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sserpente · 3 years

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Synopsis: After his lucky escape, the Tesseract takes Loki on new adventures--but unfortunately, his journeys through space do not go unnoticed and he soon ends up on TVA’s radar. The deal is a simple one: Become a recruit and help the Time Variance Authority fight time crimes to earn your freedom again eventually or die. Loki accepts the challenge. It would not be long until he could use their own weapons against them, after all. If only that, however, were his only concern. Least of all did he expect that with his reluctant arrival at TVA, a woman would step into his life and wreak havoc in his heart. He does not know what it is about her that he seeks her presence like a bee hunting for honey--but he is determined to find out.

A/N: Gaaaah, I haven’t nearly pre-written as many chapters as I would like to have pre-written before starting to post but I just can’t wait any longer! I finally want to share this story with you guys, I am so hyped about it! So, without further ado--enjoy the first chapter of “Pastel Blue”! I hope you like it! ♥

Chapter 1

Tick Tock. That clock on the wall was driving her crazy, it had been ever since she had been assigned to this dull office. She spent most of her time in the lab, working in midst of dangerous and highly sensitive equipment and delicate devices.

Tick Tock. She was going to smash it—with a big hammer, perhaps, or even better, a jackhammer. It was ugly too. Made of wood and obviously antique, late 18th century probably. What had Mobius been thinking?

Oh yeah, him. Mobius M. Mobius, her I-am-not-your-father-but-I-will-treat-you-like-my-daughter supervisor and babysitter, thank you very much. Granted, he was old enough to be her father, taking into consideration that in her mid-twenties, there wasn’t much need for a parental figure in her life anymore.

Tick Tock. She sighed. The pile of paperwork she had been handed this morning had seemingly not shrunk by even an inch. She could swear she had not been stalling today. Breakfast, work, lunch break, work… Tick Tock. She rolled her eyes. No. This was unreasonable. Grunting a few not so decent swear words, she gathered the spreadsheets and dozens of handwritten notes, sending the calming ruffling of paper through the air and exited the room without so much as thinking about what Mobius would think about her wandering places around the TVA during work hours again.

Besides, the kitchen and common room right around the corner of her desired destination was equipped with the best coffee machine modern technology had to offer. Hot chocolate with mint and a hint of vanilla? Oh yes, please!

At this time of the day, the lab in question was deserted. Pens, pliers and other small tools lay scattered all over the metal tables as if someone had just finished their work for the day. Some of the devices in here could cause major damage if activated accidentally or even at the wrong time. Now there was the thrill, the proximity to endless possibilities.

After turning a few laps around the tables to see if anything had changed or improved at all since the last time she was here (which would be yesterday), she eventually made herself comfortable at the huge desk fully equipped with a cup holder, sockets and a fancy table lamp. The chair was the best part, enabling her to swirl around whenever she felt like she needed a refreshing spin.

She had just pulled out her burrow from her hair, having twirled it around one of the lighter strands. Her guess was the sun had bestowed its warm kisses upon her chocolate brown hair in the summer. Leaning over her papers, she got back to work.

But it was only five minutes until she heard the heavy metal door with the see-through glass panel being pushed open, followed by someone clearing their throat.

“Jess, do you have a moment?” Mobius asked. Jess tilted her head, the slightest frown accompanied by a gentle smirk decorating her face. What, no chastising for changing work locations today? She swirled around on her chair, expecting to see the man in question in his grey suit and the signature scar across his nose stare her down with arms akimbo. Instead, he was holding on to the door tensely, right next to him, seemingly out of place in the threshold, a man with raven hair and the most stunning pair of blue eyes she had ever had the pleasure to lock her gaze with. Her eyes were blue as well—Loki’s, however, seemed to shimmer green in the artificial light of the lab. She didn’t get much daylight, all the way down here.

“M?” Jess smiled. She rose, ignoring the slight trembling of her knees as she approached the two, keeping a safe distance. Her heart skipped a beat with every single step, her chest resembling a magnet pulling her towards Loki like a powerless needle.

“I’ve told you, repeatedly, to stay in your own office.” Ah, there it was.

“I have asked you, repeatedly, to re-locate my office here.” She retorted with a smug expression, eyes darting over to Loki. Mobius shook his head. “An introduction is probably redundant. Jess, this is Loki.”

He was wearing the orange prison clothes TVA had manufactured a few years back. She had to admit, orange suited him rather well, bringing out his cheekbones and the dark hair framing his flawless face. His lips were thin, his jawline to die for. She would be lying if she denied his attractiveness. Loki was a god, after all. Most prominent to his appearance, however, were the shackles around his naked wrists and the metal collar hiding most of his long neck—a chunky but firm reminder his powers were all but a myth as long as the light was blinking bright red like a traffic light screaming stop at him like a sleep-deprived police officer.

Loki lifted his chin, allowing pride and confidence to flood his aura. Out of all the people he had encountered in this strange place so far, alterations of his very own self on an old-fashioned projector included, she was by far the oddest. Jess, so he learned, wore a colourful choker around her neck as well as two bracelets of the same kind. They reminded him of sugar pearls. If he had asked her about them, she could have revealed to him that they were indeed candy necklaces—and that she wore them because Mobius had stressed there were no edible snacks allowed at work. The elegant pieces of jewellery hanging down her earlobes, however, appeared to be non-edible. Two delicate silver charms, holding what Loki identified to be moonstones. They suited her, complementing the long brown hair and the outstanding colour of her eyes. Blue—just like his.

“The God of Mischief.” She completed, the fraction of a second after he had studied her conspicuous appearance. She added a court but polite nod. “I was kind of hoping to meet you one day.” And so she was. The rumours had spread across the entire facility like wildfire, reaching even the Minutemen based in different timelines. Loki, the Norse God of Mischief, had stolen an Infinity Stone and escaped his respective timeline—a timeline reaching all the way back to 2012—creating a new branch of reality entirely. Unsupervised, he could have caused serious damage to the very fabric of time and the multiverse. He had to be stopped, had to be captured, had to be persuaded.

Mobius had expressed his interest in getting the infamous Trickster to work for him frequently. Loki was skilled, intelligent, witty, a talented fighter and most of all, one of the most capable users of magic the multiverse had to offer. His stories of victory and defeat were known to most of the TVA and yet, they resonated with her to an extent her colleagues could never fathom. Above everything Loki had had to experience—above all Loki will have had to experience—there was a thick layer of loneliness clouding his aura like a blanket of ice-cold snow. It was a suitable comparison, given his heritage.

“I didn’t just hear that.” Mobius intervened. He sized her up like an unpredictable teenager. “The God of Mischief has retired. Loki here has just agreed on working for us.”

“With you,” Loki interrupted. “Not for you. Reluctantly.” That would leave her wondering what exactly it was Mobius had offered him in return.

Jess chuckled. “Now that is a matter of opinion, trust me. I would know.” Raising an eyebrow, she gave Mobius a challenging glare.

“I need you to cover a shift.” He responded matter-of-factly. Jess’ eyebrow rose even higher. “Reese just jumped back from 1792.”

“And?”

“He almost made his personal acquaintance with the guillotine. They’re patching him up in the hospital wing right now.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jess took a step back, realising just what kind of favour, no, requirement Mobius would ask for. Reese had been in the TVA for more than three decades—he had not aged a day since his accession as a matter of fact—and his experience and excessive excitement over the Avengers had made him the perfect candidate to keep an eye on Loki while he was still not to be trusted—if he was ever going to be trusted, that was. He was the God of Mischief, after all.

“I’m on probation, remember? What makes you think I should cover for him of all people?” Loki rolled his eyes and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for excluding him from a conversation that was clearly about him.

“Call it an experiment. Prove to me that we can rely on you and I’ll end your probation.” Jess resisted the urge to shake his hand off her shoulder when he leaned forward to touch her in a fatherly manner.

“Sir, do you have a moment?” A Minuteman had appeared behind them. Jess had never quite figured out how they moved so quietly. Their shoe soles must have been made of feathers. In turn, the stilettos she usually wore to smuggle a few more inches to her height were loud and made satisfying noises ricocheting through the hallways when she walked, emitting confidence and even smugness. She needed that boost every once in a while.

Mobius nodded. As he released Jess’ shoulder and pushed past Loki—who did, much to her amusement, not move an inch for the senior manager—he pointed a finger at him. “Behave.”

The lab door fell shut behind him, drowning all noises from the outside like a soundproof recording room. Jess gaped at Loki for a second, her body once again threatening to overwhelm her with the magnetic pull she felt towards the Trickster, fascination setting her veins ablaze.

“You do not look human.” Loki suddenly said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Jess pouted.

“Excuse me? I am hoping you meant that as a compliment, I am as human as I’ll ever be.” Loki frowned, then responded with a hum.

“I take it you hop timelines for him too then, fixing the damage others have done.”

“Me? No.” Jess shook her head. “I am not a Minuteman. I wish I was, trust me, but I have got nothing to do with that, unfortunately. I work in the linguistics department, spending all day translating protocols and time recordings from all sorts of languages. Now I know what you’re thinking. With its technology, shouldn’t TVA be able to translate everything using a smart computer program?” She shrugged. “Well, technically you’re right. But there’s a bunch of languages out there that simply don’t exist either here on Earth or any other known realm. We’re only human—and a computer program is only as smart as its creator. It can’t translate a language that does not consist of words, for example, that would go against the very human comprehension of its programmer.”

“Then how do you speak them?” Loki probed.

“That’s my superpower. I don’t know why I can understand them, I just… do. And what did it get me?” She raised her hands in a dramatic motion. “Paperwork. Lots of paperwork. The only way for me to get in on the real action is this place here. Take a look at this.” Loki watched her move towards what resembled a toaster, shaped like a metal suitcase that had been left open. Smiling, she reached for a shining red apple on the table and placed it on the black surface before activating the switch. She had seen the scientists do this dozens of times before. In fact, she was sure she could handle most of the devices in here in her sleep. As the small machine hummed to life, it sent a deafening vibration through the room and then, just like someone had hit fast-forward with a remote, the apple shrivelled and rotted.

“Pretty cool, huh? It works the other way around too once it recharged. They haven’t figured out how to make it work for living beings, including humans, just yet, though. This is just a prototype anyway, the real thing is supposed to help re-animate the dead for a short amount of time to solve time crimes and shit. I swear I’d get a major in science if I lived another life. My father was one. Before he died, that is.” Jess wasn’t quite sure what made her open up to the God of Mischief and tell her about her personal family drama. She usually babbled when nervousness got the better of her but this was a new level of openness entirely. They all knew her story, after all, but apart from Mobius, they all pretended they didn’t. “You see? TVA is not all bad, even if it may seem so at first. M can be an arsehole sometimes, I know. He calls our main timeline in which everything began,” Jess continued with a dramatic voice, “the Null-Time Zone. I never figured out why and he won’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t listen, Jess.” Mobius answered, holding the door open with the Minuteman who had asked for his advice impatiently but mutely waiting for his turn again behind him.

“So?” She probed, pointing at the God of Mischief with her chin, her arms crossed. “If I am to play babysitter for a while, where am I staying? Where is Loki staying?”

“Your place.” Jess blinked, incredulousness spreading on her face like a clean swipe of butter on warm toasted bread.

“My place?”

“Your residential unit is supervised and equipped with modern alarm systems, just in case you decide to make trouble again, remember? We’ll position security outside the door in addition to that, killing two birds with one stone. Besides, it’s only temporary. Reese should be up and on his feet again in no time. The blade only grazed him before he made the jump back.”

“That does not sound reassuring!” Jess stood up straight to prove her point and yet, even compared to Mobius, she was nowhere near tall enough to make an impact with her body language at this time.

“You can take the rest of the day off as compensation. Show Loki to your unit. Make yourselves acquainted. I’ll send security to collect him in five minutes—to the second!”

~*~

She seems familiar almost… like part of me has known her forever. It was a thought which jumped into Loki’s mind and implanted itself in his head like a parasite. A mere mortal, how could there possibly be a connection between them? But it wasn’t just magnetic fascination and intrigue. Loki felt a need to keep her in his presence much like she was about to be his cherished bride. Irritation crept up the back of his neck as he followed her through the branched corridors and back to the modern lift he had had to use upon his arrival.

He would only love to know just what it was that had gotten her on probation. Abuse of machinery for her own selfish purposes, perhaps? A prank which had gone too far and done damage to the organisation? Murder? No. Despite her toughness, he could not imagine the delicate mortal standing next to him in the elevator being capable of killing anyone.

When the elevator doors slid open again, the young woman gave him an almost sheepish smile. She hardly appeared worried by having to escort him all on her own, across empty hallways which were only too inviting to overpower her and escape. Something held him back. She did, so he realised with another wave of irritation electrifying his body.

“…the most dangerous missions they usually leave to Justice Peace and Death’s Head. Ever heard of them? They are like celebrities around here.” He heard her say just then. But Loki couldn’t possibly take less interest in this so-called Time Variance Authority. All he needed to know was that it was yet another, partially human-led secret organisation imagining with the naivety of a child that they held power over him. SHIELD had made this mistake in the past and they had paid the bitter price. TVA would be no different.

“The units here are labelled with our initials and the department number. This one.” Jess pointed at the first door coming into sight to their right and quite apparently, Mobius had not made any empty promises concerning Jess’ safety and surveillance. As they turned around the corner, they were greeted by a grimly looking security officer clutching one of those small devices Loki identified as a Taser, one which of the like Darcy Lewis had once used on his brother. He kept a straight face even as Jess unlocked the residential unit using her fingerprint and entered but gave him a provocative smirk before following her.

His own chambers back on Asgard—another life entirely, so it seemed now—were a reflection of who he was with their green accents, the countless books, the tidiness and the ancient parchment rolls on his dark mahogany desk from Vanaheim. If anything, analysing her personal living space to the very last grain of dust would satisfy his need to learn just why he felt so drawn her, perhaps.

The first item of furniture he took in was the long bookshelf towering all the way up to the ceiling, every inch filled with clearly read books about as thick as his wrist. He made a note to study the titles later. A coffee table full of empty peanut shells and a new package of peanuts still sealed neatly in their plastic bag, a caramel sofa on which he found more sealed peanut bags as well as a golden cushion with cheesy pom-poms. A drawer, a TV with large speakers and another electronic gadget resembling a fridge and two separate doorways which led to a bathing area, so he presumed, and her bedroom. Even with the overall lack of more furniture in the room, Jess had somehow managed to add her very own personal touch to the sterile residential unit.

“The bathroom is to the right, you’ll find refreshments and snacks in the fridge next to the TV. My bedroom is out of bounds. I hope you enjoyed the tour.” She chuckled, grabbing a blue leather jacket from the hook on the entrance door behind them. “Big meals are eaten in the cafeteria at certain times of the day though. Mobius wants to strengthen the team spirit but the cooks never say no to a late breakfast or a midnight snack if you ask them nicely.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you feel like a prisoner in this place?” A lackey for someone else to take the credit for your hard work, he added silently. He knew two of that kind—one being his brother, the other his alleged father. Loki suppressed a begrudged growl. Just in that moment and before she had a chance to reply to his provocative remark, there was a vigorous knock on the door.

“That’ll be your cue.” Jess announced. Loki had to force himself not to turn his head and catch one last glimpse of her as the grimly looking security man escorted him back to Mobius and, other than Jess, kept pushing him forward like cattle and yet, he was convinced he could feel her curious gaze resting on his back long after he had turned back around the corner, stepped into the elevator and even when he was reluctantly reunited with Mobius near the lab where they had first picked her up.

He was speaking to the same Minuteman who had interrupted them earlier—quietly, vividly and so engrossed in the seemingly heated conversation that he noticed Loki and his new bodyguard approaching only after his exceptional hearing had picked up shreds of information he made another mental note of using against them, sooner rather than later.

“You do realise that they’ll come after us with a vengeance, right? That could be the end of TVA once and for all, you know very well what he is capable of.”

“Let that be my concern. This is just a temporary solution—one which I am very curious about.”

“But it already—“

“I realise it already happened and that’s exactly why I’m doing this. All we need to do is stop it from happening again by observing the situation intently, stitch up the loop and we’ll be safe. This isn’t my first rodeo, Dave, you of all people should know this.”

“And what about the Tesseract? Wouldn’t it be smarter if we—“

The security officer cleared his throat, announcing their arrival.

“The Tesseract,” Loki interrupted with a glare, strutting towards them like the king he was born to become and despite his shackles, “belongs to me. It called out to me, it is mine.”

“You’ll find a lot of people in this facility who will disagree with you on that. Trust me. We’ll make sure you won’t get your hands on that cube again.” Dave snorted. “I hope you like your new lodging. Now come on, mischief maker. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

~*~

A/N: And Scene! So what do you think, what do you think, what do you think? 🤯 I’m so excited to dive into this story! I literally recorded myself on my phone in the middle of the night a while back when all the ideas I had finally came together so I hope I’ll be taking you on an exciting journey with me!

Chapter 2

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frogsandcookies · 3 years

Text

Butterflies

Notes: So I got into Demonslayer recently. And naturally, I had to make a Sanders Sides au for it and write things. In this au, it’s not focusing on the main story but more the Kocho sisters. Patton is Kanao, Virgil is Shinobu, and Roman is Kanae. I changed the story a bit

Warnings: Child abuse, human trafficking, violence, mentioned character death

Part 1 / Part 2

___

(art by me)

Patton’s back was pressed against the musty wall of the decrepit house, the only thing between his skin and the wood being his tattered and worn robes. He stood on shaky legs, barely managing to stay upright due to malnourishment and lack of sleep. He flinched and held back a cry as a fist came flying towards his face, landing on his left cheek and sending him hurling towards the ground.

Patton landed with a thud, his hands taking the brunt of the force. His arms buckled and he fell onto the wooden floor, his round glasses slipping down his nose at the impact but thankfully not falling off.

He struggled to get up and tried to crawl away, only to have his arm caught by his attacker. He whimpered, and the man’s grip tightened. A fresh bruise was already forming on his face from the blow and his arm was guaranteed to get some new ones as well, courtesy of his caretaker’s bonecracking grip.

After five years of this, Patton was used to the treatment and didn’t attempt to escape as he was dragged across the dusty wooden floor, his tattered robes adding a new layer of dust to its collection. The robes were several years old and were nearly in tatters but he doubted they’d be replaced anytime soon.

What did I do to deserve this? Patton questioned internally, wincing as several sharp splitters embedded themselves into his skin as he was dragged unceremoniously across the floor boards.

Patton had been two years old at the time of his parents’ deaths and because he lacked other family, or at least other family that was willing to take him in, he had ended up in an orphanage. A year later, he and several other children had been adopted by Mr. Peters and his associates.

They had been promised a happy and safe life however that had been a facade for something more sinister. The men who had adopted them ran a human trafficking ring which prayed on orphans and children who if they disappeared, no one would notice. The first day of their adoption, all of the children had been beaten several times, the explanation provided being that they were starting their conditioning.

Patton had adapted quickly. He learned how to be quiet, how to bandage injuries, and most of all, how to be obedient. One by one, children were sold off, buyers travelling from all around the country to illegally purchase young children.

Patton had been sold to a man bearing the name Jet. He wasn’t rich but he had connections and was friends with the other caretakers, resulting in a decreased price. The day he had left the caretaker’s home was one of the worst days of his life.

Patton snapped out of his daze as he noticed the man had stopped dragging him, although his grip on Patton’s wirst didn’t loosen.

The shoddy door was slid open and light flooded into the dark room. Patton raised his head weakly, the sunlight reflecting off his cracked glasses lenses as he squinted. One of the other kids owned by Jet was passed out against the house wall, blood dripping from a but on his forehead.

Before Patton could realize what was going to happen next, he was thrown out of the doorway and into the front yard. He landed on a patch of rocky ground, a cloud of dust rising up around him as he skidded slightly before stilling.

His bruised back ached as it slammed against the hard ground and dust coated him, landing in his exposed cuts and creating a burning sensation to spread across his skin. His glasses had fallen off during the short flight, landing several feet away. The junky lenses were noticeably more cracked than before, their cheap quality not built to be able to withstand such actions. Dark brown curls fell in front of his eyes and rustled as he shifted slightly to a more comfortable position.

The door slammed shut and Patton released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

The child soon noticed several drops of liquid dripping down his face and realized it was blood. He wasn’t surprised, he had knocked his head pretty hard against the ground. Patton weakly pulled his knees closer to his chest as he continued to lay in the dirt.

I’m hungry, he thought. I haven’t eaten in...a week? I think. Yeah. Mr Jet brought us rice. Not much but it tasted like heaven. I guess when you’re starving anything tastes good.

I’m sad, Patton realized. As positive I try to stay, it never gets better. No one cares. No one ever tries to help. Everyone leaves. The only person who cared was Logan and he left me too. I wonder if he remembers me...

I feel hopeless, Patton continued, breathing shakily and bringing his knees closer to his chest, now in a fetal position. At this point death would be better. Everything hurts. At least when I’m dead no one can hurt me. And it’s not like anyone loves me. I’m a waste of space and if I was gone, the other kids could at least stop worrying about me. They’d get more food too.

Patton sighed before pushing himself up, ignoring the aching in his arms. He grabbed his glasses and pushed them onto his face, smearing the blood streaks slightly..

“Tomorrow will be better.” He whispered.

Lie. His brain replied.

___

-One month later-

Patton sat in the yard, his knees pressed to his chest as he leaned against the wooden fence. He stared off into space, zoning out until he noticed a figure blocking the sun.

He looked up, a tall unknown man leering over him, a rope held in his hands.

“You’re being sold.” A familiar voice said from behind the stranger. Jet stepped in front of Patton and said,”I can’t afford to keep feeding you and besides, I’ve grown tired of you. So Mr. Pryce is going to sell you for me.”

“Doesn’t it talk?” The stranger said, wrinkling his nose at Patton’s silence.

“Tt. No. If he does, there’s a consequence. Do you really think I want to hear some child’s incessant blabbering?” Jet said, rolling his eyes.

“Smart. People like the quiet ones. They don’t complain as much. Though I doubt this one even knows how to talk.” Mr. Pryce said.

Patton used to talk but after several sessions of punishment, he had wisely learned to be quiet. Anything that could prevent more pain was a smart path for him.

“Stand up.” Jet snapped at Patton. Patton silently stood up, raising his arms as he realized what the rope was for.

“Well trained too. We’re going to get a bundle.” The taller man said, beginning to wrap the rope around Patton’s midsection before tying it securely. He gripped the other end tightly in his hand, looping it around his palm several times.

“In case it tries to escape.” Mr. Pryce said, the statement more directed at Patton who simply blinked. He wasn’t stupid enough to escape and even if he did, there was nowhere that he could go.

“He won’t. He knows not to.” Jet said, giving Patton a creepy, momo-esque smile. Patton remained still and Jet stepped back.

“Alright. Time to go,” Mr. Pryce said, “I’ll be back with the cash as soon as I can.”

“Good.” Jet said, crossing his arms.

The man holding the rope started to walk, pulling Patton along with him. Patton walked behind him, separated by several feet so as to not get in the man’s way.

Jet didn’t bother to say goodbye and turned back to the house, stepping inside and closing the door.

I guess this is goodbye. Patton thought. It seems dumb to hope that things get better but I do hope they don’t get worse. Bye house. I’ll remember you. You were a good home...Bye Mr. Jet. I don’t think I’ll miss you but thank you. I guess… Bye everyone. I hope all of you guys escape one day.

Patton remained silent as they walked down the road, the man keeping a steady pace. He seemed to be in a hurry, no doubt eager to get over with the sale and get his cut of the money.

They soon reached town, the man leading him through the streets. No one gave them a second glance, used to seeing this sort of thing. Selling off children was fairly common and while people might not have agreed with it, they had their own business to attend to.

They were crossing a bridge when someone called out to them.

“Excuse me, do you have a minute?” A male voice said. Mr. Pryce turned around and Patton followed, glancing at the owner of the voice.

Standing behind them were two males, both in black uniforms and wearing kimonos over said uniforms. The taller one had on a kimono resembling a butterfly’s wing and a matching hair piece. The shorter male had on a white kimono along with a butterfly hairpiece that matched the others.

They resembled each other enough to be easily identified as brothers.

The taller one kneeled down in front of Patton, looking him up and down. Patton looked at him with dull eyes, not questioning the action. The other brother stood protectively behind the older, wearing a vaguely agitated expression.

“Hello there, nice to meet you.” The taller butterfly boy said, smiling softly at Patton. “My name is Roman Kocho. What’s your name?” He questioned amicably.

“He’s got no name, alright? No one ever gave him one.” Mr. Pryce said, wearing an annoyed expression as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

I do have a name. Patton thought though he stayed silent.

“What about his parents?” Roman asked, frowning.

“He ain’t got none. The little twerp’s alone.” The man sneered.

That caused irritated expressions to form on both brothers’ faces.

“Now if you want to talk to this kid, pay up!” The man said, glaring at them. The shorter of the pair shifted and looked at his brother before reaching his hand into a pocket.

“Alright then. We’ll purchase him. Would this be enough?” The younger said before tossing out a handful of bills and coins into the air. The coins made a clattering noise against the wood of the bridge.

Both Patton and Roman turned to look at the shorter who was wearing an expression of determination and anger.

The man looked at the money and during this moment of distraction, Roman snatched the other end of the rope before grabbing one of Patton’s hands. The other brother grabbed Patton’s other hand.

“Very dramatic Virgil, I approve. But are you sure about this?” Roman said, grinning as they began to run away from the scene. Patton looked up at Virgil as they continued to run, wonder sparking in his eyes.

“It’s fine.” Virgil said, smiling a bit as well.

Roman looked back to the man and yelled,”Please excuse us! Or don’t, you bastard!”

“Roman! Language!” Virgil scolded, picking up the pace as they ran through the town. Patton turned back to Roman, the wonder shining on his face.

-Later-

Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Patton sat on his knees in the middle of a room, the doors open to face the outside. His clothes were at least four times too big but they were cleaner than anything he had ever owned and he was grateful. His hair had dried quickly and was now several shades lighter than before, the dust and grime now gone. He had a butterfly clip in his hair as well, the color a light blue much like the sky.

Outside the two brothers were talking. The younger one, Virgil, was currently talking.

“Roman. Roman! Roman, this kid is hopeless!” Virgil exclaimed, glancing at Patton who stared at him blankly, not moving at all.

“Oy, don’t be like that!” Roman scolded, sending Patton a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, it just takes time. Besides, this was your idea, remember?” Roman continued, nudging Virgil.

“Okay, one, don’t tell me not to worry because you know that’s not possible. Two, we both know that you would’ve done the same thing if I hadn’t.” Virgil said, crossing his arms.

“And besides, we can’t do anything with a kid who can’t even think for himself! It’s dangerous, not to mention--” Virgil paused as he watched Roman walk over to Patton, kneeling besides the younger boy.

He pulled a coin out of his pocket and showed it to Patton.

“I know that choosing can be difficult, so how about when you’re on your own, you can decide by flipping this coin. Alright kiddo?” Roman said, smiling. He took Patton’s hand and pressed the coin into his palm, the heads side up.

After doing this, he turned to look back at Virgil.

“As long it’s given a chance, a person’s soul will open up so don’t worry.” Roman said, smiling. Virgil sighed and cracked a smile.

Roman turned back to Patton and continued. “If you fall in love with someone one day, you’ll change too kiddo.”

Patton looked down at his palm which held the coin. He wrapped his fingers around it softly before unclenching them. He hesitantly took the coin in his fingers and flipped it, the coin landing on heads. Patton blinked and seemed to think for a moment before turning to face Roman.

“My name’s Patton.” Patton whispered. Virgil looked surprised and he looked at Roman who was grinning widely.

“That’s a lovely name, Patton. I remember reading somewhere that it means ‘fighter’s town.’ That’s quite accurate for you Patton because you’re a fighter if I’ve ever seen one. Welcome to the family.” Roman said, gently pulling Patton into a hug.

___

I will be continuing this so comment if you want to be added to the taglist

#sanders sides #patton angst #patton sanders #ts patton #roman sanders #ts roman #virgil sanders #ts virgil #tw child abuse #tw human trafficking #tw violence #platonic prinxiety #familial prinxiety #frogs' demonslayer au

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lonelyghosts-stuff · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: Dead Man Walking

Word Count: 2186

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Master List

Warnings: None

The brunette who took out the guard next to here revealed herself to be Agent Maria Hill. After briefly introducing herself, she pulled out a laser cutter device and proceeded to quickly cut a large hole through the floor of the transport vehicle you all were in. When the car came to a momentary stop, the five of you slipped out through the hole and made your getaway to another vehicle on the side of the road that was awaiting you. Without hesitation, you followed them into the car, taking a seat.

youtube

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to get some semblance of an understanding of what just happened. Panic and pain dominated your mind as you began to fixate on the injury to your shoulder. You tried to think slowly and thoughtfully, trying to comprehend everything that happened, anything to distract you from the pain. It wasn’t so much of the physical pain in your shoulder that hurt, but the overwhelming confusion and panic that was bearing down on your subconscious. You began questioning yourself and your decisions.

‘Why did I do that?’

‘Why did I try to be a hero?’

‘Why didn’t I just trust that Captain America had it under control?’

‘Why am I here?’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’

‘Where are we go-’

Your train of thought was suddenly cut off as you felt the car stop. Stepping outside, you realized you were parked outside of a large dam in a forested area. You followed the others out of the car and towards a metal, barred door that led into the inside of the dam’s facility; Captain America was assisting the redhead to walk as she clearly was in more pain than you could ever relate to. You felt as if you were going through an out of body experience, feeling like you had no control over your legs as they made you follow along. It was almost as if your brain was telling you that it was too late to turn back now.

Once inside the dark, damp innards of the dam, a man started to run to you guys, alert and awaiting confirmation.

Agent Hill quickly informed the man of the redheads and your conditions. “GSW, Natasha has lost at least a pint.”

“Maybe two.” Sam added, concern lacing his voice.

“This one doesn’t appear to be too hurt, but she’s clearly very shaken.” Agent Hill gestured to you.

“Let me take them!” The man responded in a helpful, but serious tone.

Before you could respond, Agent Hill did and held the man off briefly. “She’ll want to see him first.”

Not wanting to overstep any boundaries, you sucked it up and suppressed the pain and panic and followed Agent Hill as she led Captain America, Sam, you, and the now identified Natasha, into another room. Once you stepped into the room you saw a man with dark skin and an eye patch over his left eye lying in a hospital bed.

To your surprise, given the nature of the situation this man appeared to be in, he snarked, “About damn time.”

After settling down and having people attend to yours and Natasha’s injuries, the man (revealed to be called Director Nick Fury by the man caring for your shoulder) went on to describe the numerous injuries he has as well as the fact that he faked his death using something called Tetrodotoxin B which slowed his heartbeat down to one beat per minute. You got patched up and continued to listen to what Nick Fury had to say; seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you figured you might as well commit all the way.

You were filled in on the situation (some information was clearly omitted, not to your surprise as the whole thing seemed very confidential) as well as more formally introduced to the others on a name basis. The organization S.H.I.E.L.D has been compromised as members of a terrorist organization known as HYDRA have infiltrated and gained power within. Additionally, you learned about a project called ‘Project Insight’ made in order to take out threats to society before they could occur by the means of weaponized helicarriers and DNA and psychological evaluations and algorithms used as a targeting system. Under the influence of HYDRA, the project was planned to commence soon, something that would result in the deaths of thousands upon millions of people. While the group continued to converse, discussing what to be done, you backed into the corner of the room. Your whole reality felt like it was crashing down on you and that you were sinking. If this was something that had even Captain America nervous, it must be serious.

“Y/n,” Natasha gently yet sternly said, snapping you back into focus. “Are you okay? I mean, you didn’t even really have anything to do with this.”

“I...I’m not sure. I don’t know how I could be of any use-but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go now. They-whoever they are-know my face now. If I tried to back out of this, I’d just be walking into a trap or something.” You breathed, shakily. You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you felt more and more overwhelmed with each second that passed.

“Sorry to break it to you, but even if you don’t help us directly, we wouldn’t exactly be able to just let you walk out of here anyways.” Nick Fury added. “You know too much about this whole situation, as a civilian no less, to just let you get out of here at the moment.

Your heart sank into your stomach as you felt a lump in your throat form. You hadn’t even thought about that; even if they do manage to take down HYDRA and stop the helicarriers, there’s no saying that you’ll be free to go. The gaze of the other fell hot and heavy on your skin as they awaited your response.

“Nick, we can’t just keep her here like a prisoner… And we sure as hell can’t force her to join us!” Nat abruptly shouted as she stood, wincing a moment as she grasped her shoulder.

“Well that’s too damn bad.” Nick stood, “But unfortunately for her, she’s gonna have to stick around until at least we fix this situation.”

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but you cut her off as you stood up as well. “He’s right, Ms. Romanoff. I can’t just go back out there. I’d be a sitting duck. Besides, who would I be to say no to helping the Captain America?” A strange and sudden surge of confidence filled you. You couldn’t even believe the words coming out of your own mouth and, based on the facial expressions the others made, they certainly weren’t expecting it either.

“Y/n, firstly, you can call me Natasha or Nat. Secondly, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t possibly be thinking of putting yourself at even more risk?” Natasha blurted.

“Yea, and you’re not really the ‘soldier’ type. You’d only get yourself killed. And I don’t want that.” Captain America, or Steve Rogers, added with a hint of solemnity.

“I mean, she did put up a pretty good fight on the overpass.” Sam chimed in with a snarky and mischievous smile plastered on his face. “And you better believe I’m coming to help too! Pass up an opportunity to help Captain America? I’d have to be even dumber than those HYDRA bastards.”

The room fell deathly silent for a moment as the look of deep thought took place on everyone’s faces. You fidgeted in place, nervous about what they were going to say, nervous about what would happen to you in either situation, nervous about the situation overall with the looming threat of weaponized helicarriers, and nervous about what kind of support you could even provide.

“Fine. Help if you want. But I can assure you no responsibility for anything that may or may not happen to you will fall on me.” Nick Fury finally responded, breaking the silence.

Steve looked as if he was about to object, but he instead held his tongue, turning to instead give you a grateful, yet concerned smile. Immediately, the air was filled with the sounds of planning. Nick Fury had three, large computer chips in a case that he displayed to all of you. Agent Hill went on to explain that, in order to prevent the helicarriers from being able to reign down their terror, each one would need to be infiltrated and have one of the chips inserted into the main system drive of each ship, disconnecting HYDRA’s control over them.

After the plan was set, you all had some breather time. Steve went outside for some fresh air, followed by Sam, while you remained inside to talk to Natasha.

“Hey Ms. Roma-I mean, Natasha.” You approached Natasha when she was on her own. “I was wondering if you could, maybe, just if you’re willing, to possibly… give me some pointers? I know you can’t give me the full training deal or anything with this limited time but… I want to be as useful as I can. If I’m going to get taken down, I don’t want to go down easily.”

A caring and gentle smile appeared on Natasha’s face, “Yea, sure. But before I show you anything, you have to tell me. Why are you so set on doing this? I mean, first you randomly jumped into a fight that wasn’t even your own, but now you’re going in further to infiltrate a high security compound to help take down a terrorist group. What’s your motivation?”

“I-I…” You took a deep breath, “I don’t know… I mean, I kinda do I guess? Okay, um, let me start from the beginning. Back in 2012, my whole world was shaken. I mean, it turns out, aliens and Norse gods exist apparently. And some aliens and one particular Norse god really had it out for us. I was on a trip in Stuttgart, Germany to visit an old friend of mine when he, or… well, Loki, appeared. I was in that crowd he had boxed in. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. When he commanded us to kneel, I hesitated. I didn’t want to give in to some random dictator, but then he shouted it, and I caved in.” You hesitated for a moment before continuing.

“After a little while, one, elderly man stood up, right next to me. He said he would not bow to men like Loki. I wanted to stand up too and remain strong, but I couldn’t move my legs. It’s like they were made of jelly.” As you continued recounting your experience, Natasha simply nodded, listening intently.

“That’s when Loki aimed his spear, scepter, thing, right at him. He said he was going to make an example out of him and a bright blue light began forming at the end of the scepter and then… well, and then he fired it right at the man. I was right there and I felt the power of it rushing towards us. I was too close to the man, I was going to get hit too. Right then, my life flashed before my eyes as I was paralyzed with fear. Suddenly, Captain America jumps down right in front of us, deflecting the beam right back at Loki with his shield.” Tears threatened to spill over your eyes, but you held them back to continue.

“He saved my life. Mine and many others. I was frozen there, in awe and fear at the same time. When the people started scattering, I stayed there. I felt so weak in comparison, I felt like I didn’t deserve for him to have saved me, seeing how cowardly I am. When he began fighting Loki, I suddenly snapped back into reality and ran to a safe distance from which I watched him fight. Even when Loki seemed to have the upper hand, Captain America never gave in. He fought until Iron Man showed up and together they took him down. Something changed in me that day. I resolved to never be the one who just stands to the side while others do the work, or to never be so helpless and in need of rescue. I got registered to carry a gun for self defense and I also took classes in self defense for the past year and a half. I mean, I’m no super soldier or fighter like you, but I can handle my own at least for a short time. I just feel like I need to help. Not only to make it up to Captain America, but to just do something, anything I can to help people in general.” You took a deep breath as you tried to calm your heartbeat down after revealing your story to Natasha.

“Well…” Natasha started as she placed a hand on your back, “guess we better get started on some training and practice!”

#winter soldier #avengers #captain america #fan fiction #fanfic #bucky fanfic #steve rogers #sam #falcon #falcon and the winter soldier #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe

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oneofyatosfollowers · 4 years

Text

Yatori Week Day 3- Moon/Cutting Ties

@yatoriweek2020

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401826/chapters/61709410

Fanfic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13648502/1/Yatori-Week-2020

The sun was low in the sky when Yato got the call. The three of them just got done with an early dinner, Hiyori treating Yato and Yukine to ramen. Even with their laughter cutting out, the mood was still light as Yato listened to the wish of the human on the other end. The happy air shifted as Yato's voice lost it's cheer, Hiyori and Yukine looked at him while he repeated words of understanding.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, okay that's- uh-huh. Okay," Yato crossed his arms with an unimpressed tone, "Uh-huh. I think it would be best if I come talk to you in person. Okay? Okay, give me a sec."

"What is it?" Yukine stepped forward. Covering the phone's receiver, Yato looked at the boy with a grimace.

"I'm not exactly sure, but it sounds bad."

"Bad?" Hiyori repeated, "Like an emergency?"

"No not like that," Yato kept his eyes on Yukine, "I mean like, emotionally bad? I think it's a bad relationship." He stressed certain words that had Yukine swallowing.

"Is she hurt?" Yukine asked with panic lacing his voice.

"No, no, no not like that! I think we just need to cut her ties? But I won't know until I investigate. I just don't like the idea of you-"

"-I'm coming," Yukine deadpanned, "You promised we would handle everything together from now on; no matter what it is." The sentence hung in the air for a moment before it dropped with Yato's sigh.

"Alright, kiddo," Yato gave a smile, "you want to come too, Hiyori?"

"If you don't mind," Hiyori said. Their relationship was the strongest it's ever been but if this job was treading on old wounds, she felt it would be best to be there just in case.

Yato teleported them to a poorer neighborhood, the small house in front of them dirty and chipped. There was a distinct smell in the air, one that Hiyori couldn't identify, she felt her body clench as Yato and Yukine walked up to the door like they owned the place. Knocking on the door, Yato flinched back violently when a large dog barked, scaring Hiyori.

"It's next door," Yukine said quickly, already stepping close to Yato with a glare at the neighbors. The shiki squirmed as Yato knocked again, this time harder.

After a couple seconds, and several locks unlocking, the door was pulled open. A woman peaked out, shoulder-length brown hair a bit frazzled, asking who they were. She eyed Hiyori with equal surprise until Yato made himself known.

"Did you call a god?" He asked. Her eyes got wide and she insisted they come inside, locking every lock behind them. The house was small on the inside, as clean as it could be with the lack of stuff that was in it. They followed the young woman to an empty living room, Hiyori chose to stand as Yato and Yukine knelt on the carpet across from her. She couldn't have been too much older than Hiyori was.

"I-I need your help," the woman said after clenching her fists, "I want to run away from someone? But he keeps finding me. Can you make it so he won't bother me anymore? Or-or something?" She rambled, looking pleadingly at Yato afterwards.

"We do not kill," Yukine growled at the woman, "or attack humans." He glared at the woman with deep disdain, even as Yato put a hand up to quiet him. Something dark and sinister crossed the woman's features, lacing in with her offense and fear.

"But-! He keeps- I, I mean I didn't say you had to! Just-! Scare him? Threaten him! He doesn't believe me when I do it, I thought a god would be more terrifying!" She pointed an accusing finger at Yato who was watching her silently. Hiyori came forward to place her hands on Yukine's shoulders.

It worried Hiyori that the woman was holding her stomach like she might vomit. She was practically boiling, her hands musing her hair as her eyes were wild with desperation. Nothing was happening but Yukine's denial had her shaking and on the verge of hysteria. But there wasn't a phantom in sight.

"Yato," Hiyori looked at the god with worry, but for who she didn't know. All she knew is that Yato would do something to help like he always did.

"Okay I can do that." Yato said. The room quieted as he stood, all eyes on him as he looked the woman up and down one more time. Hiyori followed as Yukine hastily got up to stand close to his master, both slightly behind him as they looked between the god and the believer.

"You," the woman swallowed, "you can?" She gave a shaky, empty smile, shuffling forward on her knees as he looked at him with desperation.

"I can," Yato reassured her in a soft but sure voice. They watched the woman release a large breath, folding in on herself and wrapping her arms around her body.

"Thank you," she hushed.

"I recommend you think about your next move," Yato's eyes flickered down then back to hers, "for both your sakes'." With that, he left the woman sniffling as he walked out of the house, Hiyori and Yukine scurrying after him. After she shut the door, Hiyori turned to see Yato and Yukine bent together in a conversation. Picking her way across the broken-glass littered yard, Hiyori walked up to them.

"What are you going to do? You're not actually going after him, are you?" Hiyori asked them.

"No," Yato glanced quickly at Yukine then back to her, "I'll look to see if he's a bigger problem after I handle this."

"We're cutting ties." Yukine said.

"Cutting ties?" Something in Hiyori jolted at the idea. It was something she's seen them do on a couple occasions. Something they were able to do fairly nonchalantly to patch up a person's heart.

But recently the idea pleaded Hiyori. It made her eyes hot and a voice tighten around her heart. He did it so effortlessly, and the effects were immediate. It didn't take much time from Hiyori to put two and two together, the man- whatever he did- clearly forced the woman to make a difficult choice. She still didn't want to hurt him, just to free herself from a painful burden.

"Is that for the best?" Hiyori wondered out loud as Yato teleported them to her neighborhood. The place was like a safe-haven compared to where the young woman with brown hair now stayed huddled alone.

"Yes," Yato said, "I know you couldn't see it but their ties are becoming tainted with negative emotions. Think of the old lady with the bracelet, except in this case the curse is coming from a person, not a bracelet. And the toll is on her emotional state, not on her physical health. Due to the fact that it's a curse, and a tie, it's best to wait until nighttime and take care of it while she's sleeping."

"Just like we did with the old lady," Yukine added.

"How come?" Hiyori asked.

"Because it's easier for me to see ties at night," Yato revealed, "the curse will show itself at night just like last time, but the actual string of fate is illuminated by the moon." He spoke in that ancient way he did when he discussed his abilities and things of the far shore. Hiyori hummed and nodded. It made sense, and made her feel much better, but something still tugged at her as they approached her front door.

"It's okay, Hiyori." Yato stepped forward, stopping her as she opened the door. Looking back, a genuine smile was back on his face and his voice was carefree. It washed away her worries like they were nothing.

"This really is for the best, the curse had very little hope of getting better. Plus, it's totally painless! She'll feel a lot better in no time at all!" Yato tried to reassure her.

"Besides, she's better off without a guy like that in her life anyway," Yukine crosses his arms, "much better." The boys agreed with each other, missing the way Hiyori faltered. Her eyes lingered on Yato as he praised his son before even doing anything, giving out hugs and noogies with a smile. She quickly plastered on a smile when Yato turned his grin to her. It was hard to stay upset when it came to him.

"We'll see you after it's done!" Yato said.

"Tomorrow. Not immediately after, in the middle of the night." Yukine spoke to Yato who just rolled his eyes. Being tugged away by his kid, Yato waved goodbye to Hiyori which she returned. She shut the door quietly behind her, walking into her home with a weight in her chest.

Something nagged in the back of Hiyori's mind well into the night. She tossed and turned under the covers, the crescent moon in the sky still bright enough to have a glowing hue while she glared at it. Cutting ties wasn't a big of a deal to her until she found out the consequences of the aftermath, especially when it came to her loved ones.

Hiyori shot out of bed. "Loved ones?" Of course she cared deeply about her far-shore friends, Yato and Yukine in particular, but that term came out of nowhere. She felt herself blush, there was one person in particular that would be affected by cutting her ties. One person that came to mind when she thought about her loved ones. Despite her warm face, something cold settled in her stomach and bubbled up to her throat.

For a moment, Hiyori found herself mourning the fact she can no longer leave her body, something she's been doing a lot nowadays. Thankfully, a certain god promised her happiness and had the ability to teleport. One text and a phone call later, Yato was standing in the middle of her room. The light from the moon shadowing his front so that it blended in with his hair, blue eyes gleaming like stars up close.

"Hiyori?" Yato stepped towards her, "Is something wrong?" He sounded worried, and after her eyes adjusted his face portrayed exactly that. She breathed a sigh of relief at the- familiar- sight of him, smiling at the sight of his matching pajamas.

"I am, um." Hiyori suddenly felt incredibly silly. This was all because she was worrying herself over something Yato only brought up one time. There was really no reason to call him here over the fact that she was somehow hurting her own feelings. Still, she wanted to know.

"Did you cut her ties?" Hiyori turned to sit on the edge of her bed, watching Yato stop shifting from foot to foot.

"Ah, yes," Yato sat criss-cross in front of her with a sigh, "The curse was hardly anything, we purified it and Yukine said a nice little spell to help her calm down and heal. Once the sun comes up the broken ties will dissipate completely along with any remnants of the negative emotions." He stared at her the whole time he talked. Her own eyes looking at her hands in her lap.

"And," Hiyori whispered to the moon, "her memories?" She felt him tense, swallowing as he took a moment to respond.

"Gone," his voice raw, "she might get a sense of presque vu, but nothing lasting. They were never that strong to begin with." Yato took in her troubled face, her distressed boy language, with sick comfort. Guilt wheeled up in him and he shook it off. Now was not the time to be selfish, but he couldn't think of what to say. They were both humans and it's his job to make humans happy.

"What about ours?" Hiyori exclaimed.

"What do you mean?"

"Our ties," Hiyori leaned towards him, "what about our ties? Are they strong?" She pressed her lips together as she looked at him with desperation. Yato's eyes grew wide, she was so close he could smell her shampoo. He had to fight getting lost in her brown eyes, deep and full of raw emotion.

"They're strong," Yato breathed in his daze, "so strong." He felt that was because of her, because ties gods made with humans weren't nearly as strong as the other way around. Because she was fierce and resilient and she wanted to be with him. He wanted to be with her too, the idea of cutting any of her ties left a sour taste in his mouth. Unless it was for her protection, her happiness.

"It's tough to cut strong bonds and the damage is much more painful," Yato continued. This human made him want to confess everything to her, things that weren't for humans to know, things that are selfish for him to say. She looked so beautiful, the moonlight illuminated her smooth skin and flushed cheeks, pink like her lips. He already felt himself leaning forward. Hiyori stayed still, her troubles not completely soothed.

"I don't want you to cut them," Hiyori said.

"I know."

"You won't, right?"

"That I can't say."

"But I don't want it!" Hiyori burst, "I don't care what happens, when I said I want to be with you forever I meant it! Till the end, no matter what, okay?" It was hard to stay quiet with her feelings bubbling up like they were. He was right in front of her, so close she could smell him in her human form and feel the warmth radiating off him.

"Hiyori," He breathed. Yato's cheeks were as bright as hers were but she couldn't find it in her stop.

"Please," she hiccuped to hold in tears, "I won't be happy unless I'm with you I-I love you." Hiyori's confession was whispered to the moon. She didn't quite process her words, instead focusing on blinking away tears that never came. It wasn't until her fingers hit something, until Yato's hand's were in her lap and wrapping around her own, that it hit her. Hiyori's head whipped up to gape at Yato. There was a gentle, soft smile gracing his features as he watched his fingers lace with her own.

"I love you too," Yato said simply, like it was the easiest, most obvious thing in the world and they said to each other every day. He looked up at her with a small laugh, clearly happy but still unsure. The red of her face spread to her neck as she tried to force something out only to come out with nothing.

"I won't cut our ties, Hiyori," Yato promised as he shifted to his knees. The way he squeezed her hand grounded her, Hiyori calmed down as Yato pressed his forehead to hers. Even with embarrassment flooding her, she felt a giddy smile growing across her lips. Yato loved her too!

"I want to make them stronger," she wished.

"Oh yeah?" Yato drawled. He raised off his heels and pressed against her forehead, making her giggle as she fell back onto her bed.

"Yato, wait!" Hiyori gasped as he crawled on top of her. Placing his hands on either side of her, Yato looked down at her with his cat-like grin.

"You know kissing would really help strengthen our relationship," Yato said as he leaned down. Smiling, Hiyori tilted her lips up to meet his and let him strengthen their bond again and again. She didn't see the string- a vibrant red in the moonlight- being woven stronger than ever before.

#noragami #noragami fanfic #noragami fanfiction #yatori #yatori week #yatori week 2020 #yato #Hiyori Iki #iki hiyori #hiyori #yukine #yatogami

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plantvenuss · 4 years

Text

Avenging what we lost- [ Steve Rogers x Black! reader ] - 3

[A/N - To be added to the taglist just ask! 🍒💕! the summary may be the same for a few chapters or it might change!]

For previous chapters: Part one, and here for Part two

WARNINGS : None

Summary: Following the release of the readers hospitalization, the reader tries to find out why and who was behind what happened on the 21st of September, 2013. But will they you after the right person? and what happens when it becomes harder than you thought it would be?

1 year ago....

February, 8th 2013.

“You gonna be okay?” Melina, the woman who had been your caretaker for less than a year asked, rubbing your back as the yellow taxi parallel parked in front of you.

The streets were busy, the sound of honking, buzzing cars filled your ears. You breathed in the scent of DC and savored it, the smell of fresh air and soft winter breeze hitting a spot you’d never thought you’d feel again.

Everything felt new, your mind felt fresh- it felt like it somehow expanded and you were open to more knowledge that you could’ve never reached before. You named it the “post-accident high.” because you thought that everyone who had experienced such severe “accidents.” felt this way. That the trauma was so severe that it shook the core of the soul. And the body not knowing how to react to such drastic changes, made changes of its own to adapt: renewing the mind

You nodded as the driver loaded your things in the trunk. ”Although I don’t really remember some things.” you commented jokingly, which made the both of you giggle.

You turned to her, the necklace she had given you on your birthday swinging with the movement of your body. You gave her a soft smile and placed your hand on top of her forearm.

“Are you?” You asked back, becoming serious, and she gave you a stunned look, her eyebrows furrowing, eyes looking around as if you had been talking to someone else before she gave an answer.

She opened her mouth but stopped, wrapping her arms around herself as the whisk cold air blew again. She smiled a sad smile, watching the cars drive by as she continued to stand there with her arms wrapped around herself.

She nodded after a while of silence, like she was appreciating the scene in front of her- the kind of nod you give when you’re satisfied with everything.

“Yeah. I am.”

Finally, she turned and placed her hand on top of yours and exhaled, a short breath enough for it to make the air that escaped her lips turn to fog and dissolve into the air.

You placed your hands on top of hers, the feeling that this moment would only last a short second sitting in the pit of the both of your stomachs.

Although you were not brave enough to admit it, you were going to miss parts you could remember about her. You were going to miss how she put up with your bullshit all of the time, how she would always come in with a brighter smile even after you yelled at her and told her to fuck off countless times. You never meant for all of that, the yelling, the cursing the temper tantrums, it was just that she reminded you so much of your brother, Marcus.

So well put together, so patient and tolerant with all of your shit, you were almost starting to believe that Marcus’ soul was put into the the body of this woman to taunt you.

And you couldn’t help but get angry. It wasn’t his fault, none of what happened that day was anybody’s fault but your own, and you had come to terms with that not too long ago. But you couldn’t dismiss the anger you felt. How could he just leave you here all alone like this? with scars etched all over your body, it disgusted you. You were supposed to protect each other, you were supposed to protect him.

But your pride was too high to admit that to her, how much she reminded you of your brother, even with all of the 3rd degree burns that were patched up and hidden away so the rest of the world couldn’t see you, or hear your stories.

“How about this.” You began, the idea of letting her go so soon breaking your heart. Not now, not when you had such a connection with her.

Slipping your hand away from hers you turned, the taxi driver impatiently seated in his car, waiting for you to say your goodbyes.

“how about we grab a coffee one of these days?” you asked, gulping, waiting to be disappointed.

She smiled brighter, her smile almost bringing the sun out, she nodded and you limped toward the taxi with her help, you said your goodbye’s and the taxi sped off, merging into the Washington traffic. But when you turned to look around, even after sitting in a queue of red lights and honking cars, she was still there, waiting.

June 20th, 2014.

Today....

“Any updates on the missing files?” Steve asked as he crouched over Natasha’s desk, she shook her head, no, as she continued to type at an impeccable speed, her eyes managing to keep up with whatever her fingers were feeding the computer with.

“I’m trying to hack their feed, trying to see if anyone was in that file room before you.”

Steve nodded, fixing his posture and standing up right, grabbing one of the files he took from the base off of Natasha’s desk, skimming through it.

“Good. Let me know if you find anything.” turning on his heels Natasha’s words stopped him from moving any further, “I’m in.” she said, and Steve turned around faster than he’s ever done before.

“Whoever this is,” Natasha spoke after a while of static buzzed through the computers speakers. “meddled with the feed, so I can’t identify the face. Only the times they were in and out.”

Steve huffed, dropping the file back on top of the neat stack of files, Natasha turned towards him with her lips pressed tightly, the feeling of failure seeping into her veins.

“We need to talk.”

He peered over his shoulder and scoffed as the door clicked behind Steve, kicking his feet off of his desk he stood, in one swift motion, his back still turned on Steve.

Steve took this as a sign to move forward, he placed his shield on the couch that was placed in the center of the room and moved his way towards Fury’s desk, he took Fury’s silence as a notion to speak but he chose to remain silent.

“What is it, Rogers?” He asked, his dominant voice bouncing off of the walls. Steve exhaled through his nose, his stubbornness getting the best of him, he swayed on his feet before his eyes flicked up to meet the back of Fury’s head.

“We have missing files and you don’t seem to care.” He croaked out, Fury’s body suddenly turned to this accusation, almost like he jumped at the idea to argue.

“Did I say I didn’t care?” He bounced back, finally meeting Steve’s eyes for the first time since he stepped into the room.

“You’re not exactly acting like you do.” Steve sassed back, if there was ever a time to be sassy, the time was now. Those files were important to S.H.I.E.L.D and now that they’ve been stolen, without any possible trace, the existence of S.H.I.E.L.D is at stake.

“So you’ve come to my office, to tell me how I should and shouldn’t give a damn?”

“No-” Steve pursed his lips into a tight line and tucked his two thumbs into the hilt of his uniform. He turned his head towards fury, his blue eyes boring a sense of urgency behind them, he knows he could catch whoever took the files, hell he wanted to catch whoever did this, all he wanted was for Fury to feel the same.

“All I’m asking is for you to help, send some agents, send a tech team- just send someone. It’s just me and Romanoff down there, and as much as I’d like to believe we can get it done on our own this time,” Steve raised his shoulders and Fury gave him a look of understanding and defeat after a moment.

It marked hour 3 when the loading bar successfully chimed, your head shot up from your desk and you rubbed your cold hands together. Wasting no time your hands moved towards the mouse and you began navigating what you could get your hands on.

“Come on, gimme something.” You urged on, your leg jittering up and down in anticipation. It took you months of planning to get your hands on these things, and you were hoping all of your good work was not put in for nothing.

Just when your hope was beginning to crack you came across a double file, which of course had its sets of passwords because it was S.H.I.E.L.D, but you had no problem getting past those, when you did your hands froze.

You pressed harder against the mouse, the beds of your fingers crushing the material under it, you grit your teeth, your heart beating faster than ever as you read the file over and over again just to make sure you were reading it correctly.

‘S.H.I.E.L.D INITIATIVE, PROJECT SEP 21ST-13 D.C’

‘There must’ve been some kind of file error, surely this couldn’t have been under the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D?’ you thought as you continued to hover the mouse over the file, your fingers shaking with anticipation. You shouldn’t feel this excited about knowing who was behind the attack against your family, but you can’t help it, you’ve finally been able to pin a face to this, after months. And that face was S.H.I.E.L.D.S.

Pulling yourself together you opened the file and the screen glitched for a second, the darkest black you’ve ever seen over-taking your screen as the sound of the computer increased to a piercing shriek, but it was over quicker then you could react. The screen lit up again, and your computer was bombarded with notes, weapon blueprints and potential “attack” dates, all written in some sort of code that you’d never come across before.

You did everything you could, tried to figure out the coding, tried to figure out any hidden features the weapons had, hell you even tried to figure out who triggered the launch for the bomb to go off in the first place, but after around half an hour, the file shut down and re-set its password.

You had figured out, a short while after you had failed to retrieve any useful information that would bring you to a lead, that whoever coded this file must have been the expert among experts, because they were able to hide the fact that after a specific time, you were locked out of each file, depending on the files importance.

Deciding to wrap it up for a day you pinned the hard-drive to your desktop when something caught your eye. This file stood out the most, instead of a mini folder as the image for the file itself it was a small, square bar with extremely small green coding against it, you thought nothing of it, deciding that it was probably a file about getting through HYDRA’S computer system, you decided to leave it alone, until your eyes came across the files name.

‘PROJEKT: [Y / N] [L / N] - 29203 SERUM # 5′

Turns out the night was going to be longer than you thought.

#steve rogers x black!reader #x black reader #avengers x black!reader #captain america x black! reader #captain america #black widow #nick fury #chapter 3 #Chris Evans

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 9

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read Previous chapters on AO3

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Chapter 9 - On Whose Side

Even with his feet firmly on the ground, Jefferson felt less than confident. They still had a long way to go, and a light flickering on inside the house made his appeal to Belle all the more urgent. He supposed he should thank their good luck that at least the grounds at the rear of the house appeared empty, though he was under no illusion that appearances could be more than deceptive. However, ensured of their safety, at least for a few moments more, he turned his attention back to the diminutive young woman he was trying to save.

“Lower yourself down,” he instructed, his voice barely above an urgent hiss. “Wrap your arms and legs around the supporting post and slide down to me.” He saw the fear in her even before she spoke and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“I… I can’t,” she stammered, but he shook his head, becoming aware that he’d been counting in his head, anticipating the moment when whomever it was had turned on the light inside the house would reach them.

“You have to. You’ve done the hardest part. This bit is easy.”

She shook her head again, and he pressed his lips into a flat line, controlling his increasing worry, and as encouragingly as he could, coaxed,, “All you have to do is slip over the edge and find the post with your legs first, then your arms once you have lowered yourself. You can do this.”

He saw the moment that she grabbed her resolve, and moved to position himself by the post where he would be best able to fulfill his promise to catch her, mindful, of course, of her injured hands.

“That’s it,” he crooned as she began to hang off the side of the awning by her elbows. “Just a little further.”

With almost a whimper, she practically dropped onto the pole, and he moved to catch her, thinking she would miss and fall, but somehow she managed to slam into the support and wrap her arms and legs around it so tightly that she didn’t move at all lower from the spot to which she had propelled herself.

“Ease up,” he murmured to her, not quite able to reach. “Let yourself slide lower. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Lips still pursed, he watched as, inch by inch, she slipped closer to the ground; closer to his reach. As soon as he was able he put a hand to her back, as much to assure her of his presence as anything else, and after only a few more, agonizingly slow, downward inches, she twisted her body as she let go with her arms, launching herself at him.

Anyone with lesser reflexes would have been toppled by the way she suddenly slammed into his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and shoulders, but some part of Jefferson had half expected such a thing. He sensed she was nearing the edge of what she could take in one night, and they still had to get out of the compound. He wrapped his arms around her back and for a moment held her tightly, reassuring, “You did good… great.”

Then, he lowered her to the ground and gently prized her grasp from him, though he kept contact with her.

She surprised him, asking in a shaky voice, “What now?”

“Now we get the hell out of here,” he told her, shooting her as boyish of a grin as he could muster under the circumstances. Then he pointed to the trees that lined the open expanse of the grounds. “We cross to the shadows of those trees, and follow to the wall. Stay low, and stay by me.”

She nodded and moved slightly closer as he hooked one arm through hers, and he saw her cringe as he pulled the gun from where he’d holstered it.

“Just in case,” he pledged, hoping he wasn’t making an empty promise. “Ready?”

As she nodded, he let go of her arm and slipped his own across her back to guide her as they crossed the back lawn. He tried to shorten his strides and still maintain a good speed, especially when they crossed the less shadowed patch of grass where light from the upstairs windows spilled out into the night. They reached the shelter of the trees without incident, and though he breathed a sigh of relief, he knew they had to keep moving. It wouldn’t take long for the two men who had been shooting at them to find their way down - unless of course they’d run into trouble on the way. The thought should have brought him some measure of comfort, but with the way everything had gone down since he learned of the takedown, he had little faith in gaining help from the authorities.

He led Belle deeper into the darkness beneath the trees, heading for where he knew the house was surrounded by high walls, but where he also knew there was an electronic gate for which - as a member of this ‘criminal elite’ - he had a key.

“Let’s hope they haven’t cut the power,” he muttered under his breath.

Belle turned to frown at him. “To what?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “Not far to go now.”

He could tell she was tiring fast, and after everything she’d been through that evening he was surprised that she wasn’t an utter wreck. He thought she was probably running on adrenaline, and that once she came down from that, then there would be problems. He had to get her somewhere safe, and fast.

The thought made him look down at his phone as he pulled it from his pocket and flicked to the secure email account. Damn it, Gold! he thought vehemently as his message went unanswered. Fine then, he answered himself. We’ll just have to do this the hard way.

Jefferson’s luck held as far as the gate was concerned, but not so much with what lay beyond. He heard the voices even as he pressed the fob against the gate sensor and winced as the whir and click seemed inordinately loud in the surrounding hush. He tugged the gate free, and wedged a nearby stone between the gate and the post to keep it from closing fully as he turned to Belle and tucked her into the dip made between the brick gatepost and the wall.

“Stay here,” he told her urgently. “Stay quiet… I’m not sure which side those guys out there are on, so…” he frowned to himself as he tugged a second gun out of a pocket and pulled back the slide. He had no clue whether Belle had even handled a weapon before, or whether she’d be able to use it with her hands in their current state, but he wasn’t about to leave her defenseless while he dealt with whatever awaited them outside. “...if anyone other than me comes through that gate… don’t wait, just squeeze the trigger.”

He handed the gun down to her, flicking off the safety as he did, and watched as she looked at it with near revulsion, but she nodded, and cradled it between her trembling hands.

“I’ll be back,” he told her softly, and nodding added, “You’re doing great, Belle.” Then, without another word, he turned, pulled open the gate and slipped through.

The narrow street beyond was poorly lit, but he wasn’t about to let that lull him into a false sense of security, though it did offer him a measure of protection as he took in the scene. There were two men, both wearing vests that identified them as FBI, which was promising, but didn’t actually mean anything worth Jack as far as he was concerned. The FBI were supposed to have had his back; supposed to have given him a thirty minute heads up on the takedown, and it hadn’t happened, so he could only assume that there were two separate factions within the Bureau.

The question was, on whose side were these two agents?

Moving carefully so that he stayed in the shadows, and could circle the car, parked barely six strides away, to approach the men as if he’d come around from another direction entirely, Jefferson took a deep breath and then straightening up, put a jaunty spring in his step as he moved to deliberately catch their attention, keeping the hood of the car between himself and the others.

It wasn’t long before one of them spotted him, and flashed - far too quickly to be seen in the darkness - an open wallet in his direction.

“Move on,” he instructed, gesturing behind him with a thumb to indicate further along the street. “This is none of your concern.”

“You know what the issue is with this world?” Jefferson said, as though answering the agent’s instruction, though the words were the first half of an identification protocol that he and Rab had agreed upon.

“Are you deaf?” the agent answered, “I said move on!”

Jefferson sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Well then, I guess that answers that question.” Then more clearly and with another sigh. “Sorry, fellas… no can d—”

Before he could even finish his insincere apology, one of the two agents rushed at him across the front of the car, but Jefferson was ready for him, and caught his arm as he got close, using the man’s forward momentum to launch him toward a garage wall on the opposite side of the street. He heard the rush of air burst from the man’s lungs as he hit hard, but Jefferson didn’t wait to see if he were winded enough to stay put. Instead, with a half roll, half slide, he propelled himself across the hood of the car toward the man’s partner, lashing out with a foot as the second agent’s arm began to rise, no doubt holding a weapon.

The kick brought a hiss of pain from the man, and the satisfying clatter of a weapon landing some way in the distance. He didn’t wait, however, for his adversary to recover, but slid off the hood of the Taurus, getting his feet under him to rush the man before he could fully recover.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other agent gather himself and begin moving away from the wall to head in his direction, even as he ducked a wild swing from the man in front of him. He saw a dark shape in the hands of the first of his assailants, a weapon… a gun? Swearing softly at the necessity of using his nearby opponent as protection, and counting on the man’s vest or his partners fast reflexes, to save the agent from lasting harm, Jefferson grabbed at the mans arm as he took another wild swing, catching it by the wrist, twisting it around behind, as he moved to use the man as a shield.

He heard the too familiar crack of the leads as they were propelled from the tazer, and managed to push the man away from himself and into the trajectory of the leads. He winced as the agent jerked like a man with Saint Vitus’ dance before he toppled to the ground.

“Oops,” he offered, with an almost apologetic shrug before rushing the agent that had just disabled his partner by accident.

The fight was brief; fast and dirty, he didn’t have time for finesse. The downed agent wouldn’t stay down for long and he had to take them both out. He drove his shoulder into the man’s partner, into his stomach and used the force of his rush to carry him back against the wall again, knocking the wind from the agent before straightening up to press his forearm across the the man’s throat and hold him in place as his struggles weakened. At first Jefferson had to endure a few painful but ineffectual punches, and even to twist aside against a knee raised toward his groin, but as consciousness began to elude the man he held in place the attempts grew less frequent, until the agent finally became a heavy weight as he slumped against Jefferson.

“See…” he said as he pulled both men to sit at the base of the wall, and after searching the pockets of the unconscious agent for the car keys, found some zip ties which he fastened around their wrists even though he hated those thing. “…that issue I was talking about…?” he went on, answering his own question. “Everyone wants an easy solution to their problems, and everyone refuses to make things easy.” The men groaned almost simultaneously beginning to wake. “Tell that to Rab when you next see him, and tell him also that this is where I disappear.”

#rumbelle #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson #hurt/comfort #implied torture #implied drug use #implied noncon #violence #gun violence #drama/romance #UST #eventual smut #first time #angst

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years

Text

Save Me: Chapter 1 - What It Should Be (prologue)

~Hey Guys! This is the first chapter in ‘Save Me’. It tells you about Molly Chambler’s background and sets up her story with Negan and the Saviours who we will encounter in chapter 3. Hope you enjoy and check my profile for updates on chapter posts! ~

Molly strolls through Alexandria remembering the first time their group saw the place. She feels the warm Summer breeze zip through her hair and smiles gently at those passing her by. Glancing over at her sister, Tara, she recalls how lucky she is to have found her family.

Alexandria. The place we had called home for almost just over a year now.

I remember the feeling of walking through those gates with everyone and immediately knowing that this was the place that I always knew we would get to.

It has always felt like a safe haven for us and some days when I don't have to leave the compound, it's as though we have left all of the horror and death of the outside world behind.

It was like a mini town with its rows of white washed houses each with a small porch out front lining the walls on either side and in the middle were a dozen apple and pear trees on a large oval patch of grass.

Everyone was always busy working and before Rick, Deanna made a great leader.

She was the type of woman who could work you out just by looking at you.

Of course, she made Rick and Michonne enforcement officers, Daryl a hunter, Maggie was on crops and Glenn, Rosita, Tara and I were all runners.

As much as I liked being inside of the compound, I relished the ability to provide for others.

It took a while to get used to how things were run at Alexandria but I knew that I would always be grateful to Aaron for allowing us to become part of their community which felt like the start of a new world.

I was worried for Carol though, she had been through so much before we came to Alexandria and somehow the ease to which she slipped right into the role of a housewife made me worry even more.

As much as I wanted to relax and trust the people of this community, I felt strangely unease as the place was practically perfect, too perfect.

I think the only person that made me feel like I wasn't alone in my thoughts was Daryl.

Daryl's the type of person who is hard to read a lot of the time and it takes a while for them to trust you, but deep down they are the sweetest most caring person alive.

I could tell that while everyone in our group had settled into Alexandria, Daryl still felt uneasy and unwelcome.

He would sit on Carol's porch and we would talk about everything but mostly about how we felt like it was too good to be true and that with everything that we had all gone through that trusting in this place too quickly would kill us all.

Daryl was right and not long after we arrived at Alexandria, everything went to shit.

The same happened again, and it started with a group who wanted what we had.

They called themselves 'wolves' and could be identified by a W on their forehead which was carved into their skin.

Rick thought that reuniting with Morgan meant that he was the same person back when it all started, but Morgan had changed.

He was against killing people, which I didn't wholly agree with but I understood why.

If we keep killing people, then how can we honestly build a fair new civilisation if our actions betray us, but where we were at that point, there was no option but to protect what was ours or they would take it and most likely kill us all.

The Wolves drove a truck right into one of our walls and many infiltrated peoples houses and killed them.

But, with our weapons we managed to take out them all, leaving the leader, Owen, alive.

Morgan and Carol kept Owen in their basement to try to reason with him. He escaped and when he got out he saved Denise and got bit in the process.

It was that moment when I realised that I was wrong to assume that they were all bad, but when you've lost so much already it becomes hard to trust again.

Even after the wall was rebuilt walkers became more and more frequent around the walls, maybe it was because of the increase in civilians or the noise of people working but whatever was the cause it seemed to attract them from near and far.

Eventually the shear amount of walkers became overwhelming and the volume of them managed to pull down the watchtower in the east of the compound and it fell straight through the side wall, allowing all of the walkers into Alexandria.

Many got bit and turned which added fuel to the problem and sadly we lost Deanna that night.

We saw families being torn apart, literally, and a state of panic glided through the compound.

Losing Deanna was hard for all of us but it was especially hard on her son, Spencer.

Spencer was the type of guy who never really faced his problems but blamed everyone else for them, and when Deanna was alive he blamed her for his father Reg's death alongside his brother Aiden.

When Deanna died, this blame passed on to Rick.

Spencer always felt like because he was Deanna's last son, he should have been the next leader but honestly he never had the ability or the respect that Rick had from all of us and he was always bitter about that.

When Rick became the new leader, it felt as though goodness had came back into our lives as we all felt comforted by the fact that a member of our family now led us.

Walking through Alexandria, seeing the new wall go up and reinforcements being made, made me feel so incredibly grateful to live in such a protected place with my family by my side.

Just knowing that I had my sister Tara and my best friends Maggie and Daryl alive and safe with me especially in a single compound, was enough to fill me with warmth and hope for the future.

Seeing Tara happy with her girlfriend Denise gave me the much needed boost to settle down and plant roots here as it now felt like a permanent home for us.

Although, I will always tease Tara about how long it took her to ask Denise out considering how much time they spent together.

Looking over at Tara and Denise on their porch reminded me of how blessed I am to had found her again when I joined Rick's group.

In many ways, Alexandria reminded me a lot of Woodbury.

The rows of houses, the grass, the orchards and the tall steel walls to keep out walkers.

I think that's why it took me so long to trust Alexandria, because of what Woodbury turned into.

Molly suddenly remembers the governor and her sisters at Woodbury.

Three years ago, Lilly was still alive. Lilly was the eldest of the four of us, then me, then Tara and Meghan was the youngest, she was ten when she died.

We had came across Woodbury soon after our dad had passed due to cancer.

I had to put him down.

Even though we lost dad, I was always grateful that mom died before the world fell because she was weaker than the rest of us.

When we met the governor, there was something about him that made me immediately wary of him, but because of Lilly's infatuation with him we decided to trust him.

He told us that he would protect us and that we had to help him fight another group who threatened Woodbury's safety, and because I feared for my sisters I believed him.

Lilly and Tara were happy to stay at Woodbury, but I wanted to delve deeper and find out why I had such a bad feeling about him.

I remember breaking into his office and unlocking the door and finding jars stacked up on each other with walker heads inside.

This was something he never wanted anyone to see and it was clear to see why, he was insane.

The governor caught me and gave me a choice, leave Woodbury or he would kill my sisters in front of me.

To protect them I left, but I wouldn't rest until the governor was dead and my sisters would be safe.

After walking for days I came across an abandoned prison, that was where Daryl found me and brought me to Rick to be questioned.

Looking at Rick, I knew that this man was different from the governor and told them everything that I knew about Woodbury.

Of course it took a while for everyone to trust me and me to trust them but they were a family which was more than the people of Woodbury ever were.

The day that the governor came to the prison, I saw Lilly and Tara with him. I could tell they finally realised what the governor was like by the looks on my sisters faces through the wire fence.

Michonne held me back when I tried to reach them and Rick tried to reason with the governor.

He killed Maggie's father, Herschel and that was it. The war had begun and Tara and Lilly realised what a monster he was.

Rick was already in a bad place since his wife Lori died and so he didn't stop me from going over that fence.

As soon as I got to Tara I dragged her away from the governor's forces and asked where Lilly was.

Lilly had gone after the governor and Rick.

After Michonne had stabbed the governor for trying to kill Rick, Lilly had ended the governor with a shot to the chest.

We heard the gunshot and ran towards the sound until we spotted Lilly collapsed.

Once we got to her, she was lying on the grass outside the prison next to the governor's body with her chest bleeding out.

The governor had stabbed her before she shot him. She kept repeating that she almost made it.

Tara was the one that put her down and we just held each other and sobbed while the world stood still until Michonne found us and we all left the prison as a group.

Since then, Tara and I vowed to always protect each other and our family until we die.

No matter what comes or where we go, we will always remain true to our group.

That feeling of security and community that I felt back then, is what I felt when we first came to Alexandria.

That feeling of hope is what I want to hold onto to and build for the future so that Alexandria will still stand in a hundred years from now as the first community to bring back civilisation.

Carl always talks about the vision for the future of the community and never wavered from that wish even through all the doubt that came from others across the years and it was then when Rick swore to make it happen come hell or high water.

Little did we know that soon we would come face to face with both hell and high water.

#negan #twd #the walking dead #tara chambler #rick grimes #negan x you #smut #romance #slow build #slowburn #fanfic #fanfiction #comics #sexy #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan

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chicagocityfclanspromoblog · 4 years

Photo

Helena Stone → Alexandra Daddario → Hunter

→ Basic Information

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: November 1st

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Religion: Methodist

Like Helena? Consider taking her in our Hunter Giveaway Event! We will be waiving applications para samples, personalities and histories requirements for all canon hunters. Just send in the first and last name of the hunter(s) you would like to the main.

→ Her Personality

(one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Hunter - Focused on Orphan and Shadow Vampires

Scars: None

Tattoos: Questioning

Two Likes: Loyalty and Trivia Nights

Two Dislikes: Recklessness and Magic

Two Fears: Falling in love with a supernatural and Arranged Marriages

Two Hobbies: Falconry and Roaming the Underground

Three Positive Traits: Dauntlessness, Strong-Minded, Witty

Three Negative Traits: Stubborn, Judgmental, Savage

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Connor Stone (Father): Helena and Connor’s relationship has had its ups and downs throughout the years, but overall, they have what Helena believes to be one of the strongest parental bonds of the entire Stone family. Connor will do whatever it takes to protect Helena and the members of his family. They both love, support and look after each other.

Valerie Stone (Mother): Valerie is a human that married into their family for love but quickly divorced her father, Connor when she caught a real glimpse of a hunter’s life. Valerie was always willing to do whatever it takes to support herself and her daughter, even if it meant working numerous double shifts as at Lily’s to keep their household running smoothly. However, Connor eventually won their custody battle and Helena hasn’t seen her mother since; it’s been about 17 years.

Thea Stone (Step Mother): It had been only Connor and Helena for a long time before Thea popped into their bubble. Helena doesn’t hate Thea but she also doesn’t need a mother or a caregiver. She appreciates that Helena doesn’t try to force herself onto her and respects her space but at times she wishes Thea would.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Colin Colt (Interested/Crush): Helena genuinely likes Colin. She has fucked up a lot in terms of articulating her attraction but refuses to give up. Colin is 12 years older than her but Thea is also 12 years younger than her father.

Megan Colt (Entertainment): Helena identifies as bisexual but has yet to tell her family or friends. She isn’t looking for a serious or long term relationship with a woman. Which works out fine for Megan. Megan was a safe option and is willing to keep what they do hidden. Lately, Helena has been unsure, wondering if Megan plans on using her for blackmail and information down the line.

Aleksander Mazur (Unsure): Alexsander has been nothing but friendly and flirty with her but Helena is sure that he knows she is a hunter. Alexsander isn’t one of her targets and she has decided to entertain him for the time being. She is however surprised that she has taken a liking to him and looks forward to spending time Underground. Deep down she is terrorized by her attraction to him but is unable to stop herself from wanting more.

Platonic Connections:

James Stone (Cousin): James is an inattentive joke of a leader. He doesn’t see what they’re doing and Helena and Rebecca are better off for it. She knows Rebecca is somewhat reluctant to leave her brothers, but she knows all they’ll do is hold them back.

Paul Stone (Cousin): Paul is too bad on his own, but he’s perpetuating the Stone’s misogyny. Marrying himself to some pretty hunter girl to go pump out babies and run his own city. He stays out of her way, which is all she wants.

Mary Ametheon nee Stone (Aunt): Helena isn’t close with her aunt and often tries to stay away from her. She’s always watching and observing and Helena has a feeling she’d figure out what she is doing in the dark of the night.

Rebecca Stone (Cousin/Best Friend): Helena and Rebecca were raised together and are undeniably best friends forever. Their unwavering friendship is known by the entire family, and though the two have gone through rough patches, they always come through it in the end with their bond even stronger than ever. Secretly, the two have been plotting to gather their own money and set out on their own. They know they’re destined to be married off and forced into another family, so they’re finding their own way out. Helena and Rebecca have begun taking hits, as well as selling on the black market to fund their get away.

Alice Colt (Friend): Alice is as ruthless as she is. One of the most capable and deadly Colts, she can hunt almost as well as Helena. They secretly met Underground before embarking on hunts together to keep James off of their trail.

Raven Jenkins (Friend): Raven seems too cute and nice to be a hunter but with Jenkins and Anderson blood in her, she has proven herself worthy of Helena’s time. She has learned a lot from Raven and in turn has taught Raven a thing or two about vampires. They are constantly sharing information and new finds.

Marquis Anderson (Friend): Alice and Raven introduced Helena to Marquis. Just like Raven, Marquis is very skilled but doesn’t seem to have the passion or drive for hunting. Alice uses him as muscle and Helena has started to also.

Dan Prior (Curious): Helena has caught Dan staring at her a few times while she was Underground. Randomly, she noticed him from across the street one night above ground, staring at her. Helena doesn’t fear him but is curious as to who he is and what he wants. She found out his name was Dan from one of the bartenders at Cryptic Nightclub and that he is one of Getta’s. Helena hasn’t shared this information with anyone yet and wants to see how close she can get to him.

Hostile Connections:

D.W. Colt (Hate): Helena was devastated when she found out Colin was getting married to a human. She did everything she could to shake the human off of him but nothing worked. Seeing how D.W treats Colin and hearing doubts from Alice has added fuel to Helena’s fire. She’s plotting out ways to get rid of D.W.

Averill Sookram (Dislike): Averill ruined Helena’s pursuit of a shadow vampire. Her intelligence didn’t come back correct, therefore she didn’t know the shadow vampire was fucking a powerful warlock. Helena isn’t ashamed that she got her ass handed to her because she survived and lived to tell her tale.

Simon Brodeur (Possible Target): She and Becca killed the nimble’s mate a few months back for a client’s pelt collection. He’s trying to get an investigation into her death launched, which may be bad for her. She’s contemplating killing him to make the problem disappear.

Pets:

None

→ History (paragraph(s) on background) → The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Alexandra Daddario [1][2][3][4]

#alexandra daddario #open roleplay #hunter rpg #city rpg #new rpg

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chicagocityofclans · 4 years

Photo

Helena Stone → Alexandra Daddario → Hunter

→ Basic Information

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: November 1st

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Religion: Methodist

→ Her Personality

(one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Hunter - Focused on Orphan and Shadow Vampires

Scars: None

Tattoos: Questioning

Two Likes: Loyalty and Trivia Nights

Two Dislikes: Recklessness and Magic

Two Fears: Falling in love with a supernatural and Arranged Marriages

Two Hobbies: Falconry and Roaming the Underground

Three Positive Traits: Dauntlessness, Strong-Minded, Witty

Three Negative Traits: Stubborn, Judgmental, Savage

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Valerie Stone (Mother): Valerie is a human that married into their family for love but quickly divorced her father, Connor when she caught a real glimpse of a hunter's life. Valerie was always willing to do whatever it takes to support herself and her daughter, even if it meant working numerous double shifts as at Lily’s to keep their household running smoothly. However, Connor eventually won their custody battle and Helena hasn’t seen her mother since; it's been about 17 years.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Platonic Connections:

Hostile Connections:

Pets:

None

→ History (paragraph(s) on background) → The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Alexandra Daddario [1][2][3][4]

#Helena Stone #Alexandra Daddario #Open #OF #OHU #OFHU #OHUS

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wazjunz · 4 years

Text

Cult of the Mongoose (Chapter 1)

“Dude�� is he talking to his sandwich!?”

Raymond stole a glance at the boy beside him. Sam was small, even for a Year Eight. He had pale, sandy, nothing-coloured hair, mousey features, bony shoulders and tiny arms. And yes. As the older kid across the walkway has just pointed out, it did look a lot like he was whispering to his lunch. The older boy and his friend were only a few metres away, sitting on a bench on the other side of the concrete walkway connecting the Art department from English, but Sam seemed not to hear the comment. The small boy continued chewing; his cheese sandwich held close to his face. He chewed with his lips slightly open, and kept his eyes locked firmly on the sandwich, his eyebrows would raise and fall as he chewed.

“Oh my God, I think he is,” the older boy continued.

His friend shook his head and laughed. Raymond felt very vulnerable, dreading that the older boys would turn their attention to him next. Raymond put a lot of effort into being invisible, and he suddenly felt more exposed than usual. After waiting long enough that it wouldn’t seem like he had been scared off by the older boys’ comments, Raymond mumbled a goodbye to Sam and walked quickly away. Sam didn’t look up from his sandwich.

Raymond checked his watch. Damn it. He’d planned on spending longer with Sam before moving on. Sam sat alone in a quieter area, and was happy with almost no conversation, so Raymond could kill almost 20 minutes with Sam sometimes before he got too nervous and moved on. There was still forty minutes before Lunch ended. Most days Raymond could secure his favourite spot in the library before anyone else got there. There was a small corner with a low armchair, hidden between shelves, where he could hide out completely alone for an entire recess or lunch if he got there first, but today was a Wednesday. On Wednesdays before lunch he had Drama. Drama was in a demountable way out the back of the school and as far from the library as you could get. Today, by the time he got to his safe chair a couple of Year Tens were crammed into it, giggling and poking one-another while their Group slumped on the floor in the surrounding aisles, smirking knowingly, rolling their eyes at one another.

As he passed the Library doors Raymond considered checking his spot again, but he couldn’t risk it. If the Group hadn’t moved on they might spot him lurking again and call him a stalker, or worse, a Nigel. As in ‘Nigel-no friends’. Raymond put his head down and walked quickly through the crowd in the main quadrangle, past the snaking canteen lines, and out a side gate towards the basketball courts. Raymond didn’t like going near the basketball courts. That was where the second most intimidating group of Year Nines hung out. It was their Area. All the Groups had an Area. The basketball court was the sporty/ tough Year Nine’s Area. They were the biggest Group in Year Nine. The group consisted of two Sub-Groups. The sporty kids (identified more by their running shoes and Adidas track pants than actual sporting ability) and the tough kids, who liked to cultivate an air of delinquency, without ever actually getting into much trouble. The more affluent sporty kids enjoyed the danger and protection of the tougher sub-group, while the tougher sub-group used the prestige of the sporty kids to keep them from being identified with the socially undesirable ‘Dero’ group- who got in actual trouble.

Raymond was equally terrified by both basketball court Sub-Groups, so before he got too close to the courts he jogged down a slight hill to two demountables on the edge of the oval. The eroded, grassless patch of dirt between the demountables was one of his emergency, temporary back up havens when his spot in the library got taken. This was Gumbum’s Area.

Gumbum’s real name wasn’t Gumbum, but it was what everyone called him. Gumbum was bigger and louder than the most confident Year 12, but not for any reason that anyone could figure out. He was shaped like a giant bowling pin, and moved like a T-rex. He had a meaty butt and legs, but stood with a slouch that made his shoulders look disproportionately small. The entire Year thought he was an idiot, and not without justification. Gumbum found himself very funny, and cracked jokes and laughed loudly at himself during class. Often the jokes were references to some wierd Japanese animation series that no one else had seen. Every single one fell flat. Gumbum was permanently unfazed though, and either didn’t mind or didn’t notice that his company was seen as social suicide by his entire year group. Without friends his own age, Gumbum simply found like-minded weirdos from younger Years, and cavorted with them joyously in this strange Area between the demountables. Gumbum was a semi-safe ally for Raymond for two reasons. Firstly, because most other Year Nines gave him a wide berth, Raymond was usualy safe from bumping into anyone scary while in Gumbum’s proximity. Secondly, Gumbum was so big and loud, and unashamedly dorky, that Raymond felt that if he was spotted with him he might look vaguely normal in comparison.

Raymond heard Gumbum laughing like an excitable fog horn before he rounded the corner of the first demountable. The man-sized 14-year-old had two Year Seven boys clinging onto each of his legs, and one on each arm, while a weasly-looking Year 8 threw popcorn into his open, guffawing mouth. It was unclear what exactly the game was or how it hard started, but it was exactly the sort of thing Gumbum and his tiny friends seemed to be doing all the time. Raymond leaned awkwardly against the side of the demountable out of the way of the action. He tried not to smile, but the sight was pretty great. Gumbum had stumbled under the weight of the tiny Year Sevens and had one smooshed up agianst the demoutnable wall squealing, while the rest still clung on giddily. The Year Eight continued hocking handfuls of popcorn into Gumbum’s snapping jaws. Suddenly Gumbum threw his head back, spraying popcorn kernels into the air. “THIS. ENDS. NOOOOOOW!”, he yelled to the sky. Year sevens were suddenly flying off his thrashing limbs, crashing to the rocky ground, gasping with pain and laughter. Gumbum turned and saw Raymond standing awkwardly near the corner of the demountable.

“Oh, Hello Raymond,” he said.

Gumbum made a point of knowing the name of every Year Nine, and a good smattering of the older and younger students’ names. He would use everyone’s names like they were close friends, much to the discomfort of his peers, who didn’t like the implication that they were on speaking terms with the most obvious weirdo in the year. Another reason Raymond sometimes sought out Gumbum in a pinch was that, just like Sam, hanging out with Gumbum meant Raymond barely had to say a word, although (very much unlike Sam) this was because Gumbum never shut up. Gumbum had figured out at some point that Raymond watched Dragon Ball Z, so whenever they crossed paths he would launch quickly into long monologues about hypothetical fights between characters and intricate plot points he had important thoughts about. Having a loud conversation outing him as a Dragon Ball Z watching type was not something that appealed to Raymond at all in the hallways and classrooms generally, but in the near-panic of a library-less lunch time, and in the relative safety between the demountables next to the oval it was a trusty way to eat up some time. Today even that fallback was ruined though. Gumbum had barely started ramping up when a basketball slammed into the wall above their heads and flumped to the dirt near his feet. Gumbum jumped to pick it up and walked out from between the buildings to hand it to an exercise flushed Year nine girl chasing it down the hill.

“Here you go Kellie!,” he said.

Raymond looked at his feet and slid his back along the wall, trying to blend in to the shadows as the girl approached, but he saw her see him, her eyes flicking momentarily between him and Gumbum. She took the ball quickly, forcing a polite smile from the corners of her mouth, before sprinting back up the hill to her friends.

“See you Kellie!” Gumbum called after her.

Spooked, Raymond half raised his hand to Gumbum in a tiny wave, and mumbled “OK, seeya man,” before striding quickly back toward the main school buildings.

Raymond checked his watch again. Only ten minutes had passed since he left Sam. He still had 30 minutes to kill. There was nowhere to sit and hide on his own without it being obvious he was alone, but he could only do so many laps of the school without that looking weird. He had one more option, but it wasn’t one he liked. He took the longest path he could to stairwell near the Art block, walking as slowly as possible without it looking like he was walking slower than a non-weird person would walk.

The entire school, (with the exception a couple of newer buildings) was carpeted in old frayed astroturf coloured carpet. The strairway leading up to the Art classrooms had the added affect of being speckled with droplets of old paint and stomped bits of clay that couldn’t be cleaned out, making it look like a slime clogged waterfall. The stairway changed directions half-way up, where a wobbly old table lived in the corner next to a window peeling with year’s old red and black paint. The table was Ryan’s spot. The corridor at the top of the stairwell was claimed by another large group of Year Nines, somewhere around the middle of the social ladder, running a distant third behind the Populars and the Sport/Tough Groups. Ryan was probably technically part of that group, but his arrogance and moodiness meant that as often as not he put himself in self-imposed, attention seeking exile on the wobbly desk in the stairwell, rather than deigning to hang out with lower life forms. This set up worked well enough for Raymond as Ryan’s volatile moods kept others away, and made him ill-disposed to making jokes and small talk, which Raymond’s panic stricken brain struggled to keep up with.

The other good thing about Ryan was his MP3 player. He had the only one in school. It was white with a greenish backlight and circular touch dial that let you scroll through songs, and the songs were good. Sometimes, rarely, Ryan would let Raymond take an ear bud and listen to half a song. Once he let him have both headphones and scroll through the tracks himself. Ryan was smart and he had cool and interesting taste in music. Unfortunately he was also pretty much one hundred percent not a nice person. Ryan had something mean to say about everyone and everything. He wore a permanent scowl and was always picking at his fingernails like he was punishing them for something. He was also incredibly moody, and could switch from having an interesting conversation to insulting your mum without warning or reason. Raymond found the fact that Ryan already acted like he hated him oddly comforting, but spending more than a few minutes with Ryan always felt odd and uncomfortable. Raymond approached Ryan and leaned on the window with his shoulder. Ryan looked up and pulled out one of his earbuds.

“What.” He said.

“Nah, nothing,” Raymond mumbled. “What you listening to?” Ryan sighed dramatically.

“The Swerves” he said.

“Oh cool. I haven’t heard of them.” Raymond replied.

“Why did you say they’re cool then?”

“Oh, I dunno. The name sounds cool…”

“Uh-huh.”

Ryan stared at Raymond with his ice blue eyes, eyebrows raised.

“How many songs can you get on there?,” Raymond asked.

Ryan rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling.

“Maybe like 50. I dunno, depends on the songs.”

“Cool. That’s pretty cool. That’s like three or four full albums.”

“Yep. I guess.”

Another awkward silence ensued.

“Is that all?” Ryan said abruptlky. “Like, did you want something or did you just come up here to stand there like a weirdo and tell me you like my MP3 player?”

“Oh, yeah. No. Anyway. Seeya.” Raymond replied, starting to move away back down the stairs.

“Ok. bye. Die in fire,” Ryan said in pretend cheerfulness to Raymonds back.

Ryan said that to everyone. It was like his stand in for any normal phrase he didn’t feel like saying, and he seemed to drop it almost without realizing. Once he said it to a teacher, almost certainly by accident, but he got in big trouble. By Ryan standards the conversation had been a mild success, but it hadn’t taken much time. Raymond checked his watch again. With 15 long minutes still to kill and no other loner allies to visit Raymond did the only thing he could think of and headed back towards the library.

Recently Raymond had started to feel as though he could sense when his Spot was taken and when it was free. As he neared the library he got a hopeful feeling in his stomach and tentatively started to believe that he might get 15 minutes of safe time in his spot with a pile of books before the bell rang for fifth period. He dodged a screaming group of Year Sevens and slipped through the heavy swinging door into the relative quiet. The library was split into three levels. The ground floor was shaped like a big square with the middle cut out. To Raymond’s right and behind him was the borrowing counter, and staff area. The rest of the square was ringed with clumps of desks with four or five chairs grouped around them, and the walls were covered with laminated posters that looked like they’d gone up when she school was built 30 years before. A few groups of students sat at some of the tables. This area was brightly lit by fluorescent lights. In the centre of this square the floor dropped downa couple of metres, making a sort of sunken area ringed by large steps that could double as a sort of in door ampitheatre for classes or presentations. Technically book-wise this was the Young Adult section. One low shelf in the sunken square had a jumble of crappy graphic novels and busted up surfing magazines thrown in it. Most of them were terrible old Asterix comics, and similar things, so Raymond rarely ventured down to look. In two corners those round stand-up spinning book stands held piles of thin paperback novels in bright colours. No one really seemed to ever read or borrow any of them, but Raymond had learned from the giggles and not-very-covert whispers of groups of students that two or three has nudity or sex scenes in them. It was easy to tell which ones they were because they were very beat up. Especially a yellow one, that apparently had a part about two guys doing something in it, and bore the scars of being dropped into the laps of unsuspecting young male victims, and subsequently hurled across the room while their friends cackled.

Raymond’s spot was in the ‘mezzanine’, which was the same shape as the ground floor, but up a flight of stairs in front of the borrowing desk, and with a balcony looking down over the Young Adult section. The mezzanine was where most of the books were. Dirty skylights gave the whole area an otherworldly, hazy, gloaming glow. Two rows of massive beige metal shelves ran down each side of the square. Raymond had the sections highlighted in his brain. Right at the top of the stairs was Sport (gross), which morphed into science (meh), and turned into religion (shrug) in the back right corner. Turning down the back side of the square took you through Art and Design (cool), then history (rad), and finally, Raymond’s favourite, the weird stuff.

Raymond’s spot was a low, cushioned armchair with heavy black metal legs covered in squeaky off-white vinyl, tucked in an alcove, and nearly completely out of view until you walked right past it. The chair faced directly onto Raymond’s favourite shelf. Althought he would often grab a couple of massive art and history books (he especially liked the gigantic Encycolpedia of Modern Military Uniforms), the vast majority of his attention always went to the metre-and-a-half bottom shelf across from his Spot. An old yellow sticker on the shelf at this section read “Paranormal/ unexplained/ horror.” It was a treasure trove of off-putting descrioptions, heart-pounding eyewitness accounts and creepy illustrations. Fifty minutes outside of the library was an age, but a lunchtime spent in his Spot seemed to Raymond like a fleeting moment. He always pulled out way more books that he had time to look through in one sitting. He’d stack the big ones near his feet, balance the smallest on the arms of the chair, and pack the hefty medium sixed hard covers next to his thighs. He loved the books for their stories and ideas and pictures, and their ability to transport him to another world, and raise the hairs on the back of his neck, but he also loved the feel of them. The weight in his hand. The way the thick plastic p[rotecting the covers gave a moved under his fingers as he swung the tomes in his hand down the aisle. The books were his real allies.

About half way up the steps to the mezzanine, a glimpsed view under the shelves showed Raymond that his feeling was correct. The entire floor seemed deserted now. He jogged the last few steps and set off towards his spot. With 15 minutes left he could still flick through a couple of his favourite books. He was rounding the Religion corner, and mentally shortlisting which books he would pull down, when he nearly walked into a Year Ten coming the other way. The boy was tall, a little pudgy, and smiling over his shoulder as he joked with a Year ten girl walking just behind him. Both he and Raymond stopped abruptly to avoid a collision. Raymond froze, and the tall boy did a short double take as he recognised that he recongised Raymond.

“Oh, hey Ray,” the Year Ten said.

“Hey man,” Raymond replied, not knowing where to look.

“How you been dude? You sort of disappeared on us hey.”

Raymond knew he needed to reply quickly but his brain was doing what it always did in this kind of situation. He felt like his mind had turned into spaghetti, and his thoughts were going too slow and too fast at once.

The tall boy was Cameron. He and Raymond were best friends from the start of primary school until the middle of Year 6, when Raymond moved away for a few years. When he came back to his home town, Raymonds mum had decided that it was time to make up for a mistake she felt she had made in sending him to school too early, when he was just a little kid. Raymond was smart, but he had alwaus been a little immature and social stilted compared to others in his year, so when his family moved back to town after being away, Raymonds mum told him he would be doing Year 9 again. Raymond didn’t kick up a stink. Raymond never did that. He did worry that people who remembered him from primary school would be at this high school though. There were only two big public high schools in town, and he felt sick about having to explain to people who recognized him from primary school why he was now in the shameful category of people who had to repeat a year. Cameron’s family lived just around the corner from Raymond’s family home, which they’d moved back to when they came back to town. He’d caught up with Cameron once before school went back (Raymond’s mum had called Cameron’s and set it up without telling Raymond). It was a little awkward at first, but Raymond had always liked Cameron, and even found his mum and his older brother Kim easier to talk to than most people. That day they ate Cameron’s mum’s ‘Specialty’ pizza (plain wraps with melted cheese and tomato paste) in front of the TV and pretty soon things seemed more or less like they’d been years ago. Raymond didn’t tell Cameron he was repeating. On the first day of school Cameron and his brother came out of their house as Raymond was walking past. It was about a half hour walk to school. Raymond was nervous but Cameron and Kim were both super funny and smart. The brothers talked about big ideas and local urban legends and people they knew. Cameron almost never stopped talking, Kim chimed in when he could with a dark joke or a witty comment, and Raymond followed along not saying much, but grinning and laughing along.

When they got to the school gates (massive spiked things swung open from a tall barbed-wire-topped fence) Raymond hesitiated. Cameron grabbed the handle of Raymond’s school bag and playfully tugged it as he strode towards his group’s Area.

“Come on man, you can sit with us,” he said.

The cracks started to show even on that first day though. Cameron’s group were really nice, and interesting. They were basically six boys who sat on the big steps outside Food Tech, but they had a sort of mirror group across from them which was mostly girls, and the two sort of orbited one another, coming together and drifting apart like a tidal inlet. Cameron introduced Raymond around. One of the other boys remembered Raymond from primary school, and for a while Raymond was able to blend happily into the background of the conversation. Predictably the talk soon went to subjects and timetables and who had which teachers this year. Someone asked Raymond what class he was in for Maths and his brain went to mush. Cameron noticed Raymond struggling to explain and intervned.

“Nah Ray’s actually Year 9, so he’s going to have his own hell to figure out haha.”

Raymond noticed a confused look brush over the face of the guy who he’s gone to school with previously. And them moments later a look of shrewd understanding. Raymond was outed as a repeater. No one said anything, and Raymond kept hanging out with Cameron’s group, in that Area for the first two weeks of school, but he was constantly worried that someone would say something about him being a Year 9 hanging out with Year 10s. Inter-year hanging out wasn’t really done. People mostly stuck with their own year group, and Raymond felt like other Year Nines were starting to notice that he sat with Year Tens as well, which made him worried that he would have to explain to more people that he had to repeat. He wasn’t connecting with anyone in his classes either (except for weird, co-loner interactions with Sam, Gumbum and Ryan). He wondered whether the other Year Nine’s thought he was weird- and that hanging out with Cameron’s group was adding to it. Slowly, Raymond started to spend some lunch times in the library. In the fourth week of term he found his Spot, and the shelf of awesome books. He started sneaking to the library right after class, every other lunch time and recess. The more time he spent way from the group the more awkward he felt when he did show up, so by the sixth week of term he started going to the library whenever he could, and avoiding Cameron’s group all together. He never spoke to Cameron about it, and started leaving for school as late as possible, to avoid being on the same schedule as Cameron and Kim. He just didn’t know how to explain, and was worried about offending Cameron, so he pulled his usual move and avoided anything scary or hard.

Now, about three months after he’d weirdly dropped out of Cameron’s fold, they’d come face to face, mere metres from Raymond’s hiding place. Raymond realised with horror that he hadn’t replied to Cameron’s question yet. He laughed nervously and looked at his feet.

Cameron gave him a slightly confused look. His friend walked around the pair.

“You coming Cam?” she said.

“Yep,” Cam replied, still looking at Raymond. “Come hang out again some time man. If you want. I’ve got some books you’d like. Crazy shit. You can borrow them… OK, seeya man.”

Cameron caught up with his friend and disappeared down the stairs. Raymond dragged the pads of his fingers on his right hand down the right side of his face, in a hard repetitive motion. It was a sort of tick he had when he really felt like he’d stuffed up, which was a lot of the time.

He walked to his spot, grabbed as big a handful of books as he could from his favourite shelf and dumped them on his lap as he sunk into the squawking vinyl. Suddenly he found he couldn’t muster the energy to open any of them. He sat, staring at nothing for the remaining ten minutes until the bell.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the windows in the library doors as he left and noticed that the right hand side of his face was all red.

#periodical #fiction #paranormal

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alternislatronemhq · 4 years

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Congrats, Steph, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Remus Lupin (FC: Ross Butler). Steph, wow, what a great application! I think it can be really easy for Remus to be portrayed only one way, and I’m so excited to see how you explored his differences in this storyline. He’s really hurting and bitter because of the betrayal of his friends, and that is going to be such an interesting thing to see played out. With the way you got into his head, I have full confidence that you’ll do that really well! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist.Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Steph age — 26 pronouns — she/her timezone — GMT+1 activity level — I work in a supermarket which is very busy at the moment, so won’t get on every day necessarily but will be around a few times a week easily, particularly afternoon UK time.

IC Overview

name — Remus Lupin age — 26 gender — Male (he/him) sexuality — Gay (closeted)

patronus — Wolf. Remus hates that the animal which best represents his soul is the one which has defined his life in such a negative way. Therefore, he never casts a corporeal patronus when he summons one.

boggart — The Full Moon. This is representative of Remus’ fear of what he becomes each month, his dread of each upcoming full moon and the way each that has passed leaves scars mental as well as physical.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

+ selfless: Remus would do anything for his friends no matter the cost to him.

+ compassionate: Possibly an odd trait for somebody known as a prankster, Remus sees the good in those around him and empathises with them. He would take the side of an underdog over the easier but less righteous choice. His compassionate nature has also helped him to forgive people when they have done wrong in the past, in particular Sirius after the incident of Severus Snape and the Whomping Willow. However, forgiving himself and forgiving Sirius again after the breakdown of the Marauders feels impossible.

+ astute: While Remus generally has to work at being book smart, his sharp perception of the world comes naturally. He can think quickly and intuitively to turn a situation to his advantage, whether that is in finding loopholes for the next marauder prank, in assessing a situation that might be about to turn sour or in identifying somebody who needs a word of encouragement.

- people pleaser: In school, this manifested in Remus’s tendency to look the other way when the other Marauders are breaking rules. He would not participate if he didn’t really agree with what they were doing but he certainly didn’t do anything to stop or stand up to his friends. The biggest threat to his self-esteem is the idea of being unwanted, unloved, or a disappointment.

- self-deprecating: Remus hates everything that reminds him of his lycanthropy, especially the parts of his personality which are shaped by his condition. Though the support of his friends has helped him come to terms with his fate in the past, Remus has always been prone to some doubt and shame over the werewolf part of him. Knowing that Sirius lost trust in him was hard for him but now he almost accepts it as inevitable because he doesn’t feel like he deserved the friendship of the Marauders in the first place.

- vengeful: While Remus will forgive somebody for one wrong if they show contrition, if somebody earns his anger then they should beware. On the wrong side of him, Remus is a force to be reckoned with.

character biography —

(Tws: illness, smoking-related illness, death, depression, poverty and homelessness)

From the night he was bitten, Remus grew up in isolation units and hospital wards and the confining four walls of his bedroom. His life would forever be shaped by that monthly pattern and a fear of others finding out. His home-schooling involved not just basic numeracy and literacy but also astronomy and muggle physics and an extensive education into what it meant to be a werewolf. Every last galleon that they owned went into searching for a cure or moving to another town after their latest neighbours started to suspect something was amiss with the family, a few spare coins each month for each of their vices: Lyall’s italian coffee and books, cigarettes and music records for Hope, and chocolate frogs and colouring pencils for remus. In between other lessons, Lyall Lupin did everything he could to ensure Remus would be prepared for a nomadic adulthood — a life on the streets, friendless and penniless — deaf to Hope’s pleas that they try and help him get back to some notion of a normal life.

Hope’s wish finally came true in the form of Professor Dumbledore, not long since appointed as headmaster of Hogwarts, showing up on their doorstep. Remus was so excited to go to school that he barely noticed his parents’ worried exchanges and fears. It was only later, when Remus started to compare the next year’s full moons to his new school calendar that it dawned on him just how complicated this would be. It was his mother who suggested that he could say she had a chronic illness and that he was visiting her whenever there was a Full Moon but he had not known James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew for long before he realised they would not buy that as a reason for skipping classes or being absent from the dorm every month like clockwork. Remus, glad to finally have friends and terrified he would lose them if they found out the truth, made up different and increasingly more elaborate stories but he wasn’t a good enough liar to hide from his best friends.

The four of them grew closer than Remus could have ever hoped for. They accepted him and supported him. They helped him keep his secret from their other classmates and they were constantly coming up with ways to make things easier for him, whether it was ensuring he didn’t fall behind in classes or sneaking him sweets and tea the morning after a transformation. They learnt to become animagi and Remus couldn’t be more grateful.

Everything seemed to go wrong at once. a betrayal from his best of friends — his only friends — revealing the secret his life had been devoted to keeping for the purpose of playing a cheap and fatal prank on Snape. Remus felt convinced all three of them were in on it because they always were. He avoided and argued and was the most miserable he had been since starting Hogwarts. It was during this period of low that he had a careers meeting that highlighted how dim his prospects after school would be and remus was reminded of what his father had tried to impress on him all these years — that werewolves weren’t supposed to have the sort of life he had been playing at, with education and friends and happiness. The next full moon was during the Easter holidays and unable to bear sitting in the Shrieking Shack alone, he went home. He asked his parents why him. Unable to fob him off with any more half-truths or excuses, his father finally opened up about Greyback. Remus had to hear how his father had once held the same prejudices about werewolves as the rest of the wizarding world and make his own conclusion that maybe he still did. After all, he had almost stopped Remus from living his life after the bite, no matter how much he claimed it was for Remus’ own good. The resulting argument was brutal but soon cut short by hacking coughs and Lyall turning on his wife and snapping at her to stop smoking those damn things. Her hand was shaking as she ignored him and tried to light the cigarette anyway. Remus noticed for the first time that she looked very ill, so ill that his using her as an excuse all those months appeared to be coming back to bite him.

They had been his first ever friends and when Remus returned to school he knew he could avoid them no longer. He needed them. Life would be much too lonely without them, especially if Hope’s days were numbered and, besides, he had grown too used to their being by his side during transformations. He refused to let them talk about it, insisting he didn’t want to relive it when in fact a part of him was worried that talking it through would remind him how betrayed he had felt. He reminded himself of what he had always believed: that he wasn’t good enough for them. That he was nothing more than a monster and at least he should be grateful that they still wanted his friendship. He was indebted to them. How could he keep pushing them away when they equalled the happiest moments of his life so far? Even with that awful incident, none of them were a part of the worst moments of his life. So, he let them fall back together and patch up the cracks in their friendship with jokes and pranks and throwing themselves towards war, knowing that it didn’t matter to him how they felt. They could pity him and fear him and be prepared to brush him away without a second thought again. He would die for them anyway.

Life after Hogwarts was predictably difficult. Employers wizarding and muggle alike did not look kindly on him taking sick leave less than a month after being hired and inevitably after the second Full Moon he was circling ads in the newspaper again. It wasn’t long before the Order of the Phoenix became his primary concern and though the very thought of seeing Greyback again made him felt akin to walking into hell, he found himself accepting the mission of the Order’s spy amongst the werewolves. Only Dumbledore knew the task he was undertaking, the majority of the Order having no idea of his condition and those who did he was forbidden to talk to them about it. Remus started to slip away from himself. He was incredibly lonely without being able to talk to his best friends and each minute with the werewolves brought more danger, more emotional strain, and more questions about whether he had ever really deserved his years pretending to be a normal wizard. The werewolves he had befriended didn’t understand why he would want to live amongst humans and there were others who would never be friendly with him as long as that was the case.

By 1981, Remus felt completely isolated. His mother died early in the year and his relationship with his father was worse than ever. Transformations with the Marauders were a distant memory and instead he spent his Full Moons forced into a life of violence he had always been determined to avoid. He barely saw any of the Order outside of meetings and his attendance at those was becoming increasingly difficult. When he did come back, it was hard to know his place in the meetings, unable to talk about what he had been doing and knowing so little about everybody else’s lives. Only Peter seemed to remember that he was missing so much and made a point of keeping Remus in the loop but so often that consisted of lost lives and disappearances and Remus came to dread the times he would sneak away from the packs. Talks of spies did not help. It was impossible for Remus to think of any of the Order as betraying them and he told the group as much, fiercely insisting that this was what the Death Eaters wanted ⁠— for them to be torn apart by their own paranoia.

So distant from it all, Remus did not realise how guilty he had made himself look until after it all was over. James was in hospital, basically gone, and Peter in Azkaban and it had only happened because Sirius suspected Remus. Fleeing from the werewolves the moment word reached him that the war was over turned out to be a bad idea because all of a sudden Remus found himself with nothing. The friendless and penniless life of the streets that his father had prepared him for was now a reality and he would rather sleep rough than face the guilt that if he had been there, if he had just disobeyed Dumbledore enough to tell the Marauders what he was involved in, if he had been a better friend to Peter, maybe none of this would have happened. It was better than facing Sirius, who was the one person he thought would understand that Remus could never betray them.

plot ideas —

I have always imagined James to be the one who is able to ground Remus and keep him together so without him there, Remus has spiralled. The memory of the Marauders is something bitter now, with Peter’s betrayal and the gaping hole that James leaves and this is a big part of Remus not making an effort to reconnect with Sirius. He definitely spends a lot of time next to James’ bed in St Mungo’s. Even now, if he needs to talk to someone, James is his first port of call. Remus’s certainty that James is never coming back means sometimes he will say things he wouldn’t voice otherwise. Maybe if James does wake up, he heard more than Remus wanted him to.

I would love some other werewolves and some plots involving those werewolves Remus did befriend during the war. He almost feels guilty for liking and empathising with some of them and hates that he relates to them but it had been nice to have people who really understood.

He’s trying to act like his life isn’t falling apart around him for Harry’s sake and so that he can still see Harry while trying to hold both Lily and Sirius at a distance. This will involve a lot of pretending that things aren’t as bad as they really are, that he can manage Full Moons alone and that he is finding legitimate ways to get a proper meal between offers of charity from old friends.

The love he once had for the Marauders is difficult to define. They were his found family and his brothers, the first friends he ever had, the only people he trusted with his whole self. The battle to come to terms with himself not only as a werewolf but a gay werewolf was something he never fully managed though had there been no war the Marauders would have got him there eventually. Now, he’s left wondering where the lines are between platonic and romantic love. The men in his life have been nothing but sex, his ability to trust having been broken too far for anything more. In terms of ships, Remus will be slow to get into anything and it would have to be based on chemistry and a gradual building of trust. He might wonder sometimes if he was in love with James though that is mostly because in his anger at Peter and Sirius he has transferred all the love he held for the Marauders as a unit onto James to make it easier to process the betrayal. It’s no longer the three of them he is grateful to for making Hogwarts the best seven years of his life, but James. No longer the three of them who made him feel worthy of love and friendship but James. In believing that, he can almost cope.

If he’s going to accept help from anybody these days it will be someone who was less a part of the war and who doesn’t have their own family to think about. Much as he values people like Mary and Frank for sticking by him through all the lowest points of his depression, they have their own lives away from him, their own children to consider and Remus feels guilty whenever they express any concern for him. I’d love for him to develop a friendship with someone who makes it easier for him to let others help him, and who might be able to offer him a place to stay more permanently.

extra —

in terms of the canon that Remus believed Sirius to be the spy, I’ve always headcanoned that as being after the war. He apologised to Sirius because he believed the world when they told him Sirius had betrayed the Potters but I can’t see Remus as having suspected that beforehand. I can’t see Remus being able to think badly of the three boys who became animagi for him, not until it’s all too late. Also, I have a general pinterest board for Remus here, though it includes things from various RPs

#al:accepted #remus lupin

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youllallriseintheink · 4 years

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Defining Memories, chapter 1

Thanks for showing support, guys. I appreciate it.

---

It had been an average day when it happened. Around eight that morning, ten men and three women found themselves in a misty void with nothing else in it but each other. Except for Henry. Henry lived several states away, so for him it was 10 am and he’d been pulled out of work. Disoriented, he looked around for someone he recognized. His eyes fell upon a blond, sharp-featured man. “Sammy? Sammy Lawrence?”

The man looked back at him, confused. “Henry? Why are you here?”

Henry laughed a little. “Good question. Why are we here?”

“No, I mean, why are you here with all of these Joey Drew Studios employees? You’re the odd one out.”

“Oh. Are there any other patterns you’ve noticed?”

Sammy turned away to look at the other eleven, an irritable look on his face. “Not really. We’ve got everyone from Mr. Piedmont to this joker.” He pointed at a lanky, boyish-looking man covered in freckles. The man had previously been chatting with an impish Irishman that Henry didn’t recognize.

“Henry?” Wally said, before tackling Henry with an energetic hug. “Well I’ll be! It must’ve been years since I’ve seen ya! How’s that studio down in California treatin’ you?”

Henry hugged him back. “Oh, it’s treating me well.”

“Where are my manners? It’s nice to see you again, Henry. Did you manage to patch things up with Linda?” Sammy asked, adding “sorry for snapping,” under his breath.

“Yep, we’ve been married a decade. And it’s fine, Sammy. This is a weird situation, and we should try to figure it out so we can get back to our lives. Let’s see... who’s all here?”

Henry could recognize a few people. Grant Cohen, the accountant that Henry had had a hand in hiring, was there. He had not aged well, looked washed out, and was freaking out over the situation, but at least there were some people with him. Henry remembered him as very shy. Beside him was a rather masculine woman Henry didn’t recognize, and Norman Polk, who was attempting to calm him down. Henry shuddered. Well, if Norman was still here, he must not have done anything bad to warrant firing him, at least, Henry figured. And if someone as nervous as Grant was apparently close to the strange, off-putting man, why should he creep Henry out?

A ways away from that, two women were murmuring to each other, confused. A grumpy, muscular man stood behind the brunette, silent and with crossed arms. It looked like two women, anyhow. They were both shapely, beautiful, and on the tall side, with flowing shoulder-length hair. One, however, had some healthy colour to her chestnut hair, grey eyes, and flushed skin. The other woman’s skin was a sickly pale grey, and everything else about her from her eyes to the dress she wore, to the strange scar on her bizarrely thin neck, was ink-black. And she had horns. Something about her clearly wasn’t natural.

Jack Fain was in the middle of the final group of people there, attempting to mediate a lively argument between two men. One of them was a tall, imposing creature in his sixties wearing a top hat. The other was... Oh, God. Henry did not like the look of this. “Joey.”

“Yeah, Joey,” Wally said. “He’s probably the one who brought us here, with all his fancy voodoo. What of it?”

“I just don’t know how to react. We haven’t contacted each other in years.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Wally’s Irish friend said, “that a fine fellow like you used to be friends with Mr. Drew?"

“Yep,” Henry said, his voice tinged with regret. “I guess I’ll just avoid him. He cut off contact with me when I left. If he wants to reconnect, he can make the first move.”

Henry wondered how his friend had changed over the years. He kept a big smile on his face even as he was all but yelling at the other man, which was no surprise. Joey always seemed cheerful, even when he wasn’t. And he looked as young as ever- no new lines on his face or so much as a single grey in his pitch-black hair. He had, however, lost a good deal of weight and had dark circles under his eyes. He was trying to seem as energetic as ever, but that came off even less genuine than his cheerfulness. It must still have been busy running the studio, because Joey looked drained of life.

Suddenly, a small yellow light flashed above Joey’s head and the room fell silent, all eyes landing on him.

“How dare you lie to the great Bertrum Piedmont?!” the other man boomed at Joey.

“I’m telling you,” Joey snapped, “I didn’t do jack shit!”

Suddenly, the environment changed. The purplish mist cleared to show a darkened studio. What seemed to be a copy of Joey was there, standing before the nozzle of a giant machine, which was making noise as though it was jammed. “What the Hell, Joey!” Shawn whispered.

The Joey clone appeared to get confused and impatient, and went to the back of the machine and tinkered with it a moment, pulling out film that had been caught in the machine. The machine clanked into motion. An inky creature, identifiable as Boris the wolf, fell out of its oversized nozzle moments later and fell to the ground with a splat. Joey approached and helped it up, a look of immense satisfaction on his face. “Well, welcome to the world, Boris.” His tone was gentle and fatherly. Aside from Thomas, who seemingly couldn’t even bring himself to look at the unfolding scene, everyone in the room was awestruck.

The creature looked around, confused and nervous. It held tight to Joey’s hand. Meanwhile, Joey was observing the beast in detail, looking for defects. “Perfect. Oh, don’t shiver. Don’t be scared. I have the perfect place for you to live. With my help, you’re going to make everyone happy.”

The Boris looked at Joey and nodded slightly, seemingly content with the offer. Then all at once, the creature’s demeanour changed. He stared at his paws, and in a panic reached up to feel his ears.

“Oh no. Buddy, is that you?”

The Boris glared at Joey, then grabbed his snout in shock upon realizing that he couldn’t speak.

“Now, Buddy,” Joey began nervously, “It’s okay. I saved-“ he was cut off by a solid blow to the face, knocking him to the ground. The Boris turned and ran in fear. He ran straight into the group, phasing right through Shawn without taking notice. Joey didn’t try running after the Boris, instead just dusting himself off. “So close now,” he whispered, smiling and cupping his now-bleeding face. “Just some personality issues to work out.”

The scene faded back into mist, and the Joey clone went with it.

Nervous chatter rose. “What the Hell was that?!” Lacie demanded, glaring at Joey Drew.

“A... memory.”

“A memory? Oh, sure. You created a living cartoon character out of some weird machine that looks like it belongs in a sci-fi movie. Just tell us why we’re here already.”

Henry felt someone grab his arm. It was Grant. Grant peered over his shoulder to make sure Joey was out of earshot, then whispered “do you have any idea what he wants to do to us?”

Henry shook his head.

Grant’s eyes darted about, and he let go of Henry’s arm. “Sorry. I just thought, since you used to know him well...”

In that moment, a glowing yellow light appeared over Bertrum’s head and the group fell silent. The scene shifted again.

The group was in what appeared to be a circus tent. A much younger Bertrum was there, having his tie adjusted by an older man with matching reddish brown hair. “Now Son,” The man said in deep, serious voice, “this might be your park. Your first park. But remember that it’s reflecting the entire Colossal Wonders dynasty. I don’t want anyone doubting our future, or my abilities as a parent.”

“You know I won’t disappoint!”

The older man patted his shoulder. “You never have.”

“And if this park does well-“

The older man’s face grew stern. “No, Bertrum. I’m not retiring. You will take this empire when I’m dead. Not that you aren't ready. I’m just not sick of this yet.”

“Right. Of course.”

Bertrum stepped out of the tent. To one side of him was a lovely amusement park, complete with games, clowns, roller coasters, and a giant, clown-themed Ferris Wheel, all well-tested and ready for commercial use. To the other side of him, was a crowd, separated from the fun by a gate. As he approached the gate’s entrance, their cheers grew louder, something that clearly delighted the young man. He accepted the ribbon-cutting scissors and drew them towards the ribbon, causing the crowd to roar louder and louder. Then, with a mischievous smile on his face, he stopped and lifted them back up, causing the crowd to fall silent. He repeated the motion twice more, clearly revelling in the control he had over the crowd as their cheers rose and fell with the scissors. Then, he lifted his arms and yelled, “just messin’ with ya, folks!” before cutting the ribbon in a quick motion. The crowd surged forwards, forcing a very proud Bertrum to move out of the way lest he be crushed.

The scene faded back into purple mist.

Bertrum wiped a tear from his eye. “That, I will admit, was a memory,” he said. The group was silent a while, processing the situation.

“So, these are memories,” Henry mused. “I guess the only thing to do is just to watch everyone’s, then.”

“It could be fun,” Joey said. “Why wouldn’t I want to get to know what makes my studio family tick?”

“It is nice to see that you’ve both made such spectacular things,” Allison agreed.

“And it looks like I’m next,” Sammy said, cupping a golden light in his hands.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #defining memory au #joey drew #bertrum piedmont #joey drew crew

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starcunning · 5 years

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Night Watch

An expansion and reworking of a snippet I sent to friends at 1 AM some weeks ago. (I do this a lot. “Nightfall”--which this precedes--was born of one of these, too.) Adult situations and MSQ spoilers ahead!

This story contains MSQ spoilers for FFXIV Patch 4.5, “Requiem for Heroes.”

When she had finished with him, she laid down beside him on the airship’s hull. The stars stretched from horizon to horizon overhead, brighter than she had ever seen. There was the rustle of cloth as he tucked himself away, and the sound of a zipper; she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stared upward with a sigh.

All at once she got the impression that she was the wrong twin. It should have been her sister laid out beside the Black Wolf, cermite at her back and the firmament before her eyes.

Odette was not certain if this was her conclusion or Gaius’s; if she had not owned it a moment before it was hers to keep forever afterward. The ache in her chest was paralyzing. She should sit up, she knew; she should stand and cross to the hatch and descend back into the belly of the ship. Gaius Baelsar could weather a night watch alone.

But she did not trust her legs, under the circumstances, and so she lingered. His feelings were not settled, either—she could not help but get some sense of him, owing to the dubious blessings of light, and he was glad to see her. But still, she was not her sister, and never would be.

Odette turned her head to regard him. Seiryu’s Wall cast a pale blue glow over the scene; with his body betwixt her and the generators, the light traced only the rim of his profile, leaving his familiar features in shadow.

Sadness. That was what afflicted her now, settling in her chest like a leaden weight. Shouldn’t that have been easier to identify? She was familiar enough with the emotion, not least of all after recent events. But that did not fully encompass all she felt. True, she mourned a little what was no longer to be, betwixt her and Gaius—but she mourned it like a little bird, who had sung so prettily once and would not lift its voice to that melody now nor ever again. What she felt was nowhere near as light as birdsong, nor as its absence.

Something else, then.

“I wish to ask you something, Baelsar,” she said, before even she was aware of her intent to speak. “Have I earned that privilege?” Gaius turned his head to regard her. The motion cast his face in shadow, looking upon hers in light. “You may ask,” he said. “Your rights do not extend so far as to the expectation of an answer, just the same.” She closed her eyes, as though she could not bear to look upon what came next. “Have you ever been in love?” He said nothing. She could hear his breathing, feel the roiling of his emotions beneath the surface of his flame-scarred skin. The silence extended on a while, underlaid by the low hum of the magitek generators some yalms away. “This is not a question I ask in hope,” she added, opening her eyes. “Good, for you would be disappointed,” Baelsar said. A curious answer, she could not help but note—in that it was no answer at all to the question she had actually asked.

Guilt, she realized, slipping into it like a tailored jacket. That was a more apt name for the feeling that pinned her limbs. The guilt of having taken from her sister’s plate—yes, that was part of it, but not all. She could not compass the rest of it in Baelsar’s presence, and did not wish to try.

“I don’t believe I have ever been in love,” Odette said. “I am always sure to leave ere there’s any danger of that.” “There are worse strategies that strategic retreat,” the Black Wolf told her. “It has been put about that I am broken by this incapability.” His snort was derisive, dismissive—and not meant for her, she realized. “Look at all you have accomplished, girl,” he implored her. “Even set against one another, I could not deny what you had wrought. Let them call us broken, if they call us broken.” And they had, she knew instantly. “Wolves need not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.”

She should thank him, she knew, but gratitude did not settle any more easily upon her than had guilt. Instead, she said something else: “I think we should not do this any longer.” There was a smallness in her voice. “That might be best,” Gaius Baelsar agreed dispassionately. Then he said, “I can finish the night watch alone.”

The sharp sting of dismissal should have compounded the weight upon her, but she felt it like spurs instead, and let it drive her to her feet. But it was not the crew hatch she found herself drawn toward; rather she dared the curve of the hull until she could jump, safely, landing on the soft white sands below.

Odette got the sense, even then, that this was a ritual she was bound to repeat for as long as the three of them remained in the Burn. She put Seiryu’s Wall to her right, and began to walk.

#ff14 #ff14 spoilers #stormblood spoilers #4.5 spoilers #odette #gaius van baelsar #the twins de dzemael #honestly this would probably pass in like a PG13 movie or like an R at worst #as compared to my usual one supposes #original content #starcunning writes

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dahmer · 6 years

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oh pi! at es. ples. ples.

Oh! just, subtle, and mighty opium! that to the hearts of poor and rich alike, for the wounds that will never heal, and for 'the pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel,' bringest an assuaging balm; eloquent opium! that with thy potent rhetoric stealest away the purposes of wrath; and to the guilty man, for one night givest back the hopes of his youth, and hands washed pure of blood.... qtd // thomas de Quincey // Confessions of an English Opium Eater

here’s a man, once ill-tempered of turks and trendsetting vices, speaking to the grand stage of the world fashioned in this season’s epide-mock. a warm, fuzzy coatish wear nestled in the covers. small american towns know these styles too well to count body bags, along cotton pads and china scabs, among mother’s basements and luxury high risers graduating all from the fancy-feels certificate of blues. those roxy pebbles, how they start us so--an endless invitation to long summer warmth that childhood bathtubs and lawn-mower sundays would once bring.

when did the foil side decision set in. was there truly a technique to not waste the evaporated smoke, or just somedaze endless-ego-talk of the mighty soldiers in the opium army of guilt. shame, yes sir! solute to toot, scrap the straw edges as the hours pass waiting for the guy with the goods. were you in california when fent came along, past the liquid patch of time-released days. the recents 16s, 17s, two thousands eighteens. labs grade, synthesizing variations to parade as china. “east coast man, east coast shit. it’s the best ever. no, nah nah bro, i got you. bud took one point, was on his ass for hours. nod on fire.”

did chemists know the china rhetoric will turn fent-for-all. markets of east coast fantasies, oblivious to west coast privileges. of potency. of people. of starry nights in smashing pumpkin music video dreams, riding through hollywood as a secret member of the powder variety. it’s a plague paraded as a epidemic because that word has no world of meaning to the good folk playing their igno-rent; recycling stigmas of junky choice rattling thrillists. despite the proof inside the bottles. the truth in every bottle. in every cabinet. of every person. with every doctor. who ever felt. the normalcy sensation of one of the most blanked words: pain.

pain is surely what that just, subtle, and mighty opium! creates in the hearts of the poor and rich alike. the rich die often in the experimentation state of emergency someone labeled as ‘the opioid problem’--problem? oh lily, you know as much as your wilted leaves and neighboring trees the silly stamp we slap when using ‘problem’ to critically deconstruct something magnificently complex.this ‘problem’ has destroyed empires for centuries. it’s notorious and makes no attempt to conceal its power in narrative recollections of the living authors that have spoke the truths of humanity across language, land, and lives. yet big pharma pulled off opana and roxicodone in the last 20 years. if there’s any declaration of the fools ruling the castle in modern times, this must be the great exemplary act. the profit of pain, oh yawn. i’m sure the academic discourse that has capture this best is brilliant it construction and nature, but what difference does it make in an opiated masses?

i’ve not canceled my subscriptions to the periodical dual tragedies of the early 21st century, as they remain unchanged and unchallenged: (1) a sheer lack of empathy in the common man; (2) the curious and devastating complacency and lack of outrage to what seems to unfold before our eyes, rapidly and carelessly so now that it’s almost as if those navigating the unseen lines of powers that be mock us, appropriately so. if we’re no opiated, we’re not outrage or active either. generalization? yes. but for those who fall outside of this, fight causes that continually reveal themselves as premeditated chess pieces in the political playing field that has seep into dominating the social sphere that delivers use a constantly-running facet of media and targeted, privatized ads.

i am an addict.

i can clean. M knows. some family knows. the weight that has been lifted is ineffably enduring. i’m frustrated, naturally, at the golden years missed. the creativity, the goodness of my heart, kindness of soul, charity, intellectual ability, sincerity, and passionate interests. how they dulled and disappeared. the weight of their reappearance should be the least of my worries, and for now have been. i’m only a week into my methadone treatment program. but my partner knows now. and that was the missing link, that was needed for so long. he left. i stay in the apartment alone. had the worst week. four days into starting treatment, i get arrested on a fix-it ticket that never was completely closed in a difference country because the DMV didn’t inform the courthouse I’ve squared everything away. I was given a new court date to bring this documentation in myself after final payments were made and the matter seemed settled. but the letter was sent to my old apartment, so i was completely unaware a warrant in los angeles was issued. a few short blocks away from my new apartment in newport beach, where M returned for the first time since walking in on me and learning of the addiction that exposure so much (that was the most bittersweet, hard, important, thankful, and devastating night of my life--but revitalizing. I never realize how much everything rested on just M being told or finding out.). I’m almost home, about to see it, sirens go on. get pulled over. second car arrives. i’m in cuffs. call my works, and text M to say I wouldn’t be coming home to give him space.

at this point, i was told i would be transferred to LA that night, and see a judge in the morning. have everything taken care of. but orange county SA jail is notorious for lies and abuse. there was no intentions of this, and i went from holding cell to orange jumpsuit soon enough. smart this time, i disclosed my sexuality. was given a special block, with an actual two-person jail cell. like the movies. my cell mate was great. jason ciega. curious sexuality. talked heavily about girlfriends, but made subtle jokes that went: “when you’re expecting pussy, but life gives ya dick... but hey, there’s nothing wrong with that too.” He vaguely mentioned his sexuality was “whatever”--I respected and explained why I identify as queer. i have some hidden white china fent mix left i snuck in, even after the cavity search. I stressed needing the bathroom for diarrhea, in fear of the 4-6 gram rocks being found. they kept stressing if i had drugs, it would be another charge. but with my profession work title, they didn’t really consider that with me. i hated that i had to use again so early in treatment, but this avoided the sickness. and made me sleep through the day and a half before M bailed me out. when i got celled up with jason, he shared his rations he bought, like cookies and stuff. i shared my china, in very small doses. he still O.D.’d. turned blue and purple, unconscious, eyes behind head. he took off his shirt after sniffing the first baby bit. i snorted probably 30x what he did, and barely felt something, tolerance. his speck had him worried after 5 mins. “I don’t feel it”

I tell him it wait another 5-10 mins at least. he starts ripping up my mattress and sheet to make a pillow and bedsheet. at first i’m scared this would cause the jail keeper to punish or abuse me. i saw it happened. beds are supposed to be returned in the form they were given. but the special blocks for “protective custody” and queers were treated with more respect, out of fear I assume. The regular jail area is a massive shared space with dozens of rows of beds, and people organized and grouped by race and gangs that you must join right away. I was glad I didn’t have to endure that. I did briefly at 19 for an alcohol in public ticket. only spent 4-6 hours in actual jail-orange-suits area after 10-15 hours of hold cells then. realized how racially divided even jails were. but this experience was more pleasant, given the circumstances. before jason began nodding out, he was fun and talkative in an enjoyable well. he revealed a great chest and body--small frame, but bulky build with tattoos. an insecure boy turn nice guy that acts like one of the guys. referenced odd jokes that seemed code for him being a bottom, and wanting sexual companionship if we ended up bunking for awhile. mutual only, of course. i laughed these attempts off. jason was lonely, and i wasn’t there for inmate sex. i’m in love with M, and still spent every moment worrying and texting about him, and what i’ve done to him. how little he knows about this addiction, how much his family might enable him to think narrowly or ignorantly about the realities of this as a disease.

M abandoned me the day I began treated, 2 mornings after he caught me and everything in our lives froze. we sat on the bed that night, side by side, for hours. him crying in his hands mostly, for hours. me frozen in a wave of emotions. i was a fault. i was honest and told him everything. this was the only thing i kept from him, and told him why. the shame, the guilt. the fear. losing him. rejection of me, disposal of my efforts and love from him and his family. he said we needed time apart. i begged him to be there for me, no matter what the outcome was of our relationship, at least in the beginning. knowing this is the most crucial time to have a support system. he expressed things like believing I’ve just been high this whole time, and asked questions that extracted as much shame and guilt as possible. he had every right to. it’s all i’ve see him and his twin ever do. to the point of their older brother needing serious psychological helping, crying out literally shouting how suicidal he is, but they fail to understand how mental health works, how humor and jokes are masks that should be taken seriously. M was hurt most that I lied. I did lie. Not directly, but did lie at times when he asked why i was in the bathroom for so long. It was unspoken, so it didn’t feel like lying. More like protecting, but it was lying. And I will forever be in the wrong.

Going to jail may have ruined any chance of him coming back. And I can’t stand that thought. He doesn’t know what I’ve been going through. How long it took to be honest about my addiction, what steps I took to try to get clean on my own, the lies you convince yourself off--that you can do it alone, that it’ll work out, that you’ll run out of money so you’ll have to stop. My only other treatment attempt told me I must tell M. He’s the closest to me that I love and trust, who is a good influence, not a user, and could be my support system that sees me through this, and can monitor me during the first 3-7 days that are most crucial. M mentioned how he could have come home to find me dead. O.D. we watched docs and podcasts on the epidemic, but they don’t go into how hard this experience is. How withdrawal is considered one of the hardest things a human can possible do in life, and takes incredible amounts of courage, strength, and dedication that M will probably never even experience in his life. The reports just assume people know this stuff. And under-represent who is most likely to O.D. I’ve never come close. I haven’t been high in, years. I used to stay normal. M, and others like him--those who don’t know--don’t understand that. I was never chasing the dragon. I hate the addiction, quickly. I was too smart for it. Too focused and dedicated to have this problem.

But I did, and unless I dose a certain amount, I couldn’t function. Bedridden in the worst sickness imaginable. To those who’ve experience withdrawal, it’s not just the constant, non-stop, extreme physical sickness. It’s the relentless psychological sickness. Torture. That doesn’t even given you a 30 second break. Hearing that your sick for 3-5 days might sound easy because we call it “getting sick” or “dope sick”--but it’s a far worse experience that can even be fatal for some. My finances and lack of wanting to be doped out, nodding and unproductive all day luckily allowed my addiction to plateau at taking a certain amount to stay well, and doing that everyday for over a year. Til I was caught. It would slightly increase, but fluctuate, based on product, potency, and source going around. I never shot. Only snorted, that was my ritual. And when I was stupid, I would smoke. It was a waste, that burned through product much faster. Which meant more money and time dedicated to staying well. The consistent tolerance and dosing makes my chances of O.D’ing incredibly low. If M knew me as an addiction, which he couldn’t--I never disclosed--he’d know this was hell. Torture. Something I spent endless nights up all night wishing, hoping, begging for change.

The fright came from the Friday I got into a detox treatment program. I told him two nights before I needed him for supported. He made a sly remark about “what, you’re going to force me to stay around or you’ll OD and die if I don’t”--but it was among other things, so it was unclear what would happened. And days past, with little words exchanged, but M stayed around. When he returned from work, I was in bed and he has if I stayed treatment. I said yes, but didn’t explain or speak confidently out of fear of him not knowing what these treatments were, how much research I’ve done, how I picked this on purpose with a goal to get off treatment drugs soon too and never be dependent on a substance. He didn’t ask much questions. He shortly said it’s good, then revealed he’s packing up and staying at this parents for the weekend. I froze in silence. He packed and said some of the same narrowed perspective claims from the other night--how my sibling and her spouse are there to help me. M thinks because they’ve both been in AA, and one is an ex-heroin addict in healthy, long-term recovery that they can just drop their full time college, 3 jobs, and toddler to take care of me. They’re wonderful support systems, but the detox clinic described who needs to be around the first 3 days for my outpatient detox, and it perfectly defined M.

But I must respect M’s decisions, feelings, angry, and pain. He has his own healing to do. All I said was that I need support more now than ever, so please don’t forget me. This was in response to him saying I could always call him if I needed something--which was worded in a way that read like ‘call in emergencies, but I’m out.’ So I went through it alone, all 3 days. In bed. I called a friend for xanax, even though you have to be very very careful taking both. I was, and needed to sleep if no one would be there to check on me. At this time, I thought either M felt his hurt and pain outweighed what I was going through, and that’s understandable regardless of my experience actually being a life-threatening disorder. What I wish he knew was that most people who O.D.--the ones on the news all the time. It’s most from relapse. Stopping, detoxing, getting clean. Then a trigger happens, or hope gives up, opportunity comes, or you feel alone and no one cares. Whatever the reason, you return to the drug and take a similar dose, or even smaller dose, than what you were doing before. But your tolerance fades as quickly as it builds, and is different for everything. So most O.D. deaths are simply from people relapsing and taking too much without knowing where their new tolerance stands. Any temptation or relapse could be my last breathe.

I still live in that fear, but I’m motivated and happy to finally get clean. It’s all I wanted, I just couldn’t do it alone. And knew this. The summer realized it most. I spent the summer trying to find the right time and opportunity to tell M. He has no idea how many plans and times and moments I wanted to. Even my trip to NYC. I wanted t come back clean so bad. It doesn’t work that way, You need those in your life who support and love you to help. That’s what a relationship is. It’s like if I was diagnosed with cancer. But social misconception and outdated conception allows this opposite, toxic reaction. Where now I exist in this constant mental cycle that centers on figuring out what to do for M. It would hurt my sister, so that would be my biggest regret, but I think M wants a gift from me more than anything; however, knowing him well, he’d never ask. If I just gave it to him, he’d be free. No more doubts or embarrassments or beating himself up about not knowing or what others would think. No more hating and shaming me. He wouldn’t ever have to deal with it, which is what I realize he wants in life. Where we disagree. I can’t play video games and ignore maintaining healthy efforts all day. He’s made great improvements, but blind to others that allowed him to say hurtful things like without even consciousness of it, but would be shocked and hurt if someone said the same back to him. This created a state where if anything that required him to get up from playing video games in his ‘free time’ (non work hours) is a drag that he resents or avoids at all costs. It cost the friendships built between my closest friends, who love him and he claimed to love them. This constant thread was something I battled with most. I would count the weekends I would spend doing whatever he wanted--hanging with siblings, friends, work functions, friends parties. 11 weekends go by, then one movie night with my friends and he wouldn’t even pretend to want to go. It hurt, but I learned other people’s needs are an annoyance or deterrent to his rightful ability to be glued to the computer. I know this was a big factor in never bringing up my addiction. Already he hated any serious conversations, even if I tried to make them positive about reaching goals. Even mentioning one would cause eye rolls and audible disgusts, vocalizing how he just doesn’t like them or “aren’t good at them”--which never made sense to me. I understand he didn’t like to have conversations that implied he’s less than perfect or right, but it creates this wall around you where no one will ever be able to grow or talk or really improvement your or our lives together. I didn’t think much of it. But now that I’m learning my triggers, I’m not blaming M. It will always be me. But I regret starting to pick up his habits in attempts to try and connect more with him, and be closer. I started playing video games more and more, and all my interests disappeared. There was never a time I played video games that didn’t require going to the bathroom and dosing. I couldn’t live that life. But I wanted to build a life with M. When he stopped talking an interests in sharing my activities, I doubled down with his. But things that felt non-productive and antisocial to me became triggers.

There are other issues that caused distance and perhaps his lack of interest or investment in my friends and desires. One, my addiction. Where my interests began to dull. A terrible cycle that grows like a fungus, and can stem from one activity to get closer, but affect another. Also, I gained a considerable amount of weight. This was before my addiction started, but at a time that M became less physical. Then associated it with my weight gain. This was always curious. All compliments, words of encouragement, positive reinforcement, or sexual intimacy ceased, yet I was expected to work harder on health. I should have, but I never went a period of my sexual life where exercise and health were part of my routine because it continued my ability to have a sexual life. In a serious relationship, taking this element away makes it hard to understand how or if anything would restore such intimacy sense there’s no expression, communication, or honesty from M. Just gestures and small hints. He experienced some weight gained, and when he finally got a job after college--after 8 months of playing video games all day as I worked 2-3 jobs 6 days a week plus went to the gym, cleaned the house, and made dinner most nights for him and our roommate--he took up the gym and has done a great job focusing on getting in shape. I expressed this once, and it was something that was some important and meaningful because it consumed by consciousness, but I still wonder a year later if he understood or truly took to heart pointing out that when he got a full time, professional job and began working out after work, he came home daily needing positive reinforcement, acknowledgement, and encouragement about his gym efforts. Even in the early stages when not much can be seen.

I expressed that before grad school, when I really gained the weight from the stress and demands, I too signed up for the gym after my first, full time professional job after college. On top of this, I continued working on Sundays at a restaurant doing back-breaking labor I underplayed because tips were good. My one day off--Saturdays--I spent putting our first apartment together, shopping, planning, going to every family event or friend invite he extended, while keeping up with cooking and cleaning. During this time, M never acknowledged my gym efforts, progress, or work. I think once he complimented me in a tank, but apart from that, I believe he saw that this was just my role. Expected and easy, like it was nothing to essentially try my best to be the best version of myself, be the best boyfriend I could be, build a relationship together, and not ask for anything in return. This felt like my nature, so I didn’t think much of it at the time.

It wasn’t until I started grad school, and he began what I had already gone through: entry level at first professional job. I don’t know why I’m writing about it now, but it hurt he was doing it in a way that made it seem I had no idea what this was like because of my current shape, and my support was expected, not appreciated. M has never been too expressive, but any acknowledgement or encouragement while attending Gold’s gym after work each day in DTLB would have done so much for my self-esteem, our intimacy, his care and support, or just mutual respect I guess when the tables turned later. I still continue to compliment and support. But the thought is always there. What is it about me and what I do, the effort I put in, that seems just expected. Demanded. Not a privilege or sign of care, affection, and love. But “do your damn job”--but then anyone who does the same or a fraction of the same things has the right to guilt or shame me in not being supportive or caring enough. Why do I just exist to replace the role of M’s parents, perhaps, but my efforts aren’t even acknowledged to the same degree in how M views what his parents do.

The shortcomings are what he’s most expressive about. Like I have a savings account like him, and just not paying for things I literally cannot. I didn’t have my parents pay for college, a car, half my rent, bills, and little things in life M takes for granted. I pay for everything. And even having one or two things taken care of by parents allow young adults to live remarkably more comfortable lives that they’re blind to. They don’t understand the luxury of saving every paycheck because their parents pay for everything else. Or maybe it’s me, and my fault for having interests, and occasionally spending money on exploring interests to acculturate my life. Understanding myself, people, and culture better. Be a strong global citizen,

I don’t know. A lot of these claims are unfair to M. He avoids serious conversations, but most of this has come up. It’s just been treated with silence. When he caught my addiction last week, he kept repeating how hurt he was that I lied about it. He’s right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling... when would I ever been able to tell you and you wouldn’t act this way? Was there a time limit when you would have been supportive? Where you would have stayed and ensured I didn’t die during the most crucial period? Would there ever been a time that you didn’t just dismiss it as all my fault, so shame and guilt are the only things I’ll get from him while I need to seek treatment options on my own. That’s not how treatment works. In everything I’ve read, it says the same thing. This is a family problem. You need support. Loved ones. Care. Compassionate. Understanding. If these were never things that would have been offered, why is the main drive of pain from me lying? I did lie, so that’s valid. But it hurts because I don’t know how he truly feels, and sometimes it just goes through my head that this is the reason he’s been waiting for. I haven’t lied or cheated or hid other things. I’ve talked to other guys online, but came clean when caught. And that did hurt trust between us. But I never lied or hid something when we talked about it.

I write all of this because last night he texted me asking to meeting up this weekend to talk. I get excited because it means, after a week, maybe he wants to just sit and ask questions or express anger or frustrations or what’s on his mind. I send him my availability all weekend, with details. He takes hours to respond, but around 2am he says he’s free Saturday and Sunday. This is Friday night, and I see he’s at someone’s house--probably a party--that I didn’t know of. So maybe he’s drunk, but oddly he responded to my availability with just saying he’s free Sat and Sun--not setting a day or time to meet and talk. I don’t respond. It’s late and he says he’s out with friends since I mentioned I was even free that night back when I responded at 9pm when he first asked if I was free to meet and talk this weekend.

Today the morning goes by and I don’t hear from him, but he sent the last text. S at Noon I ask: “do you want me to pick a date and time then?” No answer.

A couple hours later I tell him I’m going to the gym later, and an NA meeting the next day (Sunday) if he wants to join me at either of those for an alternative meet up option--hopefully implying if he doesn’t want to just chat face-to-face, we can do something healthy that shows him I’m working hard in recovery. No response.

Both texts show read receipts. He read that right away, and Find My Friends shows he’s still just at his parents house. Been there all day, but ignoring my texts. Perhaps he was drunk when he texted me Friday night saying he wanted to meet up. I ran with it too quickly then because I miss him like crazy, worry about it, and just think about him and this situation constantly. Plus he bailed me out of jail for $5K of his own money this week on top of all of this, and that’s the last I saw him.

As the day progresses, it starts to dawn on me. Most of his stuff is still at our apartment. We still live here in how it’s set up, and how he’s briefly used it this week. But he’s mostly stayed at his parents, which is understandable since he needs time to figure out how to make sense of this or what to think... which is how I believe he worded it when he left the day I started detox. I think he said “because he feels conflicted.”

But if his stuff is still here, and he knows my schedule, and I know his, he knows we’re both mostly free Saturdays and Sundays. So he could come home either day and sit down to talk when he sees I’m home, Granted, he hasn’t asked about how recovery or detox is going, or shown interest in caring about how I’m doing. He’s not there, and clearly I’m in a state where I agree in the sense that I worry about him most. He doesn’t express his feelings, and this is not something he can just avoid or pretend to go away. He needs to face it. But then I realize what “we need to meet up and talk” means in a relationship after a major issue happens, and one person moves out for a week, leaving the status open-ended, stating we need time apart, and then gets stuck paying $5k while trying to distance (on top of all the money I own him for rent and impound fees last summer). This talk usually means one thing, and I start to panic. Even more so because he’s dodging my texts to follow up about setting a meeting time and date. If M had the liquid courage to ask, but not is faced with following through sober, it would be like him to just ignore me. And he’s definitely ignoring me. Maybe because he just wants me to suffer or leave him alone. But my fear and anxiety has skyrocketed since last night. I’m consumed in fear with the idea that he’s wanting to meet up to end our relationship. I would understand why, but I realize, despite everything, I really really am in love with Michael. My addiction made me not a great boyfriend to look at or be around I’m sure, but I’m confident the person I’m returning to now that I’m free and in recovery is someone that he would benefit from growing with. Many also have expressed they think this process will help M in the long run too, as things became static and this may needed to happen to reevaluate things and take us to the new heights we wanted and deserve.

M would have a hard time standing up for himself and dumping me, so when I was asking him if I should set the date and time, I starting thinking.. am I actually having to plan getting dumped for him? That’s not fair. This is the most emotional fragile state I’ve ever been in, and although he has every right to make that decision, and reasons to back it up, and not care about actually exercising real support that couples give each other, that’s fine. I would have to just respect the decision. I fucked up. And I knew who M was before we started dating. I just always think.. is he going to find someone else who doesn’t care about wanting basic needs and emotions and thoughts exchanged, shared, and supporting in a relationship? Abandon me, but that wouldn’t make these issues go away. Anyways, no one around him can offer me insight to his state of mind. So I fear the most devastating and hurtful decision and experience of my life is around the corner. Maybe even tomorrow. And despite our lease tomorrow until April, and the life we built together, M may just walk away from it all. Claiming he can’t trust me anymore as the main reason. And that trust is solely from hiding my addiction. Something I see now, given his reaction, why I did.

Jonathon Van Ness, in a recent podcast “Getting Curious” with an addiction specialist at UCLA discusses shame in addiction, and defines it as this idea where “if you knew this one thing about me, you wouldn’t love me anymore.” This definition makes a lot of sense, as to why I could never tell M. If he knew, I would lose his love. And his love was holding me together, and giving me hope that someday I can fix this, overcome this, get help, get better, get fit, be the best version of myself again and beyond.

But now I just wait by my phone, wondering if I should send a 3rd text. The last one was around 3pm, when my day was freeing up for the rest of the weekend. So he could have arranged to meet at any time. Maybe inviting him to the gym or a meeting was too off-putting--like i WANTED that or something. But I just want to give options since just asking for a basic plan yielded no results. I don’t know if I should leave him alone. If he needs more time. If I push, I push him farther away. Or if ignoring makes me feel insecure and think I don’t care or think about him. That I just think about using again or getting clean, and he’s not longer important. This is farthest from the truth. All I want is to not fall asleep alone in bed anymore. I want M back by my side, cuddling me and us to sleep. But even then, I fear or believe that M doesn’t feel he can do that and feel safe or comfortable anymore, even though I think he wants this again too. But the trust that’s missing is something that will come in time. Through my actions. Through my recovery. And if only he were here to hold me, he would understand that my recovery means everything. Not for him, for me. But I am his, so a better me is a better him. I just want him to know he’s loved and cared for. I don’t want him to feel alone, upset, and sad. I want him to ask questions, even yell, shame, guilt. Do what he needs to do. Isolating himself alone in his room at his parents house is not going to help him heal, with or without me.

And for some reason, as I heal, I need to know who I affected most is healing. Because the truth is: I can’t stop thinking about killing myself since this happened. Not because I want to, but because I think it’s the one thing that would end his healing process, and make his life better. Even if it meant I would lose mine. So be it.

#opiates #opioid addiction #opiod epidemic

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freckledcoffeeaddict · 7 years

Text

Snowed In

Part Two

From his seat at his breakfast bar, Luke starred at his closed bedroom door, knowing she was on the other side. He knew that he should just settle in on the couch and get some sleep, but his mind wasn’t ready to shut down just yet as he went over everything that had happened tonight.

He’d been getting ready to head out to mass when his phone rang. At almost midnight on Christmas Eve, he didn’t even look at the display on his phone, assuming it was his mother making sure that he was going to church.

“I’m walking out the door in five minutes.” He said in way of answering the call.

“Oh thank god.” A familiar voice that wasn’t his mother’s replied, “She called you.”

“JJ?” He asked confused. He pulled the phone from his ear to glance at the display to make sure he’d properly identified the voice.

“Yes.” JJ paused as she absorbed his confusion. “She did call you, didn’t she? You’re on your way to get her?”

“I was on my way out to church, JJ. What are you talking about?” Luke asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Garcia.” JJ said and he could hear the panic in her voice. “She needs a place to stay. The power is out at her place and with the temps dropping there – it’s not safe. She’s going to freeze. I would have her stay with me, but Will & I decided at the last minute to go to Florida. I talked to her when we landed a few hours ago, but I haven’t been able to get her back since then.”

His heart was racing at the thought of her in trouble. “I’ll take care of her JJ.” Luke assured her.

“Thanks Luke. I’m grateful. She probably won’t say it, but she’ll be grateful too.”

“Grateful enough to stop calling me ‘newbie’?” He half-joked.

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” JJ laughed before thanking him again.

As soon as he hung up, he pressed the speed dial on his phone to call her, but got an automated message that the lines were busy. He tried two more times before grabbing his keys and heading out to his truck.

He hadn’t realized how bad the snow had gotten and was thankful that his truck had all wheel drive. It took longer than he’d thought it should have to drive to her place – and he didn’t see a single other vehicle out the whole way.

He pulled into her drive behind her tiny car that was buried in the drifting snow. He cut the engine and got out of the car and the air hit him. Pulling his jacket a little tighter, he took a quick glance up and down the street before leaning into the car and putting the key back into the ignition and cranking it back on. He reached past the steering column and put the heat on full blast.

He then made his way to the front door of her building. Out of habit, he reached up to buzz in, realizing as he hit the button that it would be obsolete without power. Instead, he opened his wallet and took out a small file and quickly picked the lock to let himself into the building.

Once inside, he bound up the stairs and found her door. He rapped quietly at first but heard nothing inside. He shivered and knocked a little more forcefully, calling her name as well. And still nothing. He pulled his phone out to try to call her again, but the call still wouldn’t go through. As the minutes passed, he started pounding on the door – pausing to listen for movement inside – and then pounding again.

He was about to pick the lock to her apartment as well, when he finally heard her voice from within.

She sounded sleepy and it took her a few minutes to get to the door. That gave him time to compose himself. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d really been about her until he heard her voice and relief flooded his body. By the time she opened the door, he’d taken a stance leaning against the doorframe and did his best to put a smile on his face and act casual – like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to show up at her door at 1 am.

“What? How?” She look at him, a flash of confusion passes over her features before they both say, “JJ”.

He steps past her and enters the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” She asks and he can hear the spite in her voice. “I’m fine.” She says emphatically.

He turns to face her and looks her up and down. “Yeah, you look fine.” She looks ridiculous. Beautiful – but ridiculous. Still wearing the heels and the dress she had on at the office earlier, she has added at least two hats, several blankets are wrapped around her, one mitten on, the other in her hand, and so many scarves that her can’t help himself from reaching out to try to count them. “You’re wearing like six scarves Garcia.” He teases, easily falling into the banter they always seem to have.

“Hey!” She grabs his hand before he can touch even one of the scarves, pushing him away.

Her hand is like ice and he no longer wants to tease her about her attire. “Whoa!” He wants to pull her into his arms and warms her up, but knows better. Instead her just stares at her and says, soberly, “You’re really cold.”

“I’m fine.” She repeats, sticking her chin out with bravado and all he can think about his how much he loves her spirit and how nuts she is if she actually thinks he’s going to let her stay in this ice box.

“Chica?” He says softly, waiting to speak until she raises her face to look at him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can protest if you want, but I can’t let you stay here tonight. It’ll be easier and quicker if you just pack some things and we go, but if you want to argue about it, I’ll wait. Either way, I’m not leaving this apartment without you.” He reaches up and cups her cheek in his hand, “For once, will you just do it the easy way?”

She presses her cheek into his hand for just a moment and his heart soars for a split second. And then she crushes him. “It’s not that bad. Sergio and I were doing just fine before you barged in.” She spits back.

He looks at her with disbelief to find her glaring at him. “Barged in?” He says more to himself than to her, pulling his had from her face and raking it through his hair, he had to wonder if he’d been wrong about this. Despite all the teasing, he thought they had a connection. He though she liked him. He knew he liked her. He realizes that he’s actually saying all of this aloud, but in Spanish thankfully. He swallows hard and looks back at her. “I guess we’re going to do this the hard way.”

He spots a big canvas bag in her kitchen and crosses the room to grab it. He takes a quick stock of the moonlit apartment and his eyes fall on the door that must lead to her room. He pushed through the door. She’s following behind him still arguing, but he’s tuned her out and is focused on his mission, which is to get her out of here and to get both of them into the warm car and then to his house. He was tired. He was cold. And he was sick of these games.

He’d had plenty of fantasies about the two of them alone in the dark in her bedroom – or his – but this wasn’t in any of them.

He pulled open drawers and randomly threw some of her things into the bag. Moving into her bathroom, he does the same. He knows that he’s talking, but it’s a rant and he’d not even sure what he’s saying. He turns the faucet on before he leaves the bathroom and then heads to the kitchen to do the same, pushing the bag into her arms before he does.

He’s about to cross back to her when he sees her cat – in a Christmas sweater because of course her cat not only has, but actually wears, things like this. In one fluid motion, he leans down and picks up the cat and walks straight to her apartment door and opens it. “You’re packed, the water is running so your pipes don’t freeze, and I have your cat. Let’s go.” He nods towards the hallway.

She looks shell-shocked. “You’re mad.” She says softly. “Like…you’re really mad.” He knows if he lets his guard down right now, it’ll take that much longer until her gets her to some warmth, so he just glares at her until finally, she takes a few steps towards him – stopping to put on a coat and hat – and then walks out into the hall and all the way to the truck.

The manners that his mama drilled into him are so ingrained that he finds himself opening the door for her and offering his hand before he has a chance to think about it. She grips his hand and gets in the truck without argument or any sass. He pulls the bag from her arms and gives her the cat before closing the door.

After throwing her bag in the back seat, he walks around the back of the truck. As soon as he gets behind the tailgate –out of her line of sight – he stops and leans forward, hands on his knees, and lets out the breath he’d been holding in ever since JJ told him she needed help. He let the relief wash over him for a moment knowing that she was safe – and warming up – inside his truck. He stood and pressed a hand to his temple as the relief turned to regret. He’d spent the past year and a half admiring this beautiful woman – going toe-to-toe with her round after round as she hassled him. He’d always believed it would lead to something more – something real. But tonight he realized that all might have been one-sided. That banter he thought was flirtation was really just her dislike for him. She’d made that crystal clear tonight when she’d chosen to stay and freeze in her apartment rather than call him for help. After this crisis was over, he knew that he would need to get some distance from her. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and then continued around to the driver’s side.

Once they were both buckled in, the navigated the snowy roads back to his house. He hit one patch of ice and reached over to brace her – his hand landing on her knee. She didn’t move – didn’t push him away – and when he glanced over at her, her eyes were trained straight ahead and she wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew that they were over before they ever began.

As they enter his house, Roxie run excitedly to greet them and he hears her cat hiss. “Sit.” He says firmly to the dog and she stops dead in her tracks and does as she’s told.

For a moment it seems they’re all frozen. Now that they’re here, he’s not sure what to say or how to act. She hasn’t moved either, so he finally turns to look at her. This time, he finds her looking at him – her eyes searching for his. When their eyes meet, she hold his gaze and says quietly, “Thank you Luke.”

Luke. She said his name. He can feel the hope already swelling back up, but he needs to keep it at bay. “It’s about damn time woman.” He says sharply, trying to hide his elation. “You were starting to make me think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“I am worth more than you’ll ever know, Newbie.” She shoots back and he can’t stay angry. After the way she just said his name, he knows he was wrong before. They are building something. And he wants to see where this can go.

He realizes that he’s been silent too long. He can’t help the smile from forming as he leans in towards her and says, “Challenge accepted.”

She smiles back at him and for a moment. And then she shakes her head and backs off. “I – uh. It’s late. Sleep.” She stammers.

He rocks back on his heels, out of her space. He nods towards the bedroom door, “Take my room.”

She looks to the door and then back to him and then back to the door. “No, I can’t. I can take the couch.”

“Penelope.” He says softly. “Take the bed. Roxie & I will stay out here.” She nods and picks up the bag of her things and quickly disappears into his bedroom, the door closing behind her.

~*~*~

Penelope awoke the next morning disoriented. Before she opened her eyes, she knew she wasn’t in her bed. This bed was much more firm than hers, and the pillow under her cheek was memory foam. Eyes still closed, she listened to see if sound would help identify her locale. And then she heard the low snore and realized there was heat pressed up against her back. She froze and then the previous evening came back to her. Luke.

Oh jeez. What had they done? She remembered the way he looked at her and the way she’d responded, leaning in for a moment. She remembered him telling her to take his room instead of the couch. She protested once, but when he insisted, she accepted. Once alone in his room, she remembered rummaging through the yellow bag to see that Luke had randomly grabbed almost nothing useful. She didn’t expect to find anything matching, but there wasn’t even a t-shirt for her to sleep in, so she helped herself to his closet and pulled one of his over her head. She’d found her toothbrush and a comb, but no make-up remover, or make-up for that matter. None of her fancy face wash either. Instead, she remembered washing her face in his bathroom using his soap, looking at herself in his mirror.

Moving slowly as to not wake the man pressed against her, she pulled her arm out from under the covers and pulled them away from herself to look down. She exhaled a sigh of relief to see that she was still fully clothed. Maybe he’d gotten up in the middle of the night and ended up back in his own bed out of habit – forgetting the she was there.

She slowly turned her head to peer at him over her shoulder. “Oh god!” She said and her whole body shook with laughter when she saw that it was Roxie pressed against her. Stretching her arms above her head, she sat up and then pivoted her legs over the side to stand. Once standing, she laughed even harder to see that Roxie was spooning Sergio. Both asleep, both content.

After washing her face using his soap, brushing her teeth, and running a comb through her hair, she exited his bedroom and padded her way through his house. She could smell the coffee, so she knew that he was awake somewhere. She found him sitting on the loveseat in the living room, reading a book.

“Good morning.” She said and he looked up at her and smiled.

“Afternoon is more like it.” He said casually, turning back to his book.

“Afternoon?” She scanned the room and found a grandfather clock in one of the corners that indicated that it was 1:30. “I never do this.” She tried to clarify.

“Chica,” He says with exasperation as he puts his bookmark in the book and closes it, “it was after one when I got to your place last night. You were exhausted and needed your sleep. We’re snowed in, so I let you sleep.” He paused as he remembered the sight of her in his bed, her hair flared out across his pillow when he’d gone to get Roxie for a walk several hours earlier. “You didn’t even wake up when your phone rang. It was JJ, by the way, and I assured her that you hadn’t frozen to death at your apartment last night.” He smiled, “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Wait? What?” She absorbed what he’d just said.

“Merry Christmas?” He looked confused. “Hanukah?” He asked, looking for clarity.

“No, Christmas. Definitely Christmas.” She confirmed, then started again, “Did you say we’re snowed in? And you answered my phone?”

He gestured towards the window and she turned her attention to the breathtaking view. The entire world sparkled and snow covered everything she could see. Now that she was warm – she could again appreciate the beauty. “We got another three feet overnight.” He explained. “They’re working on the main roads now, but we’re not going anywhere anytime soon. And I didn’t answer your phone – I wouldn’t do that. She called me right after she called you.” Standing, he gestured towards the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee maybe?”

She nodded, the mere mention of food making her stomach growl and she realized she was famished. He started towards the kitchen and she followed. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a mug and then filled it with the already brewed coffee. He turned to hand it to her and did a quick double take. “What?” She asked defensively as she felt his eyes sweep up and down her body.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’ve just never seen you without – “

“Make-up? I know! But you didn’t pack any of mine when you were stuffing things into that bag. Do you know that I don’t have one single matching outfit to wear? And no soap! I had to wash my face with your soap. And – “ He silenced her with a finger against her mouth.

“Shoes.” He finished, an amused twinkle in his eye as he pulled his hand back to his side. “I’ve never seen you without shoes on. I didn’t realize you were so short.”

“Oh.” She said humbly, turning away from him. Then, under her breath, she mumbled, “You probably didn’t even notice the no make-up or the fact that I’m wearing your shirt.”

“Penelope,” She turned as he said her name. He handed the mug to her, but didn’t let go when her hands curled around its warmth, their fingers brushing together. “I notice everything about you.”

His finger was moving slowly, caressing hers on the mug they held between them. He leaned in a little closer. She mirrored him. He tilted his head a little and she followed suit. She could feel his breath on her face as she closed her eyes – and then his phone rang and he pulled away.

He sighed and looked at his phone, “I’m sorry.” He held the phone up so she could see ‘Mama’ on the display. “I have to take this.” He hit the button to answer the call and held the phone up to his ear, “Mama! Feliz navidad!” He said and he walked towards the living room.

She didn’t follow. Instead, she busied herself with finding something to eat. She has expected to find nothing but some microwave dinners and beer in his fridge, but instead found it stocked with meats, fruits, and vegetables. His pantry was also well-stocked and she realized that he was probably a much better cook that she. Rather than embarrass herself trying to utilize all the hearty and wholesome ingredients she’d found, she made and devoured one of her specialties, PB&J.

She was just rinsing off the plate she’d used when he came back into the kitchen. “Sorry about that. My mama, she worries.” He rolled his eyes.

“That must be nice.” She observed with longing. “I lost my parents when I was 14. I’d give anything to hear my mom’s voice – even nagging me – one more time.”

“I remember you said that ‘Garcia’ was from the family that took you in. I’m sorry.” He said soberly.

She shook her head, blinking back tears, “It’s OK really.”

“Hey,” He said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek with his hand, wiping away one lone tear with his thumb. “It’s OK to not be OK all the time. I meant what I said all those months ago…If I ever become the someone you want to go when you’re crying, I’m here.” He gazed down at her, watching her lips tremble, watching her trying not to break. And he saw the shift when she let go. She let out a huge breath and then the tears fell and she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. And he just held her until her tears ran dry.

#garcia x alvez #garvez #luke alvez #penelope garcia #criminal minds

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