only other one being Mike and we all know why he wears one.) And, as much as I love the theory that he's wearing a tank top because Lighting felt threatened by Brick's six-pack, I will instead posit another explanation. Brick's tank top is white, and what, may I ask, happens when white fabric gets wet? It becomes See-through, pretty much eliminating any intended point of modesty. So why the fuck not just go shirtless or wear any other fucking color? Because Brick McArthur wants to slutty in the most convoluted and indirect way possible to maintain humility and show people his tits. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Going off my previous over-analysis on the clothing choices of an animated 16 year old from show that came out 10 years ago, I kept the white tank top. :) I just changed his jean shorts to camo-trunks for the swim outfit because who would swim in fucking Levi's? Also, ixnay on the socks and boots because what the fuck where the animators doing when they did "Backstabbers Ahoy"? Like, did he just want to feel taller? It's not like he's short.

[corrected] To elaborate on the height thing, I'm pretty sure Total Drama doesn't have cannon heights for anyone but Alejandro (6ft, mentioned in "Rapa Phooey!"). On top of that, TD doesn't maintain that good of a scale throughout it, an example of this between Brick and Jo is how in "Truth or Laser Shark" Brick towers over his whole team on their way to the Obsta-Kill Course but is seen as being around the same height as Jo in other episodes and scenes. That being said, I'm going to head-cannon him as being around 6'0"-6'1" without boots. I'd imagine the heels of his boots are 1-2 inches tall so he'd been 6'1" at the shortest and 6'3" at the tallest with boots on. (Height thing to be continued in Jo's portion.)

Jo-

Jo wearing a red-toned and blue-toned gray together makes me irrationally upset. Like, girl, either pick and stick with an undertone or wear more black, it's not that hard.

The way her hair is drawn in TD makes me this it's greasy as shit, like, bitch, shampoo exists. I sketched it as being fluffier but then I was like "nah, looking like a grease rat is apart of Jo's charm".

I hate the color of her shoes, artificial and natural mint have no right to be this close to each other. Even if they're meant to be grass-stained or some shit, I still fucking hate it. Again, Jo, ma'am, you don't understand colors, just wear black.

First three points aside, I do think character design should reflect who the character is and, in my humble opinion, Jo's design (as frustrating as her color combinations and greasy hair are) does exactly that. She's a rough-around-the-edges tomboy that doesn't give a fuck, at least, that's the image she's trying to put out. So yeah, that's why I gave her main design no significant changes despite my complaints about it.

But, I did change her swimsuit because her original one is soo fucking bad and it makes me uncomfortable. Like, you're really trying to tell me that Jo wears a one piece? No, no, no. She wears boys trunks and a baggy t-shirt, don't try and tell me otherwise.

Back to the height thing. I don't know where this number comes from, but I personally head-cannon Jo as being 5'10"-5'11". Yeah, I know that would make her a tall girl but she is the tallest Revenge girl (excluding Dakotazoid for obvious reasons) and would help explain Lightning's miss-identification of Jo as a boy. I also just feel like making her tall makes sense for her character. She doesn't fit in with really any one group, let alone the girls her age, so making her stature distinct from the other girls exemplifies her estrangement from what other's consider traditionally feminine. (Of course, I don't personally agree with this. Femininity and masculinity are social constructs but Total Drama is meant to take place in modern day Canada, therefore Jo's character and design is affected by contemporary gender roles.)

One thing that bugged me in Revenge is that Jo's whistle literally only shows up around her neck for one episode for plot reasons. So, for the sake of my own sanity, I'm just gonna say it's always under neither her hoodie and overtop her undershirt. (It's not important but it's just something I wanted to establish for myself.)

Okay, so onto the shit that actually matters for this project-

Team Dynamic and Background Information for Ridonculous Race Season 2:

If you've seen my original post on these two being a RR team, know that I've made some conceptual changes since then. Still feel free to check out that post if you want, some things will stay the same. Stay tuned to figure out what will and won't change.

One thing I didn't realize was that the Flush of Shame took the contestants to different parts of the world. (I don't remember watching All Stars on cable and I definitely didn't stick around for end credits as a child, so that's my justification for not knowing about the extras.) So, it wasn't until I read "The Egypt Trip" on AO3 that I realized it was a common theory that past contestants picked up the eliminated from their flushed locations. Just know that Egypt will be mentioned in their Ridonculous Race plotline as I am now working off of the head-cannon that Brick brought Jo back to Canada after her elimination in All Stars.

As this is Ridonculous Race Season 2, Brick and Jo haven't shared the screen for three seasons (All Stars, Pahkitew and RR S1). All Stars and Pahkitew canonically take place one year after Revenge. We know RR happens after Pahkitew, but we don't know how much time has passed, so I'm just gonna have to fudge some numbers on how many years after Pahkitew this hypothetical Ridonculous Race Season 2 would take place. Shit happens pretty fast in the TD universe so let's just say it's been around 2 years since Revenge happened. Making Brick and Jo, assuming they are 16 in ROTI, around the age of 18 in RR season 2. (Again, this isn't that important for the story. It was mainly just something I personally needed to establish for my own timeline.) Just keep in mind that these two haven't seen each other in about a year. They are reuniting for the purpose of doing the race (this will be explained in the story).

I am also head-cannoning Brick and Jo as both being from Manitoba. Like Egypt, them living in the same province will be brought up during their plotline. My choice of province was also inspired by CactusPot ("hello" to Leslie if she's reading this. It's like my 3rd or 4th time I've brought her up on my blog, but I just wanted to make sure I'm giving her credit on the ideas I took from her fanfictions.)

Despite the fact that these two haven't seen each other in a year, neither Brick nor Jo have changed very much. Brick still has his military thing (thought his relationship with that and how his love of fashion now intersects with that will be discussed in the fic) and is overall still a kind-hearted and clumsy idiot. Jo is still brooding and confrontational, but, this will explored as a front Jo puts up in-order to protect herself.

If you did read my original post where I explained the potential for character development this concept provides, you know that the RR format is going to be essential for Jo's character growth. Since her and Brick are now a packaged deal, she can't get rid of him without compromising her need to dominate the competition. Along with that, the longer they stay in the race, the more her aggressive façade will fall and her true problems will be exposed and; Brick, being himself, is going to feel the need to help her through it. However, due to his time on Revenge, he also is not going to tolerate blatant disrespect or Jo's refusing to be cooperative. To overview: something's gotta give and both of these motherfuckers are as stubborn as hell.

Personal Life Head-Cannon Speed Round:

Brick-

[revised] His full name is Alexander Grant McArthur. (Brick is just a nickname he got from a Junior Army Boot Camp as a kid, shortened version of Brickhouse.)

[new] He is of Scottish, Romanian, and Turkish decent.

He has an older sister named Elizabeth (nicknamed Liberty), she lives in Toronto with her girlfriend Jordan (might be mentioned in story). He also has three little sisters and 1 little brother (I don't care about them. They just exist.)

His mother works at a nursing home (she used to be an Army Nurse before having her children) and his father is an active Army General. They're in their mid-to-late forties.

Due to both of his parents being soo busy growing up, both Brick and Liberty had to play a parent-like role for their four younger siblings. (The age gap between Brick and Liberty is much smaller than the age gap between Brick and the oldest of his younger siblings.)

[new] He probably grew up going to church (like, more than just the standard Sunday service) and watched a lot of Veggie Tales and other religious programs. I still think he went to public school and was allowed to watch secular media while at a friends' houses, it was just more of a "not in my house" kinda rule set by his parents.

He is heterosexual. (I honestly think he's just a straight guy who likes fashion and has unconventional taste in women. You can have whatever head-cannon you want about his sexuality, I don't care.)

Jo-

[revised] Her full name is Joanne Grace Snyder.

[new] She is mainly of Polish, Czech, and German decent.

Her parents are divorced and messy divorced at that. She lives with her dad, who has only dated since the divorce. Meanwhile, Jo's mom was remarried within a few years and hasn't been in regular contact with her daughter since. (Might be mentioned in story.)

She has two younger brothers who she doesn't know much about due to them being from her mother's second marriage.

Her main source of companionship is her pet pit bull, Bolder, who is actually a huge sweetheart. (Surprise, surprise, the "Take-No-Prisoners Jockette" has a pupper that people stereotype as being mean and overly aggressive.)

[new] She definitely grew up watching Adult Swim. Like, she didn't watch normal cartoons at all and skipped right to South Park and Futurama reruns.

This might just be me but I truly believe that 90% of Jo's energy comes from caffeinated drinks and pure spite (might be brought up in story).

Like Brick, I think Jo is straight. I also know that some people head-cannon her as trans, I do not (neither as mtf nor ftm). (Same disclaimer as with Brick, you can have whatever opinion you want. I just think she has anger issues and is insecure with her femininity, not a lesbian or transgender.)

What's Next for Ridonculous Race Season 2?

I will be illustrating a team picture and writing an info-post (like this one) for each of the 17 remaining teams before writing the fic. (This will give me time to pick locations, create OC's and plan out the season while providing content in the mean time.)

The next team to officially join the lineup will be two returning competitors to the Total Drama franchise. After that, they're will only be one more returning character, the rest of the 31 members of the cast (excluding Don and locals) are going to be my own original characters made for the purpose of this fic.

I have adding the tag #TDRR Season 2 to all posts currently found and to be found on this project, as well as a featured tag on my blog. (Feel free to use this tag when referring to this fanfiction and / or any original characters from it.)

Please be patient with me as I am doing this alone and have a part-time job (and, depending on if I move this summer or not, getting a full-time job and maintaining my own apartment may become a part of the equation.) So, yes, I have a laundry list of tasks to do all by myself so I just ask that you be forgiving of my productivity timeline. Thank you.

-Nessa Rose-

#TDRR Season 2 #total drama #total drama ridonculous race #tdi brick #tdi jo #jockjockjock #tdi #tdri #tdrr #my art #headcannons #long post #i blame my inking tool for how long this damn picture took me to finish #hope yall like it #hands are hard to draw #i just thought the tank top thing was funny

[captglenn-us]

Nice bass from Lake Kissimmee,Fl.

Exploring Central Florida's Top Ten Lakes: Anglers Paradise:

Central Florida is a hidden gem for bass fishing enthusiasts,offering a diverse range of the trophy-sized bass. These top ten bass lakes are bound to make your bass fishing dreams come true.

Lake Tohopekaliga: Located in Kissimmee, Fl Lake Toho is renowned for it's monster bass and is often referred to as the "Big fish Lake". The combination of abundant forage and healthy vegetation makes it is a must visit for any angler.

2. Lake Okeechobee: As Florida's biggest lake "the Big O" is a ledgendary bass fishing destination. It's extensive waterways and expansive waterways and expansive marshes provide ample opportunities for anglers to land the big ones.

3. Harris Chain of Lakes: This interconnected chain of lakes in Lake county offers excellent bass fishing year round. Lake Harris,Lake Eustis,and Lake Griffin offer good fishing for anglers who like to use artificial lures.

4. Stick Marsh/Headwaters Lake: Located in Fellsmere,Fl this unique lake features a mix of submerged vegetation and structure making it an ideal spot for trophy bass.

5. Lake Kissimmee: Known for it's scenic beauty, this lake in mostly Osceola county but can be accessed from the Polk county side. It is an anglers paradise. The abundance of hydrilla and eelgrass beds attracts bass through out the year. This lake still holds the B.A.S.S. tournament record.

6.Lake Istokpoga: (My favorite) is nestled in Highlands county this lake boasts an impressive population of bass. It's numerous cypress trees and grass beds provide excellent cover for bass fishing.

7. Lake George: Florida's second largest lake is an excellent bass fishing destination in the northeastern part of the state. The St. John's river flows through it,offering diverse fishing opportunities.

8. Lake Tarpon: Near Tampa, Lake Tarpon is a suburban favorite offering bass anglers a chance to reel in some impressive catches amidst beautiful surroundings.

9. Lake Monroe: Located near Sanford,Fl Lake Monroe offers diverse fishing opportunities,including bass. It's proximity to the St. John's river ensures a steady flow of fish.

10.Lake Apopka: This rehabilitated lake is making a comeback as a bass fishing hot spot. The restoration efforts have paid off, and it's now home to healthy populations of largemouth bass.

Central Florida's top ten bass lakes are a testament to the regions commitment to conservation and maintaining world class fisheries. So pack your gear,pick your spot,and get ready for an unforgettable bass fishing adventure in the heart of the sunshine state.

www.countryboysfishing.com

#bass fishing lures #bass fishing #bass fishing in florida #bass fishing in central florida #bait and tackle #fishing in florida #bass tackle #bass artificial baits #bass fishing gear

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 2: Holographic

From the hypothetical sequel from one of those drafts in my "to edit" pile, though I confess sometimes I think the sequel is the real story.

"A hologram," Flo spat. "I can't believe it. We tracked all the way here for a fucking hologram."

Standing sixty feet away, it was obvious. The fence that seemed so solid from where they had began their track now flickered in the foggy afternoon sunlight. The same went for the stone walls behind it. This wasn't a compound. This wasn't anyone's home. The gravel and the grass were the only real things about the vision at the top of the hill.

Flo kicked a few stones out of her way, hard.

By her side, Jules remained annoyingly unperturbed. "There must be some kind of energy source powering it," she pointed out, cocking her head to the side as she studied the holo. "Maybe if we locate it, we can use it to charge our gadgets."

Deep breath. Stop gritting your teeth. Flo forced the angry tension as far down her spine as she was able. Good, good, keep your shoulders loose. Jules meant well. Jules was the kindest person she knew. Jules wasn't doing this to test her patience.

"Maybe if we use it to charge our stuff, whoever owns it shows up and does not greet us warmly. Do you really think this thing was created as the Badland’s equivalent of a free electricity hub? It's probably a trap."

"It's really hard to trap people in a hologram."

"You know what I mean!"

Jules let out a small sigh, blew a strand of sandy blond hair out of her eyes, and looked straight at Flo. "Honey. This isn't the city. Not everything you see is out to get you."

Don't call me honey when I've forgotten how to be sweet. "Yeah. Tell that to those dustcats that chased us across the bridge."

For some reason, Jules saw this as a reason to smile. "I'm quite sure this fake house is maintained by people, not animals. And people have an important advantage: they can be reasoned with."

"Yeah, and they can also pretend to be reasonable and kind and stuff while they plot to kill you." Flo squinted at the non-compound, trying to spot any signs of life. It really fucked with her perception, the way the hologram kept flickering subtly. Over and over, she started thinking that yes, there: a hint of movement that couldn't be attributed to the wind playing with the tall grass, the beginnings of a shadow falling on the thin path. But no, each time it was merely the unsteadiness of hologram. Damn those outdated technologies.

And damn her own moodiness, too, because this was supposed to be an adventure. The first day of the rest of their new life together, away from the cities and the corporations, heroes and villains, duties and dues. Only the first day, not even past noon, and already Flo wanted to go back.

A warm, steady pressure on the back of her neck drew her out of her thoughts. Jules hummed an off-key tune, playing idly with a loose strand that had broken out of Flo's braid. Her nail grazed the unhealed cyberwar port. Flo shivered.

"We really need to find a way to charge our stuff," Jules said softly. "Especially the accumulators. It's only getting more cloudy. We can't rely on the sun too much, and we've used up so much energy while we were running from those cats."

Flo bit back a groan. "Yeah. All right, then. Let's climb the rest of the hill and yell, 'Hello!' at some crazy people who have set up an artificial mirage in the middle of nowhere. Sounds like an awesome plan."

She took a step forward, a little too sharply, shrugging Jules's touch off without meaning to. The first day of the rest of their lives, and wasn't she already fucking things up?

"Hey," Jules called after her. Flo turned her head to find her standing in the same spot, her hand still hovering in the air. She was biting her upper lip the way she always did when she was nervous. "Do you... do you regret this?"

Do you regret me?

The real question hung in the air between them, a ball of static, a bundle of shared memories. Jules had asked it before, in the same words, with the same look, the first time Flo'd had to make the very same choice. Jules or Mel. Happiness or revenge. There had been no wastelands and holograms around them that first time. Only the beige walls of a half-unpacked kitchen in their new home, the smell of Jules's cooking, the cybernetically enhanced plants glowing softly on the window sill.

Flo had known her answer then, and she knew it now.

"No. Never."

She only hoped this time she’d be able to stick to it better.

#warden's random scribbles #sapphic september 2023 #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #writeblr #post apocalypse #dystopia #sapphic #post-final girls