#implied mind control

For Edenia, it was simply a matching of wavelength when she found Thanatos as an Inkay. Thanatos was already very inquisitive and more than willing to assist her on her endeavors.

It laces like ice through his chest: this isn’t right. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.

The hall’s as familiar as it can be, wreathed in something that rolls like smoke, panels low to the floor and set into the harsh, stone-toned tiles snaking flashes of red and stark white up polished black boots and fitted uniforms. A little slice of Dromund Kaas, wherever you go.

Tyr shifts uneasily in sleep, brow twisting. 

Something’s… not right. It’s familiar… It’s not. Uniforms. A glint of sickly green-tinted light off a metal inlay. That’s…

Sparks at the back of his neck - lightning, but physical this time, and racing down his spine, splitting his lips in a silent, but roaring hiss, teeth flashing white in the slim lighting, stark against the looming black halls, sweeping black robes, the dull gray of a uniform jacket.

Wait. The grip around his arms settles in heavy. Two bodies on each side. At least two more - at least one in front, at least two or three behind. His eyes widen. His heels can’t dig against the pristine floors. The resistance is stronger in the durasteel grip tightening around his arms. His grimace turns into a snarl, draws his lips back farther over his teeth, masks for a moment the fear in a bloody kind of defiance.

“Keep him still.” He twists, writhes, tries to throw a shoulder to throw off the way he’s being all but herded, dragged along.

Restless eyes underneath closed lids. Uneasy grip adjusting around the pillows. A sharp jerk of an arm. Twist. Turn. Try to wrench away from the pain.

“Get off,” he finds his voice. A sharp stop, a gloved hand thrown squarely back at him. Heat, a sharp pain, a metallic tang floods his mouth. The restraining hands steady his shoulders from the way his head snaps with the blow and then fingers twist into his hair. The pull’s not gentle. Instinctively, he throws that snarl back across his split lips.

“Spirited this time, are you?” A faceless mask, but he can hear the threat of a smile prowling over the words like a vine cat in the jungle. Robes on this one. Black, red lacing through, long fabric sweeping down shoulders and adding to a solid silhouette still half-shadowed by the lights.

Not for much longer. From smoke and shadow to almost blinding, sterile light.

Three days. Approved for limited use.

“I said, let go of me!” His feet feel solid against the floor this time when he throws his weight back against the push of his would-be captors.

“You were busier than expected, agent. You’ve become quite the liability. Did you think we wouldn't notice your new... alliances?” It doesn’t stop them. There’s too many of them. Resistance hurts, sends fire down his spine, metal biting at the back of his neck until he nearly falters in their hold.

And once he’s down, there’s nowhere else to go.

“Stay the fuck away from me! What are you doing?!” He hates it - the desperation that starts to leak into the words. The restraints bite back at his arms when he pulls. Flared nostrils. Wide eyes. They fix on the threat of a needle glinting in the lab light.

“Settle down. It’s faster if you don’t fight it.”

“Back off! You can’t-!”

“Welcome home, Cipher Nine. Codeword-”

The mere threat is enough to lock up his muscles, the next breath stuttering in his lungs. “Don’t you-! You can't- Not again! Not again!”

It’ll light up like fire in his veins, if they-

Where is he? Where are they? Where is he? If he wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t-

“STAY AWAY-!”

Pressure. Something - another hand? - trying to hold him down. Again. Again?!

Tyr’s eyes fly open, throat aching around the incoherent rage. Void-shrouded faces and blinding lab lights block out his vision. He claws at the first shape he can settle on - technician? Overseer? Inquisitor? Merely the restraints? “I’m not going back! I’m not-!”

She can control more Jellies than that if she chooses, but honestly, that sounds like too much work. Why bother bending the wills of hundreds to form her avenging cat army when she could just take one body and nap in Scar's lap instead?

Josiah sits in the shitty cane chair in the corner of the living room and watches his unexpected guest sleep. He doesn’t know what else he’s meant to do. He couldn’t leave Cass alone. He couldn’t do anything to help. God knows he couldn’t focus on a book. So he watches.

He’s furious Cass came back. He’s relieved Cass came back. He’s terrified of what’ll happen next or what Cassius will do or what thing is going to come crashing through his door now that Cass has stumbled through it. He hates him for leaving and he hates him for returning and he’s angry. Josiah is so, so angry.

There’s not a scar on Cass’ body. Not a bruise. As far as Josiah can tell, no breaks or sprains or dislocations. It would be so much easier if there was. Then, at least, there’d be something to treat, and Josiah could tell himself a story of some horrible thing that had happened that’d forced Cass to leave and stay away for so long. 

Instead there’s just that heaving, empty, near-death body ache of someone who’s pushed their head too far from themselves. Cass will be hollow and aching for a week, maybe two. He’ll shake and phase out. He’ll struggle to walk, to eat. He’ll sleep for days and still feel exhausted. 

And then he’ll barely feel normal and do it all over again, Josiah thinks, Like a fucking junkie.

He knows that the thought isn’t fair but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a fuck. He hates Cass. He hates every part of him. He’s so fucking relieved he’s back.

There’s a part of him that wishes Cassius was more of a fitful sleeper. Maybe if he twisted in his sleep, or mumbled under his breath, or lashed out from a nightmare he’d be able to figure some of this out. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t conveniently call out the bad guys’ name in his sleep. He doesn’t twitch, or shift sore limbs. He barely breathes. He’s still. Stillness has always out of place on Cassius’ limbs. So Josiah watches.

Every few hours Cassius jerks awake, gasping for air like he’s just re-emerged from freezing water, body shaking, face pale, heart pounding so fast Josiah can see a pulse at his throat.

In those moments of gasping desperation, Josiah forgets himself. For a few seconds, everything is a year ago and Cass never left and nothing went wrong and all Josiah wants is to hold him and run a hand through his hair and tell him everything will be okay. He stops just short each time; catching himself before the fall.

And then Cass will try to speak but it comes out a jittering, stuttering mess of not-words and Josiah feels his anger surge. How dare Cassius come back when he’s like this? How dare he force Josiah to look after him again, to patch him up. They'd thought he was dead. And now he was back, worse than he'd left. Worse than Josiah had ever seen him. It makes him fucking furious.

And sometimes it's even worse. Sometimes Cass whispers a quiet, desperate “J” and Josiah’s heart stops, falls like a rock. He freezes. Terrified. Cass could name him at any second. He could take everything away from him in barely a moment, barely a word. What if all of this is some sort of trick, some sick fucking joke? 

Just his name and Cassius could have control over every part of him. All over again. He could be working for them again. Collecting. Maybe he had always been working for them. Never left.

Any second, Cassius could name him. Any second.

Josiah is terrified of him. Josiah wants to kill him. Josiah hates him.

Mistakes were made. You don't really remember what lead up to this but all you know is that you were here now and there was no escaping the demon chasing you but that wouldn't stop you from trying.

"You really think you can escape me? You a mere mortal?" The creature asks as you run faster. You don't answer as you force your legs to go faster. You had woken up in the sewer in a nice bed and now this?

Clutching Claire's shadow staff you kept running terrified of the thing chasing you. The staff wasn't responding to your emotions and that scared you. Was something wrong? You needed to call for helo but you couldn't stop and if you talked he'd hear you... so you keep running and don't think of what'll happen if your caught.

So close to the light and freedom you reach out for it only to be yanked back. You cry out and Rot holds you tightly in his grip now that he has you. He pries the shadow staff away from your grip, smirking at you in his vain attempt at a charming smile.

"A present for me dearest? You are sweet." He mocks as his hand strokes your living cheek and he signs at the soft feeling of flesh under his stone cold fingertips. You flinch and he chuckles. "You will learn to love me and my touch soon." He promises as he grabs your arm keeping a firm grip so there's no chance of escape. You yank and a low guttural growl sends you into submission staring at him with doe eyes. He chuckles pulling you close and trapping you to his chest. "Did I scare you love?" He questions eyes looking over your face still in his creepy version of a smile.

You nod afraid to be anything other than truthful and he kisses your forehead. "Good." He whispers quietly. "I'd hate to think you believe you can run off again." His grip tightens glass eyes staring into your soul. "Without punishment." He hisses out. You start to cry and squirm and he lets you for a minute before you feel something affect you. A whisper in the edge of your mind and suddenly your eyelids are heavy and you feel lighter. Your mouth moves but no words come out as he strokes your face staring at you and waiting.

You pass out against his chest and he runs his hand through your hair happy that your here before turning you to hold you princess style. You groan quietly from the spell clouding your mind and he simply chuckles as he ruffles your hair. "Good night love. You'll change your mind in the morning." He stated snickering. You to protest moving your mouth but no words come out and your to tired...