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whump-bunny · 10 months ago

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A Choice To Make

CW: Restraints, Drugged Whumpee, Imprisonment, Threats, 15 year old whumpee, whumper is his dad, technically post-apocalypse, human weapon

Synopsis: Everyone was told that Asa was unwell, that he's crazy, and that Adam is treating him with the utmost care. But Bella believes otherwise. So she goes to find Asa herself.

She creaks the door open, waiting for the inevitable alarm or siren. But somehow, the silence is even more disconcerting. There, sitting in a chair at the center of the room, is Asa.

From a distance, he looks like less of a human and more of a doll. His black hair falls limply over his face, head lolled down to his chest. His arms and legs seem to dangle from his frame like pipe cleaners, held in place by metal restraints. Restraints that are wholly unnecessary, given his physical state, and must only be there to prove a point.

Bella swallows as she approaches. Her footsteps sound like gunshots in the quiet of the cell. And yet, Asa does not lift his head. Up close, the reason why is obvious. An IV, sharp and glaring, protrudes from the back of his hand. Bella follows the line with her eyes to the bag of clear liquid hanging on a hook above him.

Then she looks back to him, to the boy that she so quickly dismissed. To the boy who was right about Adam all along. With a trembling hand, she nudges Asa’s head up to see his face, expecting to find him fast asleep.

Big brown eyes are staring back at her, hazy and unseeing.

“Jesus Christ…”

Adam did this. Adam turned his own son into a weapon. And when that weapon stopped being useful, he left him here. Restrained, drugged, and so utterly alone. Bella has never been a very emotional girl… but this just might be enough to make her cry. That is, until her sorrow is quickly replaced by rage.

With a huff, Bella rips out Asa’s IV. Golden blood pours out behind it. Bella swears, scanning the room for a bandage, some gauze, paper towel, even. But the cell is as barren as it is tiny. Finally, with a groan, Bella uses her shirt to apply pressure to the wound. It isn't without difficulty. Asa’s blood seeps into her clothes, making her look like she's been gilded. But eventually, the bleeding comes to a stop, and Bella breathes a sigh of relief. All the while, Asa’s enhanced metabolism fights off the remaining drugs.

“Hnn…” He groans. Bella puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Asa… you alright?”

He moves at a snail’s pace, but sure enough, he lifts his head, blinking in the synthetic light. His eyes land on her. For a moment, there's no recognition, but his mouth forms the word.

“B… Bella?” He whispers.

Bella tries for a smile, but it probably comes out more like a grimace. “Hey, Asa.”

Asa swallows several times, probably buying time for his brain to come back online. Finally, the haze in his eyes seems to clear up completely. He looks at Bella with an awareness that wasn't there before.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, suddenly very serious.

Bella opens her mouth to answer, but finds she doesn't have one. What is she doing here? Asa isn't exactly her friend. She should be in her room, playing video games, drinking coffee, sucking up to Adam when she wants something. But here she is, potentially getting into huge trouble just to talk to a boy she can't stand.

And then she remembers what she saw. The pillars of fire with golden smoke. The news reports of people dying on the streets, before the news went utterly silent. She remembers Adam's cold grin, looking out to the wreckage he had caused. And she remembers what Asa said, all those months ago.

He's not going to save the world, he's going to destroy it. And he's gonna use me to do it. You have to help me.

You have to help me…

He tried to warn everyone, but they didn't listen. Bella didn't listen. She was too blinded by Adam’s mask, his kindly, generous disguise. And now it's too late. As much as Bella hates it, she can't help but feel a crushing guilt.

Maybe that's why she's here.

“I… I was just-” she stutters, lamely. Reaching for a plausible excuse. But luckily, Asa cuts her off.

“How long have I been down here?"

The question catches Bella off guard, but she's thankful for the distraction. She thinks back to the last time she saw Asa, kicking and screaming as Adam dragged him to the basement.

“About two months, I think.”

Asa doesn't seem shocked by that. Just resigned.

“Oh.” He says. An awkward silence falls over the two. Until Asa gasps, meeting Bella’s gaze with renewed intensity. “My dad- the- the serum! Did he do it? Did he release it on the world?”

Bella considers lying, but decides against it. Asa’s already in a cell, the least she can do is be honest with him.

“Yeah… yeah, he did.”

Asa falls silent at that, but the expression on his face makes it obvious what he's thinking. It's all my fault.

“How many…” Asa falters. He can't bring himself to ask. He doesn't need to. Bella knows.

“He released it on the day he locked you down here. Since then… about 80% of the world population has died.” She tells him, trying not to think too hard about the scale of that number. About the children waking up to find their parents cold and unmoving, about the airplanes that fell out of the sky, about the fear and confusion permeating the whole world. Instead, she looks back at Asa and really takes him in. He looks so small in his chair, so… defeated. Like the only thing keeping him from crying is the fact that he has no more tears left to shed. The fact that someone as pathetic as him is technically the cause of the end of the world would be laughable in any other context. But now Bella feels only pity.

“I’m sorry-” She starts, but Asa cuts her off.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He says, with a startling amount of intensity.

Bella can’t help but be slightly offended. “I came here to visit you, asshole. I didn’t need to come here.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Asa insists, “Dad comes down here every once in a while to feed me. You can’t let him see you.”

Bella bristles, realizing that the feisty and stubborn boy she knew is long gone. Maybe he’s even more of a doll than she thought.

“He can’t just keep you down here like this, drugged to hell and back. Maybe I can talk to him-”

Asa pales, “No, please don’t. Don’t let him know you saw me. Just go.”

“He’s your father-”

“HE’S A MONSTER!"

Bella falls quiet. They both do.

Asa is the one who breaks the silence.

“Please, Bella… just forget about me. Don’t come back down here. It’s not worth getting on his bad side.” He starts to tear up. “I can’t… I can’t handle anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

Once again, guilt rises to the surface of Bella’s chest. She swallows it down.

“O-okay… I’ll go.” She says. And for the first time since she’d met him, Asa smiles.

“Thank you.”

Bella turns to go, but a thought occurs. “Wait, what about your IV? He’ll notice it’s out.”

“It’s fine, I manage to rip it out all the time. He’ll blame me.”

“But won’t you get in trouble?” Bella frowns.

Asa shakes his head, “I’m already sitting in a cell. He can’t do much worse.” He laughs. It's the kind of humorless, dry laugh that Bella would associate with a war vet, not a 15 year old boy.

“Now go,” Asa says, smile fading as quickly as it came. “Get out of here before he notices you're gone.”

Bella doesn't wait to be told again. Her mind is racing as she sneaks back up the stairs and through the halls of Adam’s compound. How can she continue on as normal, knowing that Asa’s deep underground, a plaything to a mad man? But more than that, how can she keep what she knows a secret? Every day, more and more refugees of the apocalypse seek shelter in Adam’s vast commune. They worship Adam like a king… like a god. But if they knew the truth about Adam, about Asa, about everything, they would revolt.

She slows down as she arrives at the courtyard, and one thing becomes clear.

…She has to tell them. They can't go on believing that Adam has their best interest in mind. If he'll do something this horrible to his son, then none of them stand a chance. She has to warn the others before it's too late.

Thoughts of revolution and chaos dance around Bella’s head, pulling her attention away from her surroundings. That is until she all but collides with the very person she's plotting against.

Adam steadies her shoulders with firm hands, “Woah, watch where you're going.” He chuckles.

His suit is pressed creaseless and his hair is groomed to perfection, as always. Bella has long thought he more closely resembles a mannequin than a human. If Asa is a doll, then clearly this is where he gets it from.

“A-Adam!” Bella balks, heart and mind racing. “I'm sorry, I was just…” She trails off. Normally, she'd whip out an excuse from the tip of her tongue, lying with all the ease of a practiced politician. But it seems the day’s events have left her brain scrambled.

Adam looks her up and down with an unreadable expression. It's not unusual for him, and yet Bella can't help but feel like the word GUILTY is written on her forehead. She needs to escape his scrutiny and fast. Before she buckles completely.

Luckily, Adam clears his throat and offers his own change of subject. “So, what have you been up to?”

“O-oh, y'know, just hanging out. Taking a walk.” Bella smiles weakly. Adam replies with a smile of his own.

“Of course, of course. It's a beautiful day.” He gestures to the wide expanse of greenery within the courtyard. Looking out at the clear blue sky, the birds flapping their wings in the distance, it's almost like nothing's changed. Like just beyond the compound walls, people aren't dying by the thousands.

“Yeah…” Bella says, taking a step back. “Anyway, I'd like to continue my walk if it's all the same to you.”

“Oh yes, excuse me.” Adam nods, and Bella takes that as her sign to get the hell out of dodge.

She begins to speed walk in the opposite direction. Is it her brightest moment? No, it's not. But right now she couldn't care less about appearing “tough.” All that matters is getting to the others, telling them the truth, and figuring out a way to bring a stop to Adam once and for all.

She only gets a few steps away before Adam calls out behind her.

“Oh, Bella?”

She freezes.

“Y-yes?” She asks, turning slowly. Adam’s golden eyes seem to pierce directly into her soul. He smiles.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least wash your shirt first.”

Time slows. The birds stop chirping. Her heart stops. She looks down, and to her horror, she sees Asa's shining, golden blood staining her shirt. In her hurry to leave, she'd completely forgotten about it.

When she looks back up, eyes wide, Adam is towering over her. Smile gone, replaced by a scowl.

“I- I didn’t-” Bella stammers, trying to come up with some sort of lie, but Adam silences her with a hand on her shoulder. He squeezes tight enough to leave a bruise.

“Save it.” He says. Bella’s mouth snaps shut. He stares into her eyes for a moment, as if looking for something. Before finally letting out a sigh. “I’m curious. Why risk your position here for a boy you hardly know?”

Once again, Bella wracks her brain for an answer. Why? Why did she do it? Guilt yes, but there has to be something more. And then it hits her.

“You need to be stopped.” She whispers, voice weaker than she'd intended it to be. Adam hears her all the same. He tilts his head.

“Stop me? Why would you want that?”

Still playing the hero of humanity, even now. Even when his hands are drenched in blood, he claims to be a savior. Bella would be offended that he's still putting on an act, but it's clear that Adam truly believes in what he's saying. That's what makes him dangerous.

Bella glares, “He… Asa was right about you… every word.”

The hand on her shoulder tightens to a painful degree.

“Well, now you know what happens to people who are right about me. They end up underground, where no one can hear them scream.” Bella's eyes dart to the entrance of the basement, where Asa is sitting in his cell, alone and miserable.

“So is that what you want? To be right? Or do you want to keep living in this paradise I’ve created? With everyone else who’s wrong. The choice is yours.” Adam pauses, giving her time to think.

And Bella does think. She thinks about Asa, about what he'd choose. But in the end, it doesn't really matter what he chose, does it? He stood by his ideals and paid for it with his life. Sure, he's not dead. But the life he's living is no life at all.

All Bella wants… all she's ever wanted is to be happy. So the question is, can she be happy living a lie? In a paradise built by blood? Can she be happy walking in the sun while Asa rots underground? She's not sure. But she's sure of one thing.

She wants the chance to find out.

She nods, lowering her head. Adam removes his hand for a shoulder with one final squeeze.

“Go near Asa again, and you'll end up in the cell next door. Got it?” He says, and Bella doesn't doubt that he means it. She nods once more.

Adam’s smile returns, as if it never left.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

Then he walks past, whistling a happy tune, leaving Bella to think about what she's done.

#whump #drugged #imprisonment #whumper #writing #whumpee #post apocalyptic #if you want more context I will give it to you

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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(Because - as has rightfully been pointed out - the angel needs his cuddles, too.)

“Crowley?”

“Nnnnh?” The sprawl of limbs dozing on the sofa shifted, resolving into six feet of lazy demon.

“Can you help me with this?” Rising up on his toes, Aziraphale gestured with the book in his hand. “I can’t quite reach the top shelf.”

“Don’t you have a stool or something?”

“It’s on the other side of the shop, and you’re right here.”

With another groan, Crowley rolled off the sofa in a strange, almost fluid motion, and sauntered across the room. “Where does it go?”

“Just there.” He pointed again as Crowley took the book, glaring at the top shelf. It was, in reality, slightly too high for either of them to reach.

Crowley stretched, standing on his own toes, one hand resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder for balance, until he could just barely get the corner of the book into the gap between two others, and shoved it hard into place.

“There. If that broke the thing, s’not my fault.”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of…thank you, my dear.”

“Mmmh.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a half-grin before wandering back towards his favorite resting spot.

Behind his back, Aziraphale pressed his own hand to where his shoulder still burned with lovely heat.

“Crowley? I think I could use a hand again.”

“Are you serious?” he groaned. “You going to tell me you can’t reach your own mugs now?”

Aziraphale glanced at the cupboard again. It did look too low for that, didn’t it? “Of course not. I…I think I should reorganize my wine. I need you to hold some bottles for me.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Some of those wine bottles haven’t moved in over a century. Why would you need to do this now?”

“That…” He felt a flash of embarrassment, quickly turned it into indignation. “That’s hardly any of your concern, now is it? You come to my shop, day after day, just to lounge about. This isn’t one of your – your ancient temples, you can’t just laze around while the human worshippers fan you and feed you peeled grapes…”

A shadow fell across Aziraphale, and he turned to see Crowley, leaning against the doorway to the little kitchen, lopsided grin on his face. “That’s a very elaborate fantasy you’ve concocted.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and turned back to the wine, grabbing a few bottles at random. “It’s not a – a fantasy. I know what you used to get up to in Egypt. And Greece. And a dozen other snake-worshipping cultures.”

“I was hardly—oof.” He grabbed the bottle of red that Aziraphale had all but thrust into his stomach, long fingers dragging across the back of Aziraphale’s hand, leaving behind a trail of fireworks.

“Good. That.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, staring at a row of champagne bottles. “That should go in the, er, Italian section. Tuscany.”

“You going to arrange them geographically now?”

“Of course! Region, then year, then type of grape. Perfectly logical. These are from, um, Piedmont.” He held out two more bottles.

Shrugging, Crowley put the first on the table and reached out. Aziraphale stood perfectly still, so that he couldn’t miss Crowley’s smallest finger brushing against his thumb in passing.

“Now what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m – I’m sweeping under the sofa. Kindly move those – those pipe cleaners you call legs.”

“You never sweep.”

“That’s entirely untrue.” Aziraphale reached as far as his arm would go, vaguely sliding the brush from side to side. Shuffled a little to the left, until his shoulder bumped up against Crowley’s calf, fire bursting through him again.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, and in an instant the legs were gone, neatly folded up beneath him.

Blast. Aziraphale glanced up with feigned concern. “You better not be putting your boots on…ah.” Crowley wiggled his toes, covered in a black snakeskin sock that was a little too skin-tight and convincing. With a grin and a shrug, the demon curled in on himself again, neatly out of the way, and turned his attention back to his mobile phone.

“Right. Well. Good.” Aziraphale ducked his head, and scrubbed hard at the floor.

“Crowley, help me move this chair.”

“Crowley, hold this ladder while I climb.”

“Crowley, hand me that cloth, I dropped it again.”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley, come over here, I need your hands again.”

“Are you going to pay me for all this work?”

“Nonsense. I’m exploiting you, like any good capitalist.” He pressed his hands down on the cover of the book, sharp scent of glue filling the air. “Come along, I can’t actually go over there to get you.”

Another string of garbled syllables, and once again Crowley stood at his shoulder. “What are you doing this time?”

“I’m rebinding this book. The glue sets overnight, so I need you to hold it while I get something heavy to put on top.”

“Um.” A long pause. “I can get something heavy for you.”

“No, I need you to hold this.”

Another pause, this time the silence tinged with suspicion. “Don’t you have a – a press or something?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly forward, away from Crowley. “Will you just…stop asking foolish questions and do as you’re asked?”

Two hands slapped down onto the cover, perfectly between Aziraphale’s without touching either of them. He could feel the warmth of Crowley’s shoulder, so tantalizingly close.

“Well?” Crowley finally prompted. “Aren’t you going to move?”

“No.” He swallowed. “Not when you’re holding it wrong. Look. You need to be here, in front of the book.”

“Yeah. Where you’re standing.” Aziraphale could feel the look Crowley shot through his glasses.

“Oh, fine.” Removing his hands, Aziraphale stepped back and to the side, letting the demon take his place. “No, not like that! Honestly, my dear fellow, you need to pay more attention.”

“Wha—?”

Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale’s hands shot out, carefully encircling Crowley’s waist, just above the hips. “Center yourself,” he said, nudging to the left as his arms soaked in wave after wave of heat. Not enough. “And a little closer.” An infinitesimal push, enough to bring his chest almost, almost against Crowley’s back. He ached for it, that last bit of space.

Well. There was one option.

“Good. Now. Just need to position your hands correctly.”

Leaning forward, Aziraphale placed his hands on the backs of Crowley’s, pressing against his back. His feet shifted, and now his chin rested on that black-clad shoulder, and his legs bracketed Crowley’s, his arms rested against Crowley’s…

Every part of them, together.

With his eyes closed, everything else fell away, except for Crowley, his presence fluttering under Aziraphale’s skin like a second heartbeat. He drank it in, more and more, trying to fill every empty space inside himself, but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough—

“Angel?”

In an instant, he was back in the shop, stumbling away. “Yes. That. That should…I’ll…”

Aziraphale spun and hurried away, closing his ears to the worry in Crowley’s voice.

“Crowley? Can you—”

“Nope.”

“I…” Aziraphale tried to muster up his indignation again, but after the bookbinding fiasco, it was impossible. “Of course. I’ll just…”

“Nope, I need your help.”

He turned, slowly, to where the long shape of his companion sprawled across the sofa, one foot over the arm, the other dangling off the side, hands folded behind his head.

“What…what do you need.”

Crowley lifted one hand and pointed to a shelf behind the sofa. “That one.”

“I…” Aziraphale moved closer, trying to see what he was pointing at. “You want a book?”

“Mmmh. Right there.”

Frowning, he took a few more steps. “Isn’t that a dictionary?”

“Nnh? No, not that one, that one.” The finger didn’t move.

“Why…why can’t you…?”

With a snort, Crowley dropped his hand, tucked it behind his head again. “Sprained my back doing all your chores. I’m out of commission. I need a book to entertain me during my long convalescence.”

“And what happened to your clever little telephone?”

“Finished it.”

“You…you finished it?”

“Yup. Browsed the whole internet. Found the end. Lousy twist in the last chapter.”

From the tilt of his head, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley’s eyes were shut, lost in the perverse joy of his silly claims. That should have made this easier, but he still hesitated as he leaned across the sofa, rested his hand on the back. His arms passed over the top of Crowley’s head by several centimeters.

“Did you mean…this one?” His fingers hovered over a likely tome.

“Hmm. Nope. Further down.”

A step to the side, knees coming close to where Crowley’s leg carelessly hung, as if it were too much work to pull it onto the sofa with the rest of him. “This one?”

“One shelf down.”

He bent even lower, until his stomach hovered, just above—

Crowley struck, fast as a serpent, his lazy sprawl suddenly a flurry of motion as arms and legs grappled Aziraphale, constricted, twisted around to slam him into the sofa cushions, to lie there with Crowley straddling his middle, hands pressing down on his shoulders.

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered so that he could hardly breathe.

“Good. Now. What do you want?”

“I…” Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t…”

“Yes. You do.” One hand shot up and ripped his glasses off, tossing them aside, then pressed down again on the angel’s chest. Golden eyes bore into him. “Bless it, Aziraphale, all day you’ve asked me to do everything except for – whatever it is you need! Just tell me!”

“I…” He pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way his skin burned, electrified, alive. “I can’t. It’s…it’s foolish. It’s too much…”

“Angel.” Softer now, so soft it could break his heart. “Nothing will ever be too much. Just ask.”

“No…”

“I can’t help you if you don’t ask.”

With an effort, Aziraphale managed to press one trembling hand against his eyes. Tried hard to steady himself. “Crowley. I…I don’t know how to explain it. I feel…cold. Empty. Alone, even with you here. Like something inside me just…died, and left me hollow…”

The weight shifted, easing off his shoulders, and when he looked, Crowley was sitting up. Further away.

“Do you…did Heaven do something to you? When you left?”

“No.” How his voice shook! “No, I – I thought that at first, but…in truth…it’s been coming on…for simply ages.” The shop grew misty, and Aziraphale closed his eyes again. “A little worse every time I – I felt my superiors’ disappointment. Every time I failed at a task. Every…every time I visited Heaven and realized…I didn’t belong.” He tried to rub his eyes again and found they were wet. “No…no this isn’t anything but…my own…inadequacy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true! I’m not…not strong they way you are.” His hand reached out, grasping, and found Crowley’s, wrapping gently around his fingers. It surged through him again, warmth, strength, solidity. Everything Aziraphale lacked. “I can feel it in you. It’s beautiful. And I want – want to drink it in, fill myself, but I’m bottomless, I just take, and take, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough!” He pulled his hand away, ready to flee from the sofa, to hide from his shame. Ready for his only friend to pull away in disgust at his selfishness, his greed.

Instead, Crowley lowered himself, stretching his long body across Aziraphale, head tucked under his chin, hands resting on his arms. “Is this better?”

It swept through him again and again, with every beat of Crowley’s heart. Not just heat. Something that Aziraphale had been lacking, craving, for more centuries than the Earth had existed.

Love.

A sob escaped him, pitiful, even as he drank it all in, greedily, more than he ever deserved, possessive arms twisting around Crowley as if to pull him into Aziraphale’s chest.

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured, and his hand pressed against the curve of Aziraphale’s cheek, brilliant as starlight. “How’s this? Any different?”

“Yes, it’s…” There was no hope he’d ever be able to control his voice again. “It’s stronger when…ah…when we touch…directly.”

“Got it.”

And just like that, the weight on his chest vanished, leaving him empty and cold again.

Of course.

Aziraphale sat up, trying to wipe his eyes dry, humiliated by the loss of composure. “If you want to leave,” he managed, blinking them clear, “I won’t…”

Crowley stood before him, jacket and tie discarded, fingers flicking down the buttons of his black shirt.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“You said touching directly, right? Skin to skin?”

“You…you can’t be serious.” A different sort of heat began to race into his cheeks.

“Nrg.” Crowley shrugged, rolling the shirt off his shoulders as he did. “If it helps you…”

“No, my dear – you don’t understand. I want more than – than you could ever give me. I’d – I’d drain you entirely if I could.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He pulled off the last layer, a blac vest, then bent forward, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides. Everything I have is yours. Our side, remember?”

Aziraphale bowed his head, fists clenched in his lap. “You…can’t mean that…”

“Angel.” He felt the warm press of Crowley’s forehead against his own. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

Slowly, slowly, Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie, trying to remember how to loosen it.

Moonlight filtered in through the bookshop windows.

Crowley lay on the floor, Aziraphale curled up against his bare chest, arms around his shoulders, one leg hooked over his knees – clinging to him like a lifeline even in sleep. Some of the strain was finally starting to leak out of his furrowed brow, though he was still a long way from looking like himself.

The fingers of one hand ran through Aziraphale’s curls, carefully, rhythmically. Crowley had never seen the angel sleep before, but as soon as he’d started carefully scratching at his scalp, those blue eyes had begun to drift shut. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but if there was even a chance that this was helping him rest, Crowley would be damned, blessed, and cast into the void before he’d even consider stopping.

Everywhere they touched – which was just about everywhere – Crowley could feel something, an energy buzzing off Aziraphale’s skin. He’d felt it before, many times, but never this distinctly; it curled into him, whether he wanted it or not, flowing through his veins, keeping his heart beating.

“Y’know,” he whispered, slightly worried that the motion of the air would be enough to waken the angel. “You really shouldn’t have worried. Steal my strength? Ridiculous.”

Aziraphale shifted, just a little, pulling himself closer.

“I don’t have a blessed ounce of strength of my own. Or warmth. Solidity? Give me a break.”

A cloud must have moved out of the way; the moonlight suddenly grew brighter, and the pale angel seemed almost to glow in the silver light. Ethereal beauty.

“No. Whatever I’ve got, whatever’s kept me going, for thousands of years – it all comes from you.”

His angel shivered, just faintly, and Crowley quickly miracled up a thick blanket, wrapping it around both of them. Aziraphale sighed, fingers kneading and relaxing across Crowley’s skin.

“So you see, s’not a problem if you need it all. It’s already yours. Everything I have. Everything I am. Yours.”

Crowley was wrong for two reasons.

First, the warmth they felt hadn’t begun in Aziraphale, any more than it had in Crowley. It was a different kind of force, generated by their proximity to each other, and flowing constantly from one to the other, an eternal cycle. The strength belonged to both of them, and neither of them.

Second, of course, it would never run out. After all, love is increased – never diminished – by being shared.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens fluff #ineffable partners #crowley #aziraphale #sleepy cuddles #ineffable snuggle #emotional hurt/comfort #protective crowley #lonely aziraphale #crowley loves his angel #sneks give good hugs even in human form #this got long #my writing #tumblr fic

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thepartyresponsible · 3 years ago

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this soundtrack fill is for kittenlzlz, who i cannot tag because it’s all sabotage all the time over here. also, i'm sorry, i didn’t realize you’d changed your prompt until after i wrote this one, so this is for the first thing you sent in.

anyway, here’s some dystopian sci-fi angst for sam and bucky with a hopeful ending. the song for this one is “achilles come down” by gang of youth.

—

When he was young, Sam spent thirty-seven weeks in New Mexico, learning how to keep people alive until evac. That others may live was a motto they preferred to operationalize rather than idealize, and, without the EMT training, pararescue tended to turn into high-risk body retrieval. So he spent the better part of a year learning how to keep a body breathing, and he learned, also, how to recognize when any effort was likely to be wasted.

Which is how he knows that what he’s looking at isn’t fully human. Because a human would already be dead.

It’s the blood that tells him, more than anything else. The Chitauri bleed a thick, dark blue substance that goes black if their cybernetics are leaking. And there’s plenty of blue and black puddled on the asphalt, but that red is a hemoglobin gift, and that means it’s all human.

“Shit, man,” Sam says, crouching next to the only human at this massacre. “You could keep a blood bank in business all by yourself.”

The man lifts his head and blinks at him, slow and a little dazed. Not dazed enough, though. He can almost focus on Sam’s face. “Not anymore,” he says, after a beat.

More blood bubbles up at the corners of his mouth. Sam can see it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Sam says. And he laughs, because he might as well. Because he came out here with a team of ten to clean out the aliens, and it looks like one guy did their work for them. “Guess not.”

He’s a pathetic sight, really. Ragged body armor, hair clumped together, skin sticky with blood and ichor. He’s belly down on the cracked parking lot, and there’s a smear of blood behind him, showing exactly how far he’s managed to drag himself.

Sam’s not excited about what he’s going to see, when he rolls this guy over on his back.

“You gonna fight me if I help you?” he asks.

Most of them, these Enhanced, the surviving Super Soldiers, they can’t help it. Sam’s had to put a few down himself, although not for a while now. It’s been almost a year since he had to kill anything with a human face.

The man sighs. He rests his forehead against the asphalt, closes his eyes. His fingers flex and then go still. “I don’t know,” he says.

That others may live, Sam thinks. But the problem has always been that lives are balanced on both sides of the scales, and, sometimes, saving one means sacrificing another.

This man killed fifteen Chitauri, and he did it alone. There are kids back at the base. Vulnerable people.

The safest choice would be to leave him here. Let him save himself, if he can. But Sam’s never really been the safe choice type.

“Okay,” he says, hands curling around his shoulders, carefully rolling the man over on his back, “let’s see the damage.”

It’s enough to kill a human. But that’s not really what he’s dealing with.

—

The Super Soldiers were a desperation play. Sam was supposed to be one of them. The best of Earth’s fighters, dosed with serum, patched up with cybernetics based on Chitauri tech, sent out to face the enemies that had invaded the planet.

Sam’s still not sure exactly how it happened, what level of their defenses failed. He only knows failure by its consequences.

The neural implants were hacked. The soldiers turned against their people. Sam, who’d been four days out from his own procedure, was shifted to a team tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them.

These days, there aren’t many left. There’s not much of anyone left. The Chitauri fundamentally misunderstood their target. Sam could’ve warned them. The species of mutually assured destruction was never going to die quiet.

He thinks about that while the Soldier sleeps, chained to a bed in a locked basement in an abandoned building two miles from the base. Sam keeps watch. He has a radio in case anything goes wrong, but he doesn’t intend to use it for anything other than warning them what’s coming.

“I could’ve been you,” Sam tells him. And then, smiling at nothing, shaking his head, “Hell, you could’ve been me.”

He wonders where he’s from. He wonders what his name is.

He wonders, when he can’t help it, what he did. If he ever killed anyone Sam used to know.

—

The Soldier sleeps for forty hours and then sits straight up in bed, rips the chains off his wrists like they’re pipe cleaners, and then turns to face Sam. “What the hell,” he says.

“Oh, well,” Sam says, too startled to be afraid. “Didn’t want anyone stealing you.”

The Soldiers makes a face at him, an incredulous sneer that twists up his mouth and pulls his dark eyebrows together, and he looks so human, so perfectly skeptical, that Sam starts laughing.

“Well,” he says, with a shrug, “you killed fifteen aliens with a tire iron. You’re a treasure.”

“And I want it back.” he says, immediately. “Where’s my tire iron?”

“Confiscated,” Sam says.

He glares, and Sam‘s probably meant to be intimidated, but he knows – they both know – that, if this guy wanted to scare Sam, he could just start breaking bones. Or walls. “I want it back when I leave.”

“Leave,” Sam repeats. He kicks back in his chair, balances on the back legs as he swings his feet up onto the Soldier’s bed. “Why’re you leaving?”

The Soldier stares at Sam’s booted feet near his knees. “Usually it’s the fact that I’m a timebomb that chases me off,” he says, “but it looks like your manners are the real horrorshow around here.”

Sam grins at him. He’s merciless about it, uses the most charming smile in his arsenal. He expects the guy to soften a bit, but he’s not expecting the doubletake he gets, the there-and-away bounce of his stare, like Sam’s suddenly something he wants to look at but doesn’t want to get caught looking at.

Huh, he thinks.

“When’s the last time you hurt someone?” Sam asks.

The Soldier’s face crumples up and then flattens out. “What is this? Some kinda trial? An interrogation?”

“If this were an interrogation, I wouldn’t’ve given you the soft pillows,” Sam tells him.

The Soldier doesn’t look like he buys it. But, after a moment, he tips his head to the side. “Probably wouldn’t want to get blood on these white sheets,” he acknowledges.

“Christ,” Sam says, because that more or less seems to be the only thing he could possibly say to something like that.

The Soldier shrugs. He brushes his hair away from his face, blinks, and gives Sam a skeptical sideways stare. “Did you wash my hair?”

“With a firehose,” Sam confirms. “Damn near shaved the whole thing off. You were a mess, man.”

He shrugs. “It’s messy work.”

And, sure, it is. Sam knows. His base is the first resettlement outpost in this region. They’ve been clearing Chitauri out of the area for months.

But he still takes a damn shower whenever possible.

“Who were you?” Sam asks. “Before the program?”

The Soldier looks away. Looks at nothing. After a long pause, he recites, careful and rote, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 107th.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “James. When’s the last time you hurt a human being?”

He worries at his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin. He’s quiet for a very long time. “Thirteen months, ten days,” he says, finally.

Sam considers the timeline. “You think it’s over?”

“I think the implant’s in my fucking brain,” he says. “It’ll be over at brain death.”

“It’s just a chip,” Sam says. “It’s not sentient. Someone’s gotta send the message, right?”

The Soldier’s jaw works. “Even if the aliens stay out, there’s gonna be plenty of people who want to use someone like me, as soon as they rebuild enough to manage.”

It’s a hell of thing, and it could’ve been Sam.

He nudges the Soldier’s knee with his boot, and the Soldier stares at the point of contact. He doesn’t look angry anymore. If Sam had to use a word to describe the expression on the Soldier’s face, he thinks he’d use something bittersweet and barbed, something like lonely or longing.

“Gonna be a long damn time before anyone’s rebuilt,” he says.

“Aliens could have reinforcements here at any time,” the Soldier says.

“Maybe,” Sam says, although he thinks they might’ve learned some kind of lesson. At the very least, they’ve probably learned that it’s just not worth the effort.

“Look,” Sam says. “I think you should come back to the base.”

“No,” he says. Immediate and definite, louder then he’s been so far.

Sam expected it. Maybe part of him hoped for it. “Okay,” he says. “Then we’ll stay here. And, when you’re better, I want you to take a radio. And I want you to check in with us. All right? Every day.”

The Soldier stares at him. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Sam smiles, studies the hollows of the Soldier’s face, the scars, the freckles he must’ve earned when he was young, used to play too long in the sun. He has, Sam thinks, beautiful eyes. “There’s not a lot of us left,” he says.

“‘Us,’” the Soldier repeats, scoffing audibly.

“Us,” Sam repeats. He nudges the Soldier’s knee again, and the Soldier cuts his eyes away, glares at the wall. But, a moment later, he shifts, leans his knee into Sam.

—

His name is Bucky Barnes. He’s fussy as hell, stubborn beyond belief, helpful every chance he can get, and fond of cats and songbirds. He doesn’t cheat at cards, and he doesn’t accuse Sam of it either, even when Sam beats him damn near every hand.

He’s a good man. Even now.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sam says. Because it’s been two weeks, and Bucky’s decided he’s well enough to go.

Bucky ducks his head. “Shut up,” he says.

Sam wonders if he was always this head shy about affection.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll give you a goodbye kiss.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, practically scuttling away, head still ducked. When he raises it, he’s grinning one of his ghost grins, the ones that almost show who he used to be, like a faint echo of a louder, happier man.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if I don’t get a goodbye kiss, I’m definitely not gonna talk dirty to you on that radio. You gotta put in the work, Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, and his crush couldn’t be more obvious. Sam would be embarrassed for him, if he weren’t busy being charmed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “Check in every day, or I’m gonna track you down.”

“Hm,” Bucky says. He adjusts his pack on his shoulders. He’s got that tire iron, an alarming number of knives, and two guns. He’s setting off to kill more aliens. He’s going alone. “That supposed to be a threat?”

He was a Barnes in the Army and Sam was a Wilson in the Air Force, and so Bucky is a Super Soldier and Sam is not. It’s unpredictable, sometimes, the way mercy falls.

“Be careful out there,” Sam says, and he knocks his elbow against Bucky’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He rolls his eyes and then catches Sam watching, and he blinks, falters. “Yeah,” he says, again. Softer, steadier. A promise, not a joke.

Sam considers him, lets the moment hang. Waits. Sometimes, all Bucky needs is the space and time to make up his own mind.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Bucky says.

“There it is,” Sam says, grinning, almost crowing in triumphant. “There--”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes again, getting theatrical about it. “I already regret saying it.”

“Can’t take it back,” Sam taunts, grinning wide and smug.

“I’m going,” Bucky says, and he starts off, doesn’t look back.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam calls, when Bucky’s just about to break through the treeline, disappear into the woods. “I hate to see you go, but I love----”

“Fuck off, Sam!” Bucky says, but he’s laughing, and Sam can still hear it – surprised and happy, fully human – even after Bucky disappears.

#writing #soundtrack fills

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sp00kworm · 4 years ago

Text

Silence (Part 2)

Part 1 - A Bar Brawl

Part 3 - The Star Goddess (Bloodhound’s Ending)

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Pairing: Revenant x Gender Neutral/ Non-specified Reader

Warnings: Threats of Violence.

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A Totem to Remember - Revenant’s Ending

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Loba’s debut seemed to attract more customers than you were ready to deal with. On the night of the test match, you had to refresh the beer kegs twice and you were almost out of a brand of whiskey known as the Red Devil. It was annoying, but you knew you had to refresh stock as you stacked freshly cleaned glasses back under the bar for the next day. Your bot in the back chimed happily as he opened his great washer stomach and offered you another tray of red hot, freshly cleaned glasses.

“Thanks buddy.” You cooed at the robot before taking the tray and patting his head with one hand. Spinning back around, you headed back out into the bar and hummed to yourself as you started moving towards the cabinet of tumblers. You held the tray on your hip as you plucked open the cabinet before carefully putting the glasses into their correct places, in order of size and shape. Mindlessly, your fingers moved on muscle memory as your little washer buddy moved to plug himself back in for the night, waving before he powered down and his battery began to charge. You patted him softly as you placed the tray away for him and turned to lock the kitchen for the night.

The lights flickered. You looked at the ceiling before a gravelly voice spoke above you.

“You’re oblivious, skinbag.” Revenant purred from the ceiling.

You looked up and realised his face was close to your own, his arms extended, and his legs pinned into the metal of the ceiling. His body contorted monstrously before his head twisted and he dropped from the ceiling with a soft thump.

“What the hell are you doing on my ceiling, Revenant?” You tried to keep calm, but you were quick to fly into fury with the Simulacrum, “You don’t get to just waltz in here after…”

“You don’t get to waltz in here after what you’ve done.” He mimicked back at you with his hand snapping in your face, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” Revenant drawled as he looked at the whiskey behind you. He pointed a sharp finger at it, “Give me that.”

“Uh, no.” You gave an exasperated huff and snatched the liquor, “I suggest you pay for it first, plus, we’re closed.”

“I think you’re forgetting just how much money I’ve given you already, squishy.” Revenant purred, “I gave you a thousand credits last time I was here, that pays for more than seven of those whiskey bottles, I know they’re not that expensive.”

With another hum, his metal fingers reached for a glass, snatching it before you could rescue that from him too.

“Okay. I don’t think you understand that you literally killed a man in my bar, and that your hush money doesn’t just sweep that under the rug.” You pointed a finger in his face angrily, “You pay, or you get out.”

The threat made him laugh. Revenant threw back his head and laughed a deep metallic noise, his mouth opening slightly to reveal the sparking copper inside of his mouth, “I like you. Not just anyone gets away with pointing a finger in my face.” He purred but his hand snapped up and grabbed hold of your wrist. Slowly, his cold sharp fingers crawled down your arm before they grabbed hold of your fingers and pushed, “But point it at me again and I’ll take the nail and skin off and pin your eyes open to watch.”

“This is not the way to get a free drink.” You uttered, in shock at the severity of his threat.

Revenant hummed again before his electronics whirred and he released your hand back to you, “Sure. You’re something odd, skinbag. Get me that drink, I need something to do.” It wasn’t polite nor happy, but you relented and opened the cabinet to retrieve his drink. The expensive liquor was strong, and you turned back around with it in your hand before undoing the screw cap and pouring it into an icy tumbler.

Revenant eased himself into the bar stool, ignoring your disgruntled look as he took the tumbler and admired the dark colour of the whiskey. He swirled the liquid for a while before taking a small amount into his mouth and swallowing, his neck jarring with the pumps before he gave a small hiss.

“Nice burn.” He commented as he slumped over the bar and looked at the clock on the wall, hardly fazed by the lateness of his visit or how inconvenient he was being to you, “I see you’ve been making a killing with the games broadcasts.”

You didn’t know whether he was being genuine, “Well…I guess that money came in handy.” You shot back at him, “Blood money seems to have made my business flourish.”

“Sometimes money buys happiness.” Revenant drawled, “I got plenty of it. Just ask.”

“I don’t want your money.” You scoffed, “I’ve had plenty of that already.”

Revenant growled, “Then just what do you want from me?!” His fingers rapped along the bar top.

“If you didn’t get it, Revenant, I want you to get out and leave me alone!” You shouted.

The Simulacrum watched you, his black and orange eyes bright before the orange went small and he snatched his drink back off the bar. He lifted it to the separation in his face where the skull like white met red and opened the hinge to dump the rest of the alcohol inside. Before you could snatch the expensive bottle away from him, he had it in his hand. Revenant said nothing to you as he held the bottle by his leg, his long arm popping upwards with a shrugging readjustment before he whipped around and headed to the door, stalking on long legs. He didn’t glance back as he stormed away, slamming the door behind him with a grunt before disappearing beyond the bright LEDs of the streetlamps and into the night. You looked at the bar and scoffed at the scratch marks down the wood, running your finger over them before you locked the door and shut off the lights to head up to your room above the bar for some well-earned rest.

Revenant didn’t show up for the next few days. You were glad for the peace again as you ran through your normal daily routine, until it came to cleaning day for you little dishwasher friend. The robot unit chirped happily as you slapped at his dishwashing compartment and watched it open, the cogs and pistons whirring as the racks and doors stretched to their full capacity. Carefully you took a spanner and went to carefully unscrew the back of the water pipes from his back and laid them over the counter and into the sink to avoid any gross water dripping through onto the floor. The pipes smelled. You coughed as you reached for the cleaning fluid and whistled gently as you opened the back of the washing compartment to expose the hose outlets. The robot chimed a whistle as you poured the cleaner inside his belly and started scrubbing, whistling back softly as the suds started to foam up.

“You love cleaning time huh buddy?” You asked.

The robot chirped with a smiley face appearing on the screen which acted as its face.

“Hey, I know, I won’t be too long!” You promised as you took a wire wool to a particularly rough spot of dried grease. You continued to hum as you worked and poured the cleaning fluid down the water pipes to clean them.

“Okay buddy, lets get these back attached to you.” The washing bot chirped and span for you again as you held his water pipes up and reached for your spanner to crank the bolts back into place.

“And…” You cranked the bolt one last time, settling it in place tightly, “There!” You declared, “Right, go and set yourself for a full rinse and you should feel like brand new!”

The robot chirped and tugged himself into the corner again before starting his cycle. A happy face trundled across his screen as he started the timer for his cycle and plugged himself back into to the charging point to continue the wash in sleep mode.

“See you in a bit buddy.” You patted his washing compartment and headed back into the bar, wiping your hands on a towel before you looked at the empty place and the bright sunshine outside. You weren’t open just yet. It was too early for serving and you felt tiredness seep into your eyes as you looked for the coffee machine. It was usually only used for Expresso Martinis. It needed water and you took the coffee jar and filled it before pouring it into the machine and looking through just what you fancied to drink. If anything had come out of the war, it was the new, expansive range of hot drinks. Tea from far off planets you had never heard of. You plucked free one box with a curious looking fruit on the front before taking the strainer and filling it with the leaves and letting the hot water drip through into the large pot.

As you watched the water drip, you heard a noise above you. The clink of metal. The barest noise of a scrape of metal over plaster. Slowly, you peered upwards. Nothing. The ceiling was its normal, usual painted colour, the metal support beams poking out of the plaster. You frowned but looked back at your tea. There was another noise. Metal scraping over each other. The noise was coming from behind the closed door to the kitchen. You left the tea unattended and reached for the door handle, pressing the pad to open it with a whirr of mechanical locks. It clunked open. Nothing. Your washing robot chirped at you in confusion his screen flashing with a question mark across his face before you smiled, trying to ease his nerves.

“Hey, don’t panic. I just thought I heard something…” You trailed off as you looked past your washing robot and into the room. Nothing was out of place.

It was then that your washing bot gave a strangled beep and danced away from where he was attached to the wall, pulling the water pipes tight as he beeped in upset.

“Pah.” A silver clawed hand retracted up back on top of the fridge after taking a rude swipe at your friend, “Stupid tin-can.” Revenant hissed from the giant chrome refrigerator, flashing his claws back at the robot once more.

“How the fuck did you even get in here?” You asked as you looked up at the Simulacrum, “I told you not to come back.”

Revenant’s body contorted on the top of the fridge, his head twisting to the side as his orange eyes span and swirled in the shadows, “I know.” He rumbled, “I…” He went silent as his pistons clicked and he slid over the top of the furniture and down onto the floor with a click and a hiss.

“You what? You needed another bottle of whiskey?” You challenged.

Revenant stood to his full height, looming over you, the joints of his fingers clicking before he gave a grunt, “Something like that.” He rumbled as he looked down at you before he looked back at your washing bot and flexed his shoulders, “I didn’t know you had company.”

Suddenly, that tension was gone, and Revenant stepped past you to flash his hand at the other robot again. It was a threat perhaps, but your washing robot chirped unhappily again.

“Stupid bag of bolts.” Revenant grumbled at it.

“Hey.” You intervened, “Leave him alone. He’s just a washing bot.” You grabbed Revenant’s arm.

It was like the Simulacrum froze in time, his eyes glaring down at the place where your fingers wrapped around the metal. With a snort, Revenant tugged his arm free from your grip.

“It’s just a washing bot, like you said.” Revenant stalked from the kitchen, his mechanical legs thumping softly as he went. As he left you made sure your friend was safe. Beyond a small nick at the base of his neck he was fine. You nudged him back into his power station to continue his cycles in sleep mode.

You followed Revenant into the bar to see him picking through your cabinet again, his metal fingers tapping along the labels of the liquors as he decided back to pluck from your reserves.

“What happened to the rest of that posh stuff?” Revenant asked with a hum as he looked through the back of the cabinet.

“You had the last bottle. The supplier hasn’t been in a while.” You watched him look back before he selected another expensive looking bottle. This time it was tequila. You didn’t say anything as he took it out and eyed the label before disappearing into the corner of your bar, slinking into the booth farthest away from you in silence. The Simulacrum didn’t glance back at you as he cracked open the bottle and placed the glass neck between his metal jaws before tipping his head back and emptying a good portion of the alcohol into his synthetic stomach. You watched with a small cringe as he seemed unfazed by the burning liquor. His orange eyes snapped to you as you watched him from the bar.

His gravelly voice carried well across the room, gracing your ears with the deeply pissed off timbre, “What are you looking at?” Revenant asked with a roll of his optics, “I’m not going to steal anything.” He rumbled.

You watched him for a moment before replying, “I’m more concerned why you want to be here.”

Revenant looked you dead in the eyes as his mechanical thumb stroked the label of the bottle, “Call it a whim, whatever. It’s quiet and there isn’t that annoying Andrade brat. Don’t go thinking anything different. You tell them where I am, and I’ll take great pleasure in making you squeal like the little meatsack you are.”

“You know. There’s no need to threaten me with a good time every time you come in here.” This was a new tactic, and you watched his optics twitch from his bottle to your face.

“Are you making fun of me, skinsuit?” Revenant growled, his two metal jaws parting slightly to reveal the sheen of copper in his mouth with an angry snarl.

“Hardly.” You scoffed, “Fine.” You relented as you headed for the light switch, “Stay here, but I’m going to bed. Enjoy your pity party.” With a snap of the lights, you walked back into the kitchen and to the back staircase to your own apartment. You made sure to lock the door firmly before stripping off for a shower and heading to bed.

Revenant peered into the darkness with a hum, his fingers tapping along the table before he tugged the bottle of liquor closer and snapped on the holoscreen in the corner, searching for something to fill the noise in the dark bar with outside of his own memories playing over and over again behind his eyes.

“Skinsuit.” There was a grunt before the bed shook and dipped either side of your body, “Skinsuit!”

With a jolt you woke up, just to come face to face with the skull-head of Revenant and a sneer.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to choke you awake.” Revenant grumbled as he peered over you, his legs splayed like a spider either side of you as he looked down at you tucked into the covers. His hands pulled back from either side of your head and you watched him flash his claws as he sat back, still perched over your legs, looming like a deranged killer.

“Do I need to ask why you’re up in my room?” You asked groggily, wiping sleep from your eyes as Revenant watched you sit up with great interest. The Simulacrum purred, a low rumbling from somewhere in his throat, as you met him face to face, glaring at his orange and black eyes.

“Your little washing bot is screaming downstairs. It sounds horrendous.” Revenant didn’t move away, his skeletal nose rushing with air as he inhaled the smell of you.

“If you did something Revenant…”

“You’ll what? You’ll kill me?” He wheezed a great laugh as his claws dragged at your sheets, “Good luck with that, skinsuit. There’s millions of bodies just waiting for me to be reuploaded into them.” He snarled before rasping again as his arms and legs whirred into downwards positions, allowing him to snap, flip and crawl off your bed in one, bizarrely fluid motion before he clicked back into place and stood over the side of your bed with another, odd, calculating rumble.

You decided to ignore his snide remark and bitter tone, “Is he malfunctioning?” You asked as you threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to face the Simulacrum. He was intimidating at nearly seven feet tall but slim and streamlined with the ability to move silently at will despite being made from entirely heavy bulletproof metal. He looked down at you, his metal lips parted, unimpressed with your pyjamas covered in small Nesse prints.

“Not a clue.” His orange eyes looked you up and down before he strolled over to look through your desk.

“Hey, asshole.” You snapped at him as he tugged a thick looking document from a fat wad of paper, “No one invited you to look through my things.”

Revenant chuckled, “No. They didn’t…” He pulled open one of the drawers underneath him and hummed at the pens and random assortments of stationary in there, “A penis pen.” He held the phallic pen between his fingers, “Practical.”

You ignored his taunting swaying of the pen back and forth and hastened down the stairs towards the sound of your screaming washing bot. As you opened the door to the bar kitchen you ducked as a pot came flying towards your head. It clattered against the wall and smashed into several pieces. You avoided the shards as you pushed into the kitchen and saw the pipes spraying water down onto the floor and the robot trying to slam his front closed.

“Oh my…” You didn’t finish your sentence as he caught sight of you and screamed again, the screen in his stomach covered with crying faces as he rushed towards you, holding the severed and burst pipes in one hand and his drawer closed with the other. He screeched again waving the dripping pipes in front of you before shrinking behind your form, ducking as low as it could get as Revenant filled the entrance way into the kitchen.

His raspy laugh made you scowl. Revenant slinked in through the doorway and set about scratching his claws along the tiles, making a noise that was so ear grating you had to clench your teeth.

“I didn’t expect for him to piss all over your floor, I’ll admit.” The Simulacrum laughed, harshly and entirely mean.

“I knew you had something to do with this!” You pointed a finger in his face, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?! Why do you have to insist on being foul for a reaction?” Your anger seethed out of you as you hid your little robot behind you.

Revenant sneered, “You’re no fun, skinsuit.” He snarled before he snagged the pipes from your robot’s hands and grabbed the mechanical washing bot along the floor, kicking and screaming. His claws crunched into the metal of the washer bot’s shoulder as he pulled it towards the wall it had previously been stationed at. It wiggled violently before Revenant heaved it up and held the pipes up before driving them together with a metallic thunk. The connectors clicked back together easily, and the washing robot beeped confusedly as Revenant stood him against the wall and banged on the front of his tummy, slamming the door closed with a vicious thump of his metal palm. The door remained closed and the washing robot chirped in confusion.

You looked at the floor and then back to Revenant as he trudged back through the puddles of water and loomed over you again. He gave a long, low, robotic chuckle as he spun his hand and curled the claws towards his palm.

“I fixed your issue.” He stated with a look at his claws before he snapped them into a spike and made sure to push you back against the door, “Your welcome, skinsuit.”

You felt anger boil in your gut, “What? Do you want me to thank you or something?” You spat as you looked up at the unnatural orange optics. They span, the robotic pupils clicking as he focused on your face and the anger that painted your expression.

Revenant’s fingers curled into the wall, “Something like that.” He whispered as he stared at the anger on your face, “I didn’t do this, before you blame me.” With a scoff, he released you from the wall and sauntered through the puddles of water towards the back door, “Nice seeing you…” He turned to look at you, his headscarf rippling in the breeze, “You look nice when you sleep.”

“FREAK!” You screamed after him as he disappeared up the smooth concrete wall and over the next building with a hiss of pistons.

Your washing bot chirped sadly and held out his hands to you with a shake. You looked and spotted the spanner in his hands as he sheepishly rubbed his washing compartment.

“Well. At least I don’t have to bill him for this as well…but maybe I will to spite the bastard.” You considered as you carefully took a towel to your friend and then grumbled, wading across the kitchen to find the mop to get rid of the rest of the puddles.

Revenant seemed to lurk in the corners of your vision after that, always sat in the back of the bar, with some bottle of hard liquor and a deadly, judgemental gaze turned on the rest of the patrons. Those who knew him from the Apex Games did not dare approach him. He took great pleasure in launching a young man over the table once from a handshake, laughing as he stalked over to him and signed his name on the boy’s cheek in his own blood. You had promptly doubled his price for drinks that night, but the Simulacrum did not complain, he paid at closing and disappeared into the night. Sometimes he lurked after closing time. More often than not, you found him glaring down at your washing bot as the robot thrust a mop at him to try and get him off the cupboards or fridges. Angry beeps were then met with your angry glares. For some reason, Revenant adored the look. Anger furrowing your brows and a snarl on your lips made him feel smug, almost joyful. He was positively gleeful when he was tormenting you.

However, the bar was shut for the workers day, a holiday for most of the city, and Revenant was left without his normal activities to entertain himself. He stalked around his room for a while, jumping and reaching for items he had hung from his ceiling as exercise before he looked at the charging port and bed. There was nothing else in his room. A spare scarf was hung in the wardrobe along with the scraps of a suit he had taken great pleasure in peeling apart in front of the other legends before a conference. With a huff he opened the ventilation shaft and rotated his spinal column before his shoulders snapped and tucked in close underneath his arms, allowing for him to fit into the vent and scuttle along to the next room. Noxious fumes made him pause, but with another slow filtration of air he scoffed and opened the grate on the other side.

“Mercury won’t rot my insides, Nox.” His head turned one hundred and eighty degrees before his body followed in a contortion of metal, spilling out and rotating on top of Alexander’s glassware cabinet.

Caustic looked at him with vicious cold green eyes, “I’ve yet to find anything but charged copper dispersals that will have an effect.” He uttered softly, clinical and effective as he opened his filtration systems and watched the mercury vapours swirl away into the chambers above, “Why are you bothering me, Simulacrum?”

Revenant lowered his head over the side of the cabinet, “I smelt rotten eggs. Sulfur. But maybe you just passed gas.” He jeered as he watched Caustic cork the rest of the reaction and pull another yet of heavy metals from a rack alongside various acids.

“Maybe hydrofluoric acid will make you quieter?” Caustic hissed, “I’m working.”

“I know.” Revenant hummed from the cabinet, “But you’re not that busy.” He dragged his claws over the top of the metal with a laugh.

Caustic closed the arm opening of his experimental chamber with a slam as he peeled free his gloves in order to point a scarred finger at the Simulacrum, “You never come in here unless you’re bored.” He observed as he removed his goggles and respirator, “And that isn’t often…Not after you found that little toy to play with. Did Bloodhound not warn you off enough with that slice to your oil recycler?”

Revenant growled from the cabinet as he leaned over the top, leering at the Chemist underneath him, “It was fucking ugly bleeding shit down my legs but there’s always another body for me…Bloodhound didn’t heal to quickly from my blow I think.” He flashed his claws and hummed as he tucked himself back on the unit, far out of Caustic’s reach, “Besides. That feral brat doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“No but they might be inclined to give you another cut for harassing a…what do you call them…skinsuit?” Alexander’s eyes lit up with silent glee as he watched Revenant click and adjust on top of his glassware cabinet.

“Carry on old man and I’ll show you just what I did to Bloodhound.” Revenant hissed as he laid over the top, his metal legs hanging down over Caustic’s head.

Caustic binned his gloves and hung his goggles after washing them before he turned on the air conditioning and moved back towards his desk, “I have no desire to taste steel today. So,” He span in his chair, his rectangle frame glasses perched on the end of his nose, “Are you going to tell me what you’re here for? Evidently your little toy isn’t around to entertain you today.”

Revenant propped his head up on his arm, tapping a claw against the metal beneath his eye before he rumbled, “Its…boring.” With a small sigh he looked down at Caustic, “I didn’t think I could feel but its exciting to watch them, like a little rat running around. A little angry rat.”

Alexander was turned back to his desk, working over something before he replied, “You might be an illegally made conscious robot but you will still carry humanity…even if your programming was once to kill.” He shrugged up at the robot, “Perhaps you are having a mild fascination? Infatuation if you will. I can’t say I have felt it myself… The idea of such intimacy disgusts me, but perhaps you are more human than you originally thought?” Glee laced Caustic’s tone as he smirked up at Revenant.

Anger churned in Revenant’s processors, “Human am I.” He slipped from the cabinet and slid in one movement, grabbing for Caustic’s throat.

His fingers were cold, but Caustic let him grapple from the chair. The Chemist was far shorter than him but was large, bulky and strong despite his love for poisonous gases.

“Did I hit a nerve?” He asked with a laugh and a wheeze which was followed by a cough.

Revenant looked down at him, orange eyes swirling before he leaned close to Caustic’s face, “Compare me to you soft bellied sacks of skin again and I’ll slice you from groin to neck just for the fun of it…Then maybe I’ll show your little apprentice what you look like.”

“I dare you to try Simulacrum.” Caustic whispered before he pried the robotic hand off his throat and sat back down in his chair, slicking his hair back with a huff, “Why not just ask to see them?”

“Pah.” Revenant’s joints clicked as he climbed back onto the cabinet, “Like I want to see them.” He hissed, “They do nothing but tell me to leave.”

“Have you considered that is because you are foul?!” Caustic shouted as he leaned back to see Revenant disappear back into the vent, “Idiotic fool.” He cursed softly before erasing the measurements for the next reactions he had planned.

Days suddenly past without Revenant in the corner of the bar. Your washing buddy seemed quiet and contemplative without having to beat him off the countertops, and you found yourself slowly relaxing until it was concerning. The Simulacrum was never gone for long. It was a week since before you knew it and you knew they were still in the downtime between seasons. He had no reason for being gone. You caught yourself one night as you worried about where he had gotten to.

“Probably finally got what was coming to him for that big mouth.” You whispered as you took the cleaned glasses from your robot and began to place them away.

The door opened with a creak and you huffed, “We’re closed!” You shouted over your shoulder, “I swore I turned the sign around…”

There was no one in the bar. You scowled as you opened the bar door and walked towards the entrance where the door was propped open an inch or so, letting the warm air into the bar.

“Hello?” You asked quietly as you opened the door and peered outside.

“Skinsuit.” Revenant hummed from above you.

You peered upwards and felt a sense of relief wash over you as you gazed into the orange eyes of the sour looking Simulacrum above you. His head turned, much like a bird, as he regarded you.

“You’ve been gone a while.” You commented idly as you stood outside the door. Your foot hit the pavement and the Simulacrum held up one silver finger.

He pointed down at your foot, “I think you just stood on something.”

You jumped when cardboard crumpled and something rattled around in the box, sending it shooting towards the taxi rails. With a rush you grabbed for the box and frowned at the largeness of it.

“Why did you get me an animal?” You asked as you heaved the box to the front door, eyeing the air holes stamped in the side.

“Call it an investment.” He grunted as he dropped from your roof and stood behind you, watching with eager eyes as you carefully opened the lid.

A growl sounded from within and you jumped back at the sight of the small Prowler cub pacing back and forth in the box.

“REVENANT, WHAT THE FUCK?!” You screeched as the Prowler cub scrambled from the box and hissed, flaring the bare bones of its frills at you, trying to appear intimidating.

“No need to shout. You’ll scare the little guy.” Revenant insisted as he closed the door, “I found him is all. Thought you might like it. Kings Canyon…well its not great but if you head into the jungles of Leviathan there’s still some of these things that survived the purging of the planet.”

“How did you even find one?” You asked as the cub rushed underneath a table, quivering and hissing sadly, “They’re…endangered.”

“It was stuck in a pit. Probably game hunters. I nabbed it. Its weedy and pathetic looking so I thought you might like it.” He shrugged, “I can’t keep animals in the tower so he’s yours.”

You stood silently for a moment, trying to figure out just what the gift meant. That Revenant trusted you? That he thought about you? You didn’t know what to make of it.

“Are you going to pay for the food?” You asked with a smirk aimed at the Simulacrum stood over you.

The seven-foot robot gave a single, dry laugh before he held up a large bag, “Way ahead of you, skinsuit.” He reached in and pulled out a heavy looking metal dish, “Don’t give me that look.” He gestured to your face, “So happy, doing that thing with your little beady eyes. Its revolting.” With a scoff he pushed past you and headed towards the cowering cub before plucking it from the floor, ignoring the black teeth snapping at him as he pulled at its frill and admired the deep blue and orange colours along his back.

“Hey.” You cautiously approached, “Put him back on the floor, I have a good idea on how to win him over.” You gestured to Revenant who rolled his eyes but dropped the cub with a huff and grabbed a bottle of liquor to watch from the bar as you took off your sweater and gently eased it under the table.

The Prowler ignored you, mouth agape and dark under its neck. Next you took the food bowel and pulled out the food Revenant had gathered. A small amount of cubed beef was enough, and you placed it in his bowl before filling the other and leaving for the bar.

“Really? That’s it?” He droned, “How boring. I thought you might wrestle it and get eaten alive.” He trailed his fingers over the wood, “Now what?”

“We leave him alone. He needs to settle in. Its all new and traumatic.” You insisted as the cub took a sniff of your sweater and laid in the mass with a sad whimper.

“How dull…Maybe he’ll chew through a pipe in the night.” Revenant wondered as he tipped his head back and poured some liquor into his mouth.

“Hopefully not…but thank you. I didn’t think you were capable of being nice.” You whispered as you watched the Prowler bed himself down.

“Don’t get used to it.” Revenant snapped, but without as much of his usual bite, “It might come back to bite you.”

“Well, it very well might. Look at his teeth.” You joked, for once feeling at ease with the murderous robot in the room.

Revenant only gave another series of dry laughs.

“Demonio.” You cooed at the small cub as he attacked a hunk of meat with talons and teeth. It chewed on its back teeth before its ears pricked behind the frill around his neck.

“Demonio.” You cooed once again and the Prowler looked at you with a grumbling chirp, licking the blood from around its mouth as it eyed the small, marrow filled bone in your palm, “Come on boy.” You wiggled the bone back and forth as the orange eyes tracked your hand along its course.

“Do you like making fun of me?” Revenant grumbled from his seat at the edge of the bar, “That damn brat is the only one who calls me that.” He hissed.

Demonio eyed the bone before he got to his feet and prowled over before licking at your fingers. He took a nip before waiting for the bone.

“Good boy.” You reached with your other hand and touched his frill, gently running your hand down his nose before you gave him the bone and stood up to head back to Revenant.

“He seems fonder of you.” Revenant observed with a hum, “Almost like a soft little dog.” He spat at the cub, “How delightfully boring.”

“Maybe, but I appreciate not being bitten by him anymore.” You answered as you looked back at the Prowler. He was already growing, and you were more than happy to look after him, but he was going to get large, “Even if he might outgrow me one day…well and maybe try to eat me at any moment.” You huffed.

Revenant snorted, “Ha. Maybe he will, but I’m sure Predators are less inclined to eat people they like.”

You looked at the Simulacrum, “Is that why I’m still alive?” It was barely a whisper, “Because you like making my life miserable?”

Revenant looked taken aback, his orange eyes turning into pinpoints as he considered his next words, “Miserable…No.” His metal jaws clicked, “You’re the only person that can make me laugh.”

Those words were heavy, and you watched him struggle for a moment with himself, “I don’t understand anything. I was programmed to kill for…I don’t know. A long time. This is new for me and I have hated every second of feeling more than I did being nothing but a slaughter machine.” He growled.

“You should call me by my name then.” You smiled as you said it for him, and the Simulacrum nodded once before repeating it back to you and turning to watch Demonio gnaw on his bone.

“Oh,” Revenant looked back at you and you poured him another drink, “For the record, I like you as well Revenant.” You smiled as you sat down next to him and watched Demonio work on his bone a little longer.

“Demonio!” You rushed after the Prowler as he launched himself at a customer. He was now a juvenile, and the hound like beast was quick to dislike anyone that touched you over the bar. You kept him behind the bar, but the creature was quick to jump at people that took hold of you. Revenant laughed from the end of the bar, tucked in the shadows of the wall as he ran his claws back and forth over the bar, “He knows people shouldn’t touch what isn’t there’s.” The Simulacrum sneered as the patron whipped around to look at him.

“Oh yeah, you metal fucker? What are you saying?”

“That your disgusting little skin sack hands don’t deserve to be near ‘em.” Revenant’s fingers snapped together, the fusion metal slamming together as he raised himself over the bar, spun and stuck up against the ceiling over the man, “Maybe I’ll take more than your hand like the hound would.” He ran the sharp spear of his hand down the man’s cheek, “I think your innards would make a lovely adornment to my mantle.”

“Revenant.” You tugged the hand away, “Enough.” You hissed at him, “Sir, I’m sorry for the drama…”

“Save it. I’m out of here.” He shoved his drink over the side and rushed to the door, “Bunch of fucking weirdos.” He snarled as he left.

The night drew to a close and Revenant spent the rest of the opening hours sulking in the back of the bar, alone on a table, with his feet propped up on the metal, his drink untouched as he watched the patrons with a vicious glare.

“Revenant.” You uttered as Demonio pattered along behind you, his frill flared as he dragged his tug rope for play time, “Are we going to talk about what happened, or are you going to sulk forever?” You asked as you sat across from him, pushing his feet to the side in order to see his gaunt metal face.

The Simulacrum snorted, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, there is.” You huffed, “You threatened to kill a man tonight who grabbed hold of my hand.” You sat back as Demonio pushed his head into your lap and you rubbed the scaley skin around his ears.

“Is there? I wasn’t aware that it was a problem.” Revenant moved his feet from the table, “He was an asshole. I won’t apologise for my actions.”

“I’m not…”

“And I sure as hell won’t be giving you money for his drinks..”

“Will you shut up and listen?” You snapped.

Revenant felt anger threaten to spill over, but he slumped back in his seat as you pushed your finger down against the wood and scowled. He watched you with a huff.

“You’re lashing out and I want to know why.” You demanded, “From day one you were horrible. A cruel and mean machine that wanted nothing but to inconvenience me every day, but now you’re…giving me gifts. You’re here constantly and you just…You stopped me from getting a very horrible string of abuse. So, explain this to me, because I’m at a loss.”

Revenant was silent. His chassis was still and his wiring and pistons clunked as though he was being jolted back to life. He opened his hand on the table and dared to reach for one of your own. Smooth, cold metal fingers grazed your fingertips before they gingerly moved up and over your palm to stroke the soft skin. His orange eyes watched the pulse in your wrist before he linked the fingers once, squeezing tightly before he moved away again and guarded himself, crossing his arms out of your reach.

“I…” He paused again, “I care for you.” That was it, he was silent again, his eyes watching you as you took in the meaning of the words he had dared to utter.

“Care for me?” You whispered back at him.

Anger laced him once again, “Yes, you stupid skinsuit! I might even feel something like love or joy!” He hollered as he flashed his claws and scraped them against one another, “Its infuriating and…And it hurts!” He threw his hand at the wall, “It hurts because I know I’m nothing but a giant killing machine! I’m stained in so much blood I could swim in it and nothing can ever make you love a disgusting creature like me!” Revenant heaved, almost like a human, his spinal column lurching as he screamed in frustration again and moved to stand up.

Like a viper, you grabbed at his hand and tugged, hard enough to jolt his fingers, but he was unfazed. He towered over you and watched, looking down at you with lonely eyes as his fingers dared, once again, to wrap around your own, seeking the heat they no longer possessed. He uttered your name, once, softly, as though he wasn’t allowed to say it, and then he looked you in the eyes.

“That week you didn’t show up was like torture.” You said carefully, “For the first time, I was actually worried about you. It was then that I realised I liked having you around. Everything you did it was not to piss me off… well it was, but you haven’t had to speak or make friends with someone in so long, you just forgot how to do it anymore.” You felt your hand begin to shake in his, “But then the gifts started, and you thought about them. I said I wanted a dog one day, and well Demonio isn’t a dog but he’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever been given…So,” You smiled at him, “What I’m trying to say is that I think I might love you too.”

Revenant’s hand fell from your own and he looked to the wall for a moment before replying, “You really think you can love me?” He whispered, appearing small despite his towering height.

“Yes, I think I can.” You affirmed before leaning up to wrap your arms around him. The Simulacrum flinched before wrapping his thin, cold arms around you, taking in the warmth of the hug before pressing his face to your neck and humming at the gentle sensation of a kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” He asked quietly.

“Because I love you.” You whispered as you hugged him tighter.

#revenant x reader #revenant x gender neutral reader #revenant apex #apex revenant #apex legends revenant #revenant #apex legends #reader insert #apex legends fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #silence #caustic #alexander nox

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98prilla · 5 years ago

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Nightmare

Can’t stop writing me some soft Roman and Virgil!

He was stupid. This was so, so stupid. What was he even doing here, hand hovering over the door, poised to knock, if he could just steel himself enough to knock…

He bit back a growl of frustration at his own cowardice. It felt like butterflies gnawing at his stomach, crawling up his throat, buzzing in a panic in his head, making his shoulders hunch higher. It was the fear of the dark of a child, the fear of the monsters under the bed, the fear of everything and nothing, the fear of the unknowns.

Because what if it hadn’t been a simple nightmare? What if it had really happened and he’d sunk back to his room and cried himself to sleep and everything being fine and perfect and normal was the dream? What if he knocked, and was met with cold, icy eyes?

What if Roman did as threatened and ran him through before he could say a word?

What if Patton told him, so gently it was cruel, that he was a nuisance, a bother?

What if Logan produced his journal, filled with reason upon cold, undeniable reason, that he was simply a hindrance?

What if they were right?

He couldn’t, couldn’t face them. He should just go back to his room and wait for one of them to come looking. If they came looking then it hadn’t been real, but he could not stand to face them if it had been.

He didn’t know why it was Roman's door, he was hovering outside of. Perhaps because the prince was always so blunt. He would know, immediately, with Roman. Maybe it was because he couldn’t take anymore gentle devastation from Patton, any more pure evidence of his detriment from Logan. Maybe because he hoped to god even if it was real, that Roman would somehow pity him enough to let him in anyway, before sending him away for good.

He bit his lip, hand shaking. Do it, just do it, why was this so hard? The longer he waited, the worse it got, the gnawing becoming a pit becoming a black hole in his stomach and he was just about to shuffle away when the door opened, revealing a yawning, bleary eyed Roman.

He froze, fear and hope and shame welling in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Then Roman spoke.

“I thought I heard you out on patrol, Stormy Knight. Wandering the halls so early?”

He burst into tears.

Because Roman had spoken softly, Roman had smiled tiredly, Roman didn’t draw his sword or snarl or slam him against the wall and tell him to never come back, and it had been a dream, just a dream, and nothing, nothing could match the pure relief flooding through him.

“Virg? What's wrong? Are you hurt?” Roman asked. Roman was worried. Was worried about him.

He shook his head, barely able to speak through the tears, through the what ifs still running and running and running through his mind, so loudly.

“H-had to s-see… didn’t kn-know…” he wasn’t being coherent, he barely knew what he was trying to say, but Roman must have understood, in some way.

Carefully, slowly, Roman reached out, tugging Virgil close, wrapping his arms around the lanky side.

“This ok?” He asked, when Virgil didn’t respond at all to his touch. He felt Virgil nod, and he choked out something that was maybe a yes.

Roman nodded, resting his head atop Virgil's, humming softly and he gently swayed with Virgil in his arms.

“there now, my little black hole. It’s alright.” He cried harder at that, somehow, and his hands fisted the fabric of Roman's pajama top, clinging to him as if his life depended on it.

He was barely aware of Roman swaying, murmuring gentle nonsense, as his tears finally gave way to hiccupping gasps, as he sagged against Roman.

“sorry… im sorry, I-"

“Virgil. It is ok, its ok.” He buried his head against Roman, he didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. “shall we get you back to bed?” his eyes widened, and he shoved out of Roman's embrace, stumbling until his back hit the wall.

“N-no. No! I c-can’t, I c-cant do it a-again, I-" he broke off, breath heaving, hands tangling in his hair as he fought for air, the world blurring around him.

“Kiddo, ya just aren’t really helping Thomas, y'know? It might be better if you just… stopped."

“His productiveness goes down 40 percent whenever you are around, and you also have a damaging effect on his social life. There is no if. Thomas will be empirically better without you.”

“il… eath… please…” no no no no. They were right, of course they were right, he wasn’t good, wasn’t needed, wasn’t-

“virgil.” His eyes shot up, Roman was kneeling a foot away from him, eyes warm with sympathy and concern and understanding. “can you hear me?” he swallowed dryly, managing a small, shaky nod, and Roman's face lit up with a gentle smile.

“good. Then listen to me, ok? You are never unwanted. We love you, I love you. I will never tell you to leave. And I would fight the others if they said otherwise. It was a nightmare, Virge. Just a nightmare.” Slowly, Roman reached out, ever so careful as he tucked Virgil's bangs back, letting his hand rest gently against Virgil's cheek.

“P-p-promise?” Roman's heart broke at that quiet vulnerability, his eyes wide as saucers, filled with a broken kind of hope, a shattering kind of pain.

In an instant, Roman had scooted closer, scooping Virgil onto his lap, cradling him close.

“I promise. I promise, Virgil. I promise.” He let out a soft sniffle, shoulders shaking as he wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck, face pressed against his shoulder, he was tired, so tired, but the fear ate at him, even as Roman rocked him, rubbing his back, murmuring and humming and being so patient with him. And somehow every small action, every small movement of kindness and love sent him back over the edge into tears. They were seemingly endless. He didn’t remember bottling this much up inside, didn’t remember when he shoved all this sadness and deep, aching, endless fear into his chest, but he couldn’t stop it from leaking out now.

“Oh, darling… I know. I know.” He didn’t know how long they had been kneeling there on the floor, but he was exhausted, yet completely unwilling to let go of Roman, too tired to be ashamed of his need for touch right now, too warm and sleepy to force on his dark demeanor, and pretend that he didn’t want this, need this, crave this closeness. “Sometimes talking about nightmares can make them better. That’s what we always do, me and Remus. We tell each other our nightmares, and then we make them better. We say all the ways we would defeat whatever monster hurt or chased or scared us, we turn the fears into something ridiculous. Once, I was being hunted through the imagination, by some giant, shambling, thing. I couldn’t leave the bed, I was terrified. Remus said next time I had that dream, I should imagine the thing trying to move with roller skates on, I should imagine it with googly eyes, I should make its body turn into playdough and its legs into pipe cleaners. It wasn’t so scary after that.” Roman said, getting a small, weak laugh out of Virgil, who shook his head.

“maybe. Maybe in the morning. But i… I can’t… right now, I can’t…”

“That’s ok, too, darling. You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to talk about it. It just may help. Do you wanna spend the rest of the night with me?” He nodded, so fast it made his head spin. He couldn’t bear to go back to his room alone, he would die, if he had to go back alone. “alright. Going up, then, my sliver of starlight.” He let out a soft noise as he was lifted up in Roman’s arms, the fading adrenaline and minor panic attack weighing him down, so he was very nearly asleep by the time Roman carefully settled the two of them in his bed.

He curled tight against Roman, letting out a small happy sigh, at the warmth, at the touch, at the comfort as Roman wrapped his arms around him, cuddling him close and gently, thumb stroking his forehead in blissful, soothing circles.

“go to sleep, Virg. No nightmares will find you here. I promise, love.” Roman murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, causing him to let out a soft, small almost mewl at how damn good he felt. “Sleep well, love. Sweet dreams.”

And they were.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #emotional hurt/comfort #protective roman #fluff

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scaredofheroin · 4 years ago

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Captain N - Chapter 15: Bright Lights, Big City

Soon after being sucked down the warp pipe, Captain N found that Zelda's claim was proven correct. Even though he could feel himself shooting through the pipe faster than before, Captain N could tell the pipe ride to New Donk City was longer than the previous pipe he traveled through. Like before, he couldn't see or hear his allies in front of him, his senses being filled only by the blackness of the pipe and the cold air whipping past his ears. The sensation of traveling through a warp pipe was as strange as it was the first two times, feeling as if he was being sucked through a massive vacuum cleaner. Thoughts of his home still haunted his mind. The trees and tall grass growing on the side of the worn, deteriorating asphalt road cutting through the woods of Midnight Lights, the sun hanging high in the sky as a cool breeze brushed through. This image brought a pang of nostalgia he never imagined he would feel for such a mundane situation. The trees and grass of Yamajiro were similar to his own, but different enough in incredibly subtle ways to feel alien and unfamiliar. The grass was too brightly colored, the trees were too shapely, none of the world around him made him feel at home. The differences didn't stop with the plant life, either. The sky was colored a subtly different hue of blue, and the sun was slightly larger than he was used to. All these examples of "almost, but not quite" left him with a slightly uneasy feeling, as if trapped in an artificial world.

As he was reminiscing about the most mundane aspects of Earth, light suddenly returned to his field of vision. With the air around him warming up once again, he could tell New Donk City was near. Preparing himself mentally for being shot out of the pipe once more, he steadied his legs and braced himself. Emerging from the pipe with the three familiar gulping sounds, Captain N maintained this stronger form, landing squarely on his feet on the metal platform below. Feeling slight satisfaction at his improvement, he looked up to see Pit, Falco and Zelda leaning on the platform’s guardrail and looking ahead at the city, with a cable car on a large cord leading down to the main road. Captain N joined them, getting a good view ahead. From a distance, the city looked incredibly populated and lively, with neon billboards decorating surprisingly modern skyscrapers, and cars and taxi cabs busily traveling through the roads. Once again, Captain N was left with a subtly uneasy feeling from the city, everything about it feeling slightly off. The taxi cabs were adorned with slightly different writing, the buildings were colored either too dark or too light from the usual gray color he was used to, as well as more of the skyscrapers being pointed at the top. He was so close to home, yet so far away.

"It's been a while since anyone came from that warp pipe." Came a chipper voice from behind him. The four turned to face the voice and were met with a woman in a semi-formal uniform behind a tourist stand adorned with merchandise of New Donk City. "Is there anything you all need help with today?" She politely asked, but quickly experienced minor shock upon seeing Zelda with the three, and immediately corrected her demeanor. "I, I mean, welcome to New Donk City, your highness." She spoke, as formally as she could muster in spite of her nervousness. "Thank you, but I wish we were here for solely leisurely purposes." Zelda replied, as noble as ever. "Well, it would be an honor to assist the Princess of Hyrule, is there any way I can help?" The woman asked. "You wouldn't happen to know where we could find Ryu, would you?" Pit asked her, stepping forward. "Uh, well, not really." She sheepishly admitted. "But maybe Mayor Pauline would! I bet she'd be willing to meet with you all!" "And she's in city hall?" Falco asked further. "She should be! I'm not privy to her schedule, but it's worth a shot." The woman confirmed. Captain N was still looking over at the city, listening in on the conversation. The air was remarkably warm, and the hustle and bustle of the city could be heard even from such a long distance away. "Are you okay, sir?" The woman asked him, catching him off guard slightly. "Yeah, I'm just... new around here." Captain N covered up, turning back to her. "Well in that case, you might want a map!" She offered, pulling one neatly folded map from the display and holding out for him. He carefully took the map and unfolded it, surprised by how large New Donk City was from the illustration, with places of interest marked on the key. But looking at the woman, he was surprised to find her identical to his own species. She didn't have wings like Pit or pointed ears like Zelda, she looked like an ordinary human. "We'll make sure he doesn't get lost." Pit assured the woman. "In that case, is there anything else I can help you with today?" She politely asked the group. Captain N folded the map back up and stored it in his jacket pocket. "That will be all, thank you ma'am." Zelda answered her. "In that case, I'll fire up the cable car and get you folks down to main street! Welcome to the Big Banana, the city that never leaps!" She boldly concluded, flipping a nearby switch in the booth. The cable car whirred to life behind them, the sound of a basic motor rumbling in the device holding the car to the cable. With one last "thank you", the four carefully got into the cable car, which was found to be a bit small, barely being able to hold two people on each side. Captain N found himself crammed in next to Falco, with Pit and Zelda on the other side. But once they were all secured, the machinery kicked into gear, and carried them down to the main entrance to New Donk City.

"Seems like your disguise wasn't very effective." noted Falco, looking at Zelda. "Perhaps, but we can't afford to turn back for a wardrobe change. Surely the people will be too busy with their own tasks to notice." Zelda reinforced, undeterred. "How come Princess Zelda was the only one to get recognized? Aren't you two kind of celebrities as well?" Captain N asked Pit and Falco. "Not really, Pit spends most of his time helping out Palutena and I've spent most of my life on the planet Corneria." Falco casually explained, leaving Captain N surprised to find that Falco was essentially an alien. "So, what do we do? Apart from asking Mayor Pauline, I mean." Pit asked the group. "Well, Princess Zelda has telepathy, right? I say we split up and try to cover more ground that way. I've got a map, so we could try asking around the more populated areas." Captain N semi-confidently offered, not entirely comfortable with the idea of splitting up, but felt a need to contribute something. "That's rather risky. If we get into conflict it could mean more trouble if we're separated from each other." Zelda responded. "I say it's worth a shot! Plus, I'm sure we could handle ourselves if we get into a sticky situation." Pit piped up, adjusting himself as to not be crammed right next to Zelda. "Well then, where should we look other than bothering the mayor, Mr. Map?" Falco asked Captain N. Getting the map back out of his pocket, he looked over the places of interest marked on the key. Beneath the Projection Room, Crazy Cap flagship store and RC car room, what stuck out to Captain N was the Commemorative Park. "Maybe we could check there?" He offered, pointing at the park. "Maybe we could find someone there who's in the know on what Ryu is up to, or he could be training there." "Sounds good to me!" Pit happily responded. Falco idly nodded, not offering any other ideas. "Then it's decided. Pit and I will search the park, and you two can try to meet Mayor Pauline." Zelda concluded, still slightly fidgeting with her dress. Captain N put his right hand out, facing down in the middle of the space between the four. None of the three others knew what this meant, and he was only met with confused looks. "Come on, put 'em there." Captain N insisted. After some slight hesitation, the three put their hands in the middle, where Captain N lifted them into the air, with a hearty "Go team!" before the car came to a stop with a sudden clunk.

Captain N carefully stepped out of the cable car, Zelda, Falco and Pit following. Up close, Captain N could see the countless men and women in black and gray formal attire densely populating the sidewalks, some carrying briefcases. Steam rose from beneath the manhole covers when not obscured by the countless cars, motorized scooters and taxi cabs populating the streets. The buildings closest to the entrance could be identified as apartment buildings, with fire escapes on the exterior. In the distance could be seen the taller, more pointed buildings where business took place. Countless billboards adorned the nearby walls, from advertising music events to the Crazy Cap store to the upcoming World Warrior Tournament. Falco nudged Captain N slightly, motioning to the rooftops ahead. There could be spotted Koopa, Kremlings and small, tan creatures with round bodies and stubby limbs, all patrolling the edge of the buildings while carrying high-tech spears. "Looks like Waddle Dees up there." Pit whispered, keeping his head low to avoid eye contact with them. Captain N nodded, and quickly led the group down the sidewalk, obscuring the four somewhat in the massive crowds. The horde of hasty businesspeople going about their daily lives felt reminiscent of the crowded hallways of Midnight Lights High School, where he learned to survive the torrential waves of classmates and the occasional faculty member in between classes. Fortunately, the businesspeople were too focused with their own tasks and responsibilities to pay the four much notice, despite Pit and Falco standing out with their avian features. The hat, while cumbersome, proved especially helpful in obscuring Zelda from the sight of those patrolling the rooftops. The businesspeople moved as if they were packed together like sardines, so maneuvering through the crowds proved a difficult task. With the map, Captain N quickly noted the group's current location in the city, and while walking at a brisk pace matching those of the businessmen around them. Stopping at a busy intersection, Zelda took a quick glance at the map and found the path to the Commemorative Park. "Looks like this is where we part ways." Pit spoke up. Nodding, Zelda straightened her posture and looked to Captain N and Falco. "If you two get into trouble, reach out to me in your mind, and Pit and I will-" "Don't worry, we got this, don't we, Cap'n?" Falco interrupted, nudging Captain N. Despite his slight worry of parting with two of his only allies made so far in this new world, Captain N nodded along, with an earnest "Yeah, we’ve survived worse, right?". Zelda still wasn't entirely swayed. "It's not your well-being I'm concerned for, Lombardi, rather your reckless inclination." She noted, earning a scoff from him. "Y'hear that, Cap? She doesn't care about me." He reiterated with mock-hurt in his voice. "You get too eager to use that weapon at your side and it could endanger countless civilians!" Zelda insisted. "That's why he's got me, Princess. I'll keep him on a short leash." Captain N interjected, using Falco's earlier quip against him, much to Falco's annoyance. "Then it's decided! We better get going before someone nasty notices us." Pit cut in, impatient to get going. Zelda sighed in reluctant acceptance and bid the two good luck before she and Pit set off in the opposite direction. Left with Falco, Captain N watched Pit and Zelda disappear from his vision, vanishing into the crowd. "Come on, let's not keep Miss Mayor waiting." Falco reminded him. Captain N put on a more confident face, turned back to Falco, and responded with "Yeah, let's roll.".

As they tried to casually stroll alongside the businesspeople to remain inconspicuous, Captain N spotted a good amount of Toad people struggling to make their way amid the dense crowds. Their short, stubby stature did little to aid them, being pushed around and almost tripped over by the much larger people who barely paid them any mind, except when they almost cause the businesspeople to trip over. The struggle of the Toad people was felt by Captain N, empathizing with how out of place they felt, suddenly being in a completely alien situation they're clearly unsuited for. Peering out of the corner of his eyes, he could spot the Koopa, Waddle Dees and Kremlings patrolling diligently across the rooftops. Both he and Falco could tell they were incredibly impatient to use their advanced spears, constructed of white metal with bright blue machinery underneath. Fortunately, the two were slightly shorter than the businesspeople surrounding them, helping hide the two fugitives from the sight of the three king's forces. Upon closer inspection to those around him, Captain N could tell the businesspeople were uneasy being surrounded by the nefarious forces above them. Each one of those around him kept their heads down and avoided looking at the goons above, as if expecting to be fired upon at a moment's notice. Who knows what kind of trouble could have happened before, Captain N wondered? With the cars on the road rushing by, enough ambient noise was provided to hide conversations between Falco and Captain N from prying ears. "So... you're an alien?" Captain N awkwardly asked Falco.

"In a way. From where I'm standing, you’re alien." Falco pointed out.

"Yeah, good point." Captain N relented.

A moment of silence between the two passed as they walked.

"So, what's Corneria like?" Captain N asked.

"A lot more advanced than this planet. We completed our space program before the Mushroom Kingdom was even created. In fact, those guys back in New Leaf Town are actually the great-grandkids of the first Cornerians to live on Yamajiro." Falco bragged, taking pride in his planet's achievements.

"I assume the Arwing was built on Corneria?"

"Pfft, yeah! Those rickety airships are as advanced as Yamajiro technology gets!" Falco boasted.

"That doesn't sound so bad, given their armaments." Captain N reminded him.

"That's cheating, and you know it. They didn't invent them on their own, those three creeps were GIVEN those high-tech gizmos from who-knows-who," Falco was quick to shoot back.

Another moment passed between the two.

"So... what else does this solar system have?" Captain N asked.

"Well, you've got this planet, Corneria, the desert planet Titania, the ice planet Fichina, there's Sauria, Venom, and... Zoness." He answered, a tinge of disgust in his voice in mentioning the last planet.

"...Have you visited them?"

"All those and then some, even planets outside the system like Zebes and Big Blue." Falco informed him with pride in his voice.

"Wow..." Captain N said, amazed at the prospect of such adventures.

"I guess they don't have space travel back where you're from?"

"...Not really. The farthest we've ever gone is the Moon."

Falco snickered at the thought, the concept seeming quaint to his experiences.

On the way to the mayor's office, a large, brightly lit billboard on a wall nearby caught Captain N's attention. The billboard proudly displayed Mario in an energetic jumping motion, smiling at the viewer with "SUPER MARIO BROS. - NOW PLAYING" right next to him in blocky, multicolored text. Captain N stopped walking to take in the billboard, feeling incredibly small in comparison. He could feel a sense of gravitas emanate from the massive illustration of Mario, his bold yet positive demeanor providing a stark contrast against Captain N's inner turmoil. Looking up at the billboard, Captain N knew he couldn't compare. He felt like a child playing pretend. Mario has been made out to be larger than life, in a sense. The greatest hero in the Mushroom Kingdom, whose might and bravery were so great he saved Princess Peach and triumphed over Bowser time and time again.

But not this time.

Bowser and his two ally kings now possessed a power unparalleled by anything seen before. They now possess a power so great that not just Mario, but Link, Samus Aran, Kirby and other presumably legendary heroes failed in their mission. To his right, Captain N spotted a businessman having stopped to look up at the massive billboard of Mario. When the two shared eye contact, a moment of knowing mourning was shared at the disappearance of Mario, before the businessman hung his head defeatedly and continued on his way. The weight on Captain N's shoulders grew more intense, knowing what was at stake. He, who only just arrived in this world, now had to triumph where men greater than him had failed. He couldn't bear to look back at the billboard of Mario, feeling he doesn't deserve to look upon someone with such prestige and call them his equal.

"...You doing alright, Cap?" Falco asked him, bringing him back to reality. Captain N stepped back and turned away from the billboard, facing Falco. He took in a deep breath to puff up his chest, and nod reassuringly. "Yeah, I'll make it." He assured, not entirely convincing Falco. "Well, we shouldn't stand around much longer, those goons are gonna notice us." Falco reminded him, subtly motioning to the Koopa atop the tall buildings. In agreement, Captain N continued on to City Hall, which was marked on the map as the tallest building near the plaza. The rest of the walk wasn't too troublesome, apart from getting in between businessmen and the odd Toad people. Captain N's red varsity jacket and jeans and Falco's blue avian physiology made them stand out noticeably among the crowd of homogeneously dressed businesspeople, but not so much so to cause a disruption. Soon enough, after crossing the plaza decorated with a fountain and grassy pathways, the two found themselves before the massive city hall. Separated from the interior only by three pristine, glass doors. Feeling slightly intimidated by the massive building in its art deco style, Captain N looked to Falco and remarked “We best not keep the Mayor waiting, huh?”. Falco nodded, and the two pushed open the doors and walked in.

#captain n #nintendo #fanfic #crossover #writing #super mario #pauline #princess peach #mario #bowser #the legend of zelda #princess zelda #star fox #Falco Lombardi #kid icarus #pit

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years ago

Text

From Delaware With Love

Title: From Delaware With Love (COMPLETE) - Part 2 of SOME SUNNY DAY Series

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Dean x OFC

Summary: Julie and Dean continued... a few months after A View To A Winchester.

Word Count: 7,500

Story Content: language, angst, therapy, fluff, smut, show-level violence

“Sweet smiles. Nothing but trouble.”

Dean mumbled, ankle deep in water in a rather large run off pipe. Someone had thought it a good idea to cut this pipe lengthwise and level with the ground. His boots filled with water. The chilly, dark October night was only going to make this experience more unpleasant for Dean.

He’d slipped into the drainage system seconds prior, missing his foothold. But had managed to remain upright. His arms had flailed about to keep balance. The flashlight, held tight in his hand, scattered its white beam about as if Dean was in a nightclub; instead of preparing to hop a fence into a graveyard.

“Shit.” The sheathed machete dangled and rocked back and forth from one of his belt loops. His heart raced at the adrenaline surge of the miraculous feat of his feet and the soggy state of his socks. The bottom fabric of his jeans darkened and soaked up liquid of a questionable nature.

He huffed, made sure his foot placement was on solid ground, then hiked out the water pipe. The eight foot high chain link fence met him on the other side. The top appeared safe enough. No barb wire. The climb though. He sighed.

“Should have brought some wire cutters.” He grumbled, testing the bottom of the fence to try and pry some of the fence back to shimmie under. “Shit.” An owl hooted somewhere off in the not too far distance. Fallen leaves crunched under and stuck to his wet soles.

His plan of attack was getting worked out when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Can’t let it go to voicemail again. I won’t get a sexy greeting when I get home. Dean clicked the accept button. “Hey, Jules. What’s up?”

“Hey, I’ve been calling you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. You called?” He weighed his options at playing dumb.

A pause. “Yeah, Dean. Like three times. Where are you?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m looking into that thing your mom mentioned to me this afternoon.”

“What thing?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Nooo.” Julie dragged out the one syllable. Dean wasn’t sure who was going to get read the riot act worse, him or Brigida.

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you then.”

“Dean…” She sighed.

He cased the surrounding park area with his eyes, turning a full three sixty. The last thing he needed was for something supernatural to sneak up on him while he was being sidetracked by his lady. Not the way Dean Winchester goes out. He gripped the fence with one hand and gave her his best low rumble, leaning into the chainlink. “You gonna say my name like that when I have you under me tonight?”

She sighed again. “Not if you don’t tell me what’s going on. And, it’s already eight o’clock. What could you possibly be looking into this late for mom?”

A story he’d worked out after the second missed call poured from his mouth. Not a lot of details. Vague. Just enough. The Winchester Way. “Got a call into the night nurse manager at that assisted living home. I’m on my way there now to ask a couple questions. Using one of my bounty hunter covers.” Not a full out lie.

“Oh my God. She roped you into investigating that stuff Gloria told her about today?”

“It’s fine, baby. Really. I should only be another hour. Two at the most. Wait up for me?” That slight hint of a beg would get her to cave. He was sure of it.

Julie groaned. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

Dean whined, soft.

Another pause. “Use your key. Wake me up when you get in.”

He grinned. “Sweetheart, if you don’t wake up when I get in, I’m not doin’ it right.”

She laughed at his cheesiness. He focused on that sound, used it to counter the impending dread of the current situation. “Just take some of the nonsense my mother hears from her friends with a grain, no, a ton of salt next time.” Julie added. “You don’t always have to swoop in and save the day, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And, come home!” She ordered.

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Turned out none of that had been nonsense. Brigida had seen Dean that Wednesday right around one o’clock. She’d come back after visiting her friend Gloria and decided to drop off a tray of baked ziti at his front door. The pasta should have been his clue. Unassuming little witch with her gluten spells.

Rattling on about the visit with Gloria, she made herself at home in Dean’s kitchen. The huge serving of sauce and cheese and carbs placed in front of him was enough for three people. Brigida sprinkled in the conversation over Dean’s feast along with her freshly grated parmesan cheese. Gloria lived in Golden Rays Assisted Living Senior Center. The poor woman had been all upset that afternoon, couldn’t enjoy her visit or lunch. That made Brigida upset by association.

The day before, Gloria had heard a pair of family members of an elderly resident that had recently passed. Gloria listened in on every word all the way from her favorite spot in the commons area. Which, Brigida added, was amazing since Gloria was deaf in one ear. The family was screaming in the hallway at someone in charge, threatening to sue. An insistence continued as they were escorted out. Something foul had been done to their father’s body before it could be removed from the premises.

Dean had sounded deeply apologetic about the situation in between mouthfuls of food. Nodding and chewing. Damn, I would have been such a chubster if Brigida had been my mom. He stopped chewing when Brigida mentioned what Gloria had heard from another resident. The gossip was someone had chewed on the dead body and sliced some flesh from the thigh.

“But, that wasn’t the only time it’s happened, Dean-ah.” Brigida shook her head. “Gloria says some nurses were going on about weird stuff with a body a month ago. The woman had died in her sleep and they didn’t get around to check on her until the morning.” She waved both hands around in shock and disbelief high over her short, stubby frame. “What kind of place let’s someone stay dead in their bed the whole night-ah? I mean, we’d do the vigils in the houses for the dead when I was in Italy as a child.” She made the sign of the cross. “But, those people were dead in their beds on purpose. These nurses are getting paid to do a job and are too busy on their phones. These damn phones.”

Dean tried to steer her away from the technology rant. A common theme in her conversations. He swallowed down some pasta. “What weird stuff, Brigida?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to the other body?”

“Oh. The same thing. The thigh had been cut. Butchered up. Like someone was slicing up a steak for later.” She shivered, another sign of the cross and some mumblings in Italian. That’s when Brigida pulled out that sweet little smile of hers with puppy dog eyes that could give Sam a run for his money. “Do you think you could ask around? You know people, right? All that bounty ‘unting stuff Giulia says you do. You must know people.”

He’d headed to Golden Rays right after lunch. The plan was to go in as a son looking for some long term care options for a sick mother. Along the way he’d scope out the place, talk to some of the residents. That would put Brigida at ease.

These kinds of places were always sad and depressing. The Facility Director, chirping on about the positive aspects of around the clock care, seemed oblivious to the actual environment she was highlighting to Dean. Random wheelchaired residents parked by windows or in corners stared off at nothing. Walkers were used as weapons by the more mobile elders. They’d goad the nurses with the tennis ball covered legs and refused medications. Loud fits of nonsensical outbursts or arguments over a game of checkers could be heard in the commons area over the DIY channel on the television.

“Would it be alright to talk to some of your residents? You know, just to get the real skinny on this place?” Dean asked, flashing the fifty-something woman escorting him around his million dollar smile. “Not that you’d ever tell me a lie, Tameca. But you know… only the best for my mom.”

She tugged and righted her wrinkled pencil skirt. “Well, I can give you a few minutes.” She smiled back and fussed with her hair. “How about I go and get you a packet of information to take home with you?” He nodded. She tapped his forearm. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean sighed, gazing at a nurse on the other end of the room with a couple residents. Nothing had his radar up. His nose twitched at the antiseptic cleaner in the air being used to hide a lingering scent of urine.

“You’re Dean!” The exclamation forced Dean’s head to spin. A woman with a jet black head of hair, coiffed like a football helmet, sat on one of the couches, an arthritic finger crooked in his general direction.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I am. And, who might you be?” He raised his voice, knowing it was better to assume everyone had a hearing issue in this place.

She gave him a knowing nod and tapped the cane on the carpet in front of her feet. “Gloria.”

“Ah. THE Gloria? Friend of Brigida?” He smiled and pointed to the empty seat next to her. “Alright if I join you?”

“I never turn down the company of a handsome fella.” She grinned.

Dean eased into the couch. “Did Brigida tell you I might be coming by?”

“No. But she’s talked about you every week for the past three months when she comes by for lunch. ‘Dean this. Dean that. Dean’s such a good boyfriend to my daughter.’” Gloria leaned in. “She shows everyone here pictures of you on her phone.”

“Really?” That was a little concerning. “Pictures?” When the hell did she take a picture of me?

Gloria waved his look away. “She’s happy is all. And, wants to brag a little. Don’t be too hard on her. Giulia means the world to her. From what I’ve heard, you make her pretty happy.” Her wrinkles smoothed as she turned serious. “Are you here about what I told Brigida? She said she’d mention it to you. I heard about how you rescued Giulia.” She whispered and fussed with something in her ear.

Ah, one of those ‘I’ll only use my hearing aid when I want to types’. “Yes.” Dean matched her tone. “Did she tell everyone here about that, too?”

“No. Italians only like to hang our clean laundry out for everyone to stare at. Not the dirty stuff.”

Dean chuckled. “Is there anything else you can tell me, about what’s been going on?”

“Well,” she scooted a little closer next to him on the couch and grabbed his knee, “Heard something kind of scary about Night Nurse Nancy.”

Sounds like a character in a porn. “Okay.”

“Freddie… well, he almost checked out the other night. I just got an earful from him. He told me that he was having trouble breathing… real bad sleep apnea.” She pointed to a man who looked to be about a hundred sleeping in a wheelchair.

Dean pointed, brows raised in confusion. “You got an earful out of that man?”

She nodded. “I’m the only one he talks to around here. Everyone thinks he’s a nut job. Anyway, he told me he woke up the other night and thought he was dreaming, when he saw Nancy standing over his bed. She took the damn CPAP machine off his face and just watched him. For minutes. And, then…”

Dean frowned. “Yeah?”

“She licked his face. Said he was going to taste yummy.”

Still sounds like a character in a porn.

Gloria continued. “But, Nancy’s been acting a bit strange over the past couple months.”

“Well, face licking is definitely a contender for strange behavior.”

“Depends on the situation, young man.” Gloria flirted with a wrinkle-laden grin.

Dean cleared his throat.

The old woman didn’t skip a beat in the conversation. “She’s been missing work a lot. Used to be like clockwork. Real dependable.” Gloria sighed. “And, she used to smell so nice. Like begonias. Now, when she comes into my room to help me get ready for bed,” her nose wrinkled up, “she smells like a sewer.”

Pieces slotted into place in Dean’s head. “Would you happen to know Night Nurse Nancy’s last name and when she comes into work?”

Gloria did know Nancy’s last name. It was Kissle and she usually started her shift at six o’clock. Dean said his goodbyes. Gloria teased he should come by one day with Brigida for lunch. The macaroni and cheese they served on Wednesdays wasn’t half bad. Even Brigida ate it. Tameca, the Facility Director, cornered him with a Golden Rays folder before he could duck out and insisted she get his phone number. He obliged, giving her his other, other cell phone contact.

Dean drove Baby to the nearest coffee shop, lugged his business laptop in with him, logged onto the Free WiFi, and did his best Sam impression for a good half hour. Sipping on some black coffee, he used his hunting know-how and skip tracking tools and resources to find out as much as he could about Nancy Kissle. He and Julie exchanged some lively and sexy text messages in between his research. He told her he was out on a quick job, but should be able to swing by her house later. If not for dinner, then most definitely dessert (winky face emoji, tongue licking face emoji).

The information hadn’t been too hard to dig up. Nancy was a little over fifty. Single. Never married. Lived about five miles from the facility. There was no harm in swinging by her place of residence. Maybe he could ask her a few questions. Or do some snooping. He had a hunch, but he needed to be sure. It was almost five. Maybe he’d get lucky. But, his stomach grumbled, so he grabbed a sandwich to eat in the car before he left.

The five story apartment complex looked like any other. Unassuming, boxy and boring, with a worn green covered awning leading to the entrance doors. A horseshoe shaped parking lot wrapped around the building. Dean drove around the lot, slow and determined, until his eyes landed on the license plate attached to Nancy Kissle’s motor vehicle registration. Still here. He parked far away from the puke green compact hatchback belonging to the nurse. He frowned at the similarity in shape and size the suspect’s car had to Julie’s.

Deciding his usual attire would not be too out of the ordinary for anyone to remember if things went south, he slid a hammer into the large interior pocket of his army jacket. Dean was flying by the seat of his pants again. And, he kind of enjoyed it. Baby’s door clicked closed upon his exit.

Enjoyment versus duty. That was the crux of his last therapy session with Tricia that very morning, hours before Brigida arrived. Tricia was a sixty year old licensed therapist who also had thirty years of hunting under her now hung up belt.

Dean pulled his phone out and paced outside the locked doors of the apartment building. He pretended to have a conversation with someone, glancing in the glass doors, until a man appeared in a hurry on his way out. He chatted away into the phone and slid through the space of the open doorway the resident had left in their wake.

The tiny entryway had a wall of lockers that served as mailboxes on one side. The room smelled like dirty gym socks.

Charming. Nothing like Tricia’s place, that’s for sure. Tricia had a condo in Denver, Colorado. Dean got a little tour of her swanky abode in their first telehealth session two months ago. He’d needed proof of her credentials. The diplomas on her wall made no difference. He wanted to see her hunter’s stash, her old tools of the trade. A pull of a safe door, hidden behind an expensive looking painting that pried back from the wall on a hinge, let him peek via video chat at the guns, knives, spell books, and ingredients used to make tinctures and antidotes. There were even a few vampire teeth and werewolf claws in a mason jar. They tinkled against the glass when she shook it. The only things Tricia hunted now were elk. An eight point trophy hung above the wall behind her in the office.

Dean noted the permits and approvals hanging over his head in the apartment building alcove. He also did a sweep for cameras. One pointed at the entrance door. But, lucky him, there was no sign of another one. Especially one pointing in the direction of what he’d been looking for since he stepped inside. Assuring no one was heading in or out, he sprinted to the far corner and pulled the fire alarm. A pitiful dinging emerged from the ancient system. Seconds later, the other alarms in the building triggered and echoed back, louder and with purpose. His eyes darted up the stairwell and then the elevator. Let’s hope Nancy is responsible and follows guidelines in an emergency. Dean started up the steps, slow, feeling that surge of enjoyment pulse through him.

Enjoyment versus duty. He had lists to put together for his next therapy session. Forty three fucking years old and I gotta do homework. Things he did for enjoyment. Things he did because he had to. See if any connected, overlapped. Dean already told her he’d enjoyed hunting. Needed it like breathing. Had grown into embracing the duty and found a carnal pleasure in the hunt at a young age. Tricia already knew the whispered, hero tales of the fabled Winchesters. In fact, having Dean Winchester as a client was like hitting the jackpot. She might write a dissertation about him if he ever gave her permission. Dean wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or a threat.

The question, Tricia posed, was if he could consider himself a good person, not broken, outside the realm of normalcy, because he found enjoyment in the duties of a hunter. There were many things people enjoyed centuries, even only decades past, that had been considered evil, abnormal. If enlightenment and acceptance was possible on a societal level by a large majority, Dean should be able to give himself the same hall pass.

Residents passed him down the apartment building stairwell. Some in a hurry, others grumbling at the disruption. “Wrong way, buddy.” A smart ass, about Dean’s age, tossed the comment out at him.

“Making sure my girlfriend isn’t home, thanks.” Dean mumbled. As he rounded the corner and glanced up, he identified Nancy from her drivers license picture, exiting the door marked “3rd.” Dean slowed as the ample bosomed woman he’d been looking for passed his figure. The stench Gloria mentioned wafted into his nose. Not a sewer. But how would Gloria know that smell or have anything else but a sewer to compare it to? Only someone who’s spent time six feet under would know that smell. All those endless hours racked up, thousands of them probably, surrounded by dirt and rotting corpses. That’s the smell of a graveyard.

Nancy continued down the stairs, not even giving Dean a second glance. A peek down the zig zags, making sure that if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him, gave him the confidence to head through the door into the third floor hallway. A sweeping survey of the hall confirmed he was alone. The order of the numbered apartment doors guided his direction. His steps hurried to the right and followed the bend that turned left. Boots halted at the threshold of 3E. A floor mat covered in cartoon cats chasing balls of yarn welcomed him.

Poor Nancy. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Dean deemed the area around him clear with a tilt of his head left, then right, and a tuning of his ears to the sounds of nothing in the hall. He pulled the picks out of his pocket. Fiddling with the pins in the lock, hunched over, for longer than anticipated made his back uncomfortable. An inner debate of a kick down was admonished once the click of success bolted him upright to twist the doorknob.

A meow from a long haired white cat greeted him when he stepped in the doorway. It snaked and rubbed around one of his shins, purring, transferring its fur onto Dean’s jeans. Another orange tabby was not as friendly, frozen in place near the love seat in the living room. Dean took another step inside and the orange cat fled the scene. The white feline bolted after it in what looked like a playful chase. The earthy scent hit him, like compost on steroids.

Dean readied himself with the hammer in hand and canvassed the small apartment. The cat food and water bowls were filled in the living room. He passed by the bathroom. There were self care products on the vanity, all arranged nice and neat. The litter box in a nook in the hallway was clean. What the hell? Maybe it’s not…

A turn of a corner had him in the kitchen. The chest freezer in the spot where a table would normally sit halted his steps. Locked. He aimed and swung the hammer on the tiny combination lock twice. It broke into pieces and scattered on the floor. The contents of the freezer made Dean cringe. “Son of a bitch.” He mumbled. “Poor Nancy.”

Nancy still wore the tattered remains of her bloody nurse uniform. She’d been folded and wedged into the freezer like a trash compactor had given up halfway through. An even more macabre version of a contortionist trick. The ghoul hadn’t even bothered to close the eyes of its victim. Not that Dean had expected something close to mercy from anything supernatural. Her eyeballs were covered in a layer of frost and cloudy. The cat pattern of her scrubs bloody in patches where the monster had been snacking.

He closed the lid, then opened the fridge door. Clear glass storage containers, all from a matching set with pink plastic lids, were filled with, at first glance, cuts of meat, pork. “The fucker’s moved in. And, it likes cats. And, not just as a side dish.”

Keeping Nancy on ice to use her form. Nice and comfy living her life after a couple months. Must have bought the freezer right after she died. A blaring firetruck and sounds of activity from the open kitchen window had him peek down to the parking lot. Shit. Her car’s gone. His watch read that it was almost six. It must have gone to work. Gotta get another lead on this thing and its habits. Routines. Can’t wait here for when it gets back and can’t off it at the nursing home.

A pile of envelopes, bills and paperwork piled up on the kitchen counter got his attention. His fingers waded through, looking for anything out of the ordinary. “Hm. All Saints Cathedral Cemetery.” He studied the invoice. “A mausoleum crypt? Buying a vacation home, too?” He snapped a picture of the invoice to grab the address and crypt location. “Well, I know where I’m going next.”

Now, after tossing the machete over first as a precaution, Dean climbed over the chain link fence, grumbling and cursing. He might be really close to wrapping up this issue. And, dammit, he wanted to get home to Julie. Warm in her bed, waiting for him. Safe.

It took another twenty minutes to search the grounds of the cemetery. Dean tracked down the ten by ten crypt that Nurse Nancy had put a down payment on. The elaborate, gothic stone work and the crumbling mortar of the exterior proved this wasn’t new construction. What the hell? Can you lease these things?

The makeshift crowbar, an iron post loosened from a fence five minutes prior, wedged into the gap between the crypt gate and the jamb broke the seal with little effort. Dean recalled the brother and sister ghoul duo that had killed his half-brother Adam. Need to make sure this is a swinging singles pad and not a home for the fucking Brady Bunch.

The post clanged to the concrete. “Lucy! I’m home!” Dean belted out in his best Desi impression. The machete eased out of the sheath. The swish of the blade swirling in his rotating wrist. It finally settled in position by his thigh. The flashlight focused on the corners of the stone structure, the walls, the ceiling, the ground.

Nothing here. Not yet.

A gust of wind shot past Dean, into the crypt. At least, he’d thought it was the wind for a second. Then Nancy, a crazed look in her eye, out of breath, hair wild, appeared before him in the center of the floor. And smiled.

Her palm connected to his sternum in a classic Bruce Lee move. The force threw Dean backwards out of the crypt onto squishy sod, and thankfully not a tombstone, about ten feet away. He landed arms flailed and outstretched - on purpose to avoid slicing off any important bits with the machete. “Ooof!” Dean groaned. “That’s gonna hurt in the morning.” His flashlight now lost, he rose trying to focus in the dark. The ghoul’s shadow strolled over. “Strong, silent type, huh?” Dean shrugged and wheezed. “Can’t shut me up to save my life.” He gripped the machete like a baseball bat. “I gotta know, though.” He gasped. “What’s up with the cats?” His insides vibrated from the manhandling.

Nancy stopped, a couple feet in front of his figure. Her head tilted.

“I mean is the crazy cat lady thing just a bit? You have a partner in crime helping you out with all this?”

“What? Never been killed by a strong, independent ghoul before?” She finally spoke. Her voice shrill. Cackling.

Dean smiled. “All I needed to hear.” He swung.

And didn’t miss.

When he got back to his car, Dean called Detective Marty Tullman and explained the whole mess.

“Damn, Winchester. Again? If I weren’t as good a cop as I am and seen the things I’d seen, I’d think you were some serial killer baitin’ me along.” Marty sounded tired over the line.

“Saved your life, remember?” Dean reminded.

“Yeah, yeah. So, what I gotta clean up?”

“I tried to clean up my prints back in the apartment. But, in case any get lifted…”

He sighed, “Yeah, yeah.”

“And, the twinsie ghoul is in the crypt for safekeeping. Just so you see it for yourself.” He snapped his finger. “Get those cats some nice homes, Detective.”

The powerful jets of his bathroom shower sprayed hot water with an intense focus on all his aching muscles. He leaned into the heat and wet for a good ten minutes, stretching and grunting, trying to squash the adrenaline surge along with the impending soreness. A helping of pain meds and a beer were taken for good measure. The comfy sweats, his blue Henley, and slippers would be enough for the quick trek to his final destination. He slipped house keys and the phone into a pocket after locking up. Debated, then rounded the front of his house to cut through the neighbor’s backyard. No more fence climbing tonight.

Dean halted at the end of Wes and Samuel’s driveway, spotting the red embers of a cigarette near the back porch, before their motion sensor spotlighted him.

“Hello, Dean.” Samuel crooned his way. A camel colored cardigan hung loose from his shoulders and hunched frame, leaning elbows on bent knees. A puff of the cigarette had it blazing red again.

“Sorry, Samuel. Alright if I head through?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask. Neighbors and all.” He grinned in the golden glow. “You should probably install a gate between your backyard and Julie’s, though. For convenience.” A tip of the head toward Julie’s house followed, along with a wink.

Dean smiled. “Good idea. I’ll run the idea by her. Have a good night.”

As he walked away, Dean heard Samuel mumble, “Not as good a night as you’ll be having, I’m sure.”

Dean crept through Julie’s house, avoiding as many of the creaks in the floor as possible. It was a thoughtful gesture on his part but totally unnecessary. He’d learned over the past couple months how sound of a sleeper his lady was. Out like a light when she didn’t have much to fuss or worry about. Out even faster after a horizontal, or on occasion vertical, sexy romp with him. She mumbled one night, in his arms as she drifted, that she hadn’t slept so well in years. A sense of pride and accomplishment filled him, hearing that.

He slid through the doorway into her bedroom. His eyes caught her luscious frame tangled in a mess of comforter and sheets in the middle of the bed. Such a bed hog. He touched the small lamp on the nightstand to get a better view. His and her house key, and silenced phone, landed on the dresser.

The adrenaline flooded through him again. He wet his lips and strolled to the foot of the bed. Took his time. Drank her in. Ready for me. Her bare shoulders peeking out from the covers indicated she’d gone to bed with not much on, anticipating his return. Her little moans, her version of snoring, increased an octave with each inhale. He waited for it to reach that plateau, crest, and die down again, quiet and calm. He’d gotten used to that little detail, stayed up close to an hour one night to memorize her breathing pattern. It helped his not as restful sleeping habits adjust to hers.

Dean pulled at the comforter with a tight grip. It snagged with the dead weight. The insistence and tugging caused her to moan in her sleep. Dean’s commando cock twitched. She rolled over onto her back, freed the comforter. Feeling like he hit the jackpot, Dean realized he had hooked the sheet as well. Julie rolled to her other side and sighed.

Oh, yes. Sooo ready for me. He peeled the sheet back and away. Saw the slope and crook of her arms hiding those breasts he needed to get his mouth on. The dip of her spine and the curve of her ass and those plump cheeks he wanted to slap. Thighs he wanted wrapped around his ears, blocking out any noise so all he could hear was his mouth sucking and working her pussy into a puddle. The tight cords on the back of her knees he ached to feel clench over his shoulders.

Dean removed his shirt and sweatpants. His cock was now at full attention and already dripping with precum. “Jules.” He whispered, the comforter and sheets now a small hill at the bottom of the mattress. He had to climb over, careful and slow. He slipped onto his tummy and army-crawled toward her.

His hard cock slid and pushed into the mattress. He groaned. She stirred. Another sigh and she rolled fast, flopped onto her back, slapping his cheek with curled fingers and the back of her hand. Dean cursed. Julie snored.

He felt his eyes widen. Her breasts rose with each deep breath. He tilted his head away from her offending arm and slithered over to her chest. He whispered. “You better not slap me again, Jules. Not in the mood.” She moaned, in her dream world, back at him. “Shit. Maybe I am.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. His chin hovered inches above her ribcage. The shadow of his profile covered the rise of her soft tummy. The hunger rose with the travel of his gaze over the solid, protruding hip bones. He loved to gnaw on them before getting down to business between her legs. She was a feast for sore eyes.

There’d still been so much he wanted to explore with this woman. He had to keep reminding himself to believe he had time with her. The safe part, that’s most important right now. Thoughts and visions of tying her up had gotten him hard beyond comprehension. Hell, he even toyed with the offering of Jules wrapping silk cords around his wrists. Pink ones. He’d talked him through how bad of an idea all of that was in front of the bathroom mirror weeks back. There was the potential flashback and trigger of Jules’ kidnapping by the Jinn. None of it would be a wise venture. He couldn’t ask her, even in jest, if she’d be up for that kind of kink. At least not now.

So, the weeks together had been playful, light, and he let her guide him. Watched with surprise and awe when she expressed her cute little dominant side. Especially when his mouth went where it wanted to right now. Or, that time she was down on her knees, giving him the privilege of her mouth on his cock, and decided to slap his ass right as he got close to coming.

As much as he ached to wake her with his tongue or cock deep inside, it was not a good idea.

“Julie?” He whispered, louder.

Nothing.

“Julie?” He nudged into her side with his chin. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

An angry little moan escaped. Grumpy.

He sighed, then spoke louder, with more force. “Okay. I guess I’ll just get dressed and head back home.” He leaned on his side, propped up on an elbow, ready to rock off the mattress, watching for any reaction from her.

That dangerous arm curled around his chest, hooking into his side. “Dean?” she asked, stirring from sleep, eyes still closed.

“Who else would be naked in your bed?” He teased and relaxed into the softness of her body. Her tummy was the perfect pillow for the side of his face. His neck and shoulder wedged against her waist. A nuzzle made her sigh, knowing she appreciated that he took a razor to his scruff after the shower earlier.

He studied her face from his vantage, past her breastbone, caught the lips turning into a smile. “Depends on the night. Have to check my schedule.” She mumbled. “What time is it?”

Dean swiveled his head to read the alarm clock. “After ten.”

“Deeaann.” She grumbled. “Why so late?”

“Shhh…” He dialed down her grumpiness with a handful of breast and the soft rolling of her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You gonna yell at me or let me take care of you?”

A pleasant moan erupted. “Can’t we do both?” She whispered.

He chuckled. “Bossy.”

“Baby.” She countered.

“Oh, it’s gonna be like that?” Dean bolted up, rocked back on his knees, bare ass against his heels. Julie’s eyes bolted open as well. He loved that look of amazement and lust he could conjure. He grabbed her by a knee with both hands, lifted the leg up in the air and swung it around him, scissoring her open like a living doll. Just as quick, he leaned down kissing her tummy. His forearms tunneled under her back between the mattress, lifting and placing her in a more comfortable position now that he’d bent her into an odd angle. Her head flopped by the side of the bed.

She giggled as he cradled the back of her head with one hand and shoved two pillows under her ponytail. “So thoughtful.” She teased.

“I try, sweetheart.”

Julie’s smile softened. Her cool fingers gripped his jaw. “I know.” She lifted off the pillows and seized his lips in a kiss. “Hm.” The sound vibrated in his mouth. Continued to pulse through his skin when she released. “I missed you.”

He grinned. “You just had me last night.”

She shrugged. “And?”

He sat back up between her legs. His knees splayed under her thighs. All of her opening to him. His thumb slipped through the fold, light and teasing. She groaned. He was still sore as hell but he was going to spend at least an hour on her body. “How do you want me tonight? Cause I have all sorts of ideas.”

She bit her bottom lip before speaking, squirming under his touch. “I had a surprise for you. That was why I wanted you to come home early.”

His eyes dipped down to inspect the wetness coating the two fingers he had swiped past the dark curls and through the pink folds. He licked his lips and gazed back up at her face.

“Dean. Shit. I guess it can wait until the weekend.”

“Seriously? You’re going to hit me with ‘had a surprise for you’ and make me wait?” He lowered his voice on purpose. “Come on, baby. What was the surprise?” He searched for her wet hole, found it, and snuck in with a fingertip.

“You made me wait.” She shot back. Dean smirked at how hard she was trying to stay focused and angry. “God, why do you have to be so goddamn infuriating, adorable, and fuckable all at the same time?” She huffed and stared him down with a shaky, crumbling glare.

“Gift.” He strummed her clit with his thumb, found that spot that tapped her like the second hand of a clock. Slight tremors shook through her skin and hitched breath. His mouth betrayed him, confessing, “Damn, I love how your body responds to me. Wanna be inside. Feel you all around me.” He tested her with a soft order. “Grab a condom. You’re closer. And, I don’t want to stop… this.” He thrummed her hard now.

She hummed, thinking. Her chest arched up. “So, maybe then I should give you your surprise?”

“Jules.” He groaned. “Come on, baby. One way or another, we’ve got to shift this into the next gear. Quick.”

“I went on the pill a few weeks ago.” She moaned out.

Dean stilled his movements. “Huh?”

Her panting continued. He watched her try to come down from the arousal. “Went to the doctor and got some birth control.” Her mouth danced around the explanation. “Steve had gotten snipped years ago. I thought… if you wanted… if this was going somewhere… we might want…” She shrugged. “Be closer.”

Dean’s lips parted, listening to her. His hands left the warmth and wet of her. He leaned down, let his hands cage her at the waist.

“I had to get tested, just to make sure, right after I found out what the asshole did.” She continued. “So, I know I’m fine.” Her eyebrows raised in hope.

Dean smiled.

“If you aren’t sure, we can wait until you get tested. I mean, with all your past man whoring.” She smiled back.

“Man whoring?” He chuckled.

“No one is this good without lots of experience.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re pretty damn good. Does that mean…?”

She tilted her head and pursed her lips.

He sighed. “Want to know one of the scariest things I ever did?”

The curiosity won and she nodded.

“Getting tested for every damn STD two years ago. When I moved to Delaware… after…” There were still the secrets he had to navigate through. He’d only told her more about his mom and dad and his nomad existence with Sam over the past month. But, nothing about the supernatural and the Winchester saga. He sighed, hating the need to audit the details. “I figured if I was going to clean slate it, I might as well know if I had anything else to worry about. I mean, I’d had the occasional… annoyances over the years… with all my man whoring as you so nicely put it.”

She giggled, her hands gliding up his arms, muscles bulging, locked straight on either side of her waist now. “And?”

“By some miracle, all good.” He begrudgingly gave Chuck credit for that.

She nodded, the smile growing. “And no one but me since you got tested?”

“Nope. No other pussy has passed these lips or been introduced to my cock.”

She slapped his biceps. “Nice.” Her lids narrowed. “What about ass?”

He laughed. “Nope. No other orifices.” He added as her mouth opened to question again. “Female or male.”

“Oh. Do I get to hear some fun tales?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Let’s see how this goes first?” Dean asked.

Julie nodded, let the words breathe out husky and deep. “Yes. Please.” She removed one of the pillows under her head and got comfy. “Andiamo, Bello.”

Dean gulped, buckled at the elbows and lay prone on top. Staring into her eyes, cushioning into the soft curves and feeling the hard ridges. “Not fair, Jules. You know what you do to me when you start talking Italian.”

Her hands roamed over his shoulders. “You feel so good already, Dean.” She kissed his lips soft and tender. “I’ve been wanting to really feel you since that first night together.”

His hardening cock settled into the warmth, sliding and teasing into the folds with a subtle rocking of hips. “You’re sure?” He asked. “You let me inside like this, I may never come out.” She giggled into her moan. Their lips, wet with the mingling and his licking, slipped over each other. Need. Want. All of her body heating up under his. So close. The thought of being even closer to this woman stilled him for a moment, froze him in the kiss. Should I? Without her knowing all of it?

He knew she felt whatever that was that happened in him. She pulled back. Threaded fingers through his hair and stared into his eyes. Deep. Hard. “Honest? In this moment?” She asked, smiling.

He nodded, those words heard from her often over the past weeks, requesting a glimpse into his thoughts.

“No plans on hurting me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He whispered. “Right through to my bones. All I wanna do is make you happy.” He shrugged. “And, not piss you off too much in the attempt.”

She squirmed and circled her hips under him. “Pissing me off is half the fun, though, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “Maybe.” Her motions ignited him again. “God, you’re really gonna let me, huh?” He licked his lips and then hers. “It’s been so long since I’ve done that. Hot stuff isn’t gonna last long.”

“Then enjoy every second.” She mumbled, slid over to nibble on his ear and whispered. “I wanna watch.”

Dean groaned. “Fuck. Really not gonna last long if you keep ordering me around.” He took a deep breath and pushed up into a plank position. Her face tilted up, breath hot, exhaling fast against his chin. Their bodies shifted and eased in place, both of them focusing on the heat of their sex. One hand pushed her bent leg farther up and into the mattress, then stroked his length, still wet with her. “Can you see alright?” He asked.

She nodded, kissing his chin.

He smiled and dipped down to brush her forehead with his lips. His cock slid through her folds, slipping and coating, readying. He knew what he was looking for, of course. Knew her anatomy and proportions, had them seared and memorized in his brain. But he wanted to enjoy the feel of every inch of pink and plush and pulsing flesh. Enjoy every second.

Her hip tilted up, eager. Her face was flushed. She licked her lips and Dean almost collapsed on top of her.

He pressed the tip to her entrance. “This what you want so bad?”

“You know it is.”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart?”

“Want to feel you. Just you, deep inside.”

“Fuckin’ Hell.”

He moaned and pressed in an inch. His hand assisted in the guidance for another second or two. Then, he let go, balanced above her on locked arms again, his back curving downward in a slalom slope to his ass. His eyes closed, relishing the exquisite torture of skin to skin; the clutch of her walls accepting him; the sounds she made, a little more high pitched than usual.

His eyes opened, catching her staring at his face. He smiled. “Thought you wanted a good view down below?”

“Nothing wrong with the view up here, either.” She urged him down to share a kiss, soft and slow.

He broke from her mouth. “Watch us, Jules.”

She nodded. And he watched with her as their bodies connected. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he eased down, seated into her complete and full. And she gave him the sweetest smile.

“Sweet smiles.” He groaned in delight. “Nothing but trouble.”

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean x ofc #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic series

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

Text

Home for Christmas

A/N: Oops. This was supposed to post yesterday. (and it’s barely posting today.) Guess we’re a day behind? Guess this means extended Christmas? Guess in the final days of 2019 I still can’t stick to a schedule. Oh well. Some things never change, while others...do. Here’s the one and only Ryan request for Day 8 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics. I asked @something-tofightfor and @its-my-little-dumpster-fire for input on whether this should be past Ryan or future Ryan, and this was the response I got- @something-tofightfor : future. @its-my-little-dumpster-fire : past ‘cause I like to be difficult. So I cheated and did both. Anywho, this is related to Passing Through.

Word Count: 2,183

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

“Did you eat all those cookies?”

“Is that mistletoe? You know it’s poisonous, right?”

When you woke up on Christmas morning, the red and and black tartan blanket had been pulled up to your chin, the multi-colored quilt tucked around your toes. It was chilly in the attic-turned-guest room. Taylor’s husband Dean had been meaning to bolster the insulation and seal the drafty windows, but as they seemed to every year, the holidays simply came up too soon for him to get the work done in time. You and Ryan both understood of course, assuring Taylor that you’d both spent much colder nights, and complimenting Dean on the amount of work he had been able to do on the house in the short time that they’d owned it. They’d made the move from Georgia up to a small suburb outside of Pittsburgh only two months prior, and somehow they’d made it suitable to host most of the Brenners for Christmas (Patrick was spending the holiday with his new girlfriend Natalie and her family down in Texas, and Tommy had gotten work out on a wind farm in Kansas, the holiday overtime too good to turn down.)

Extra blankets and a space heater had been brought up to get you through your stay, but even without them you would have been fine. You were never cold when Ryan’s arms were around you, your back against his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep. But when you opened your eyes and rolled over, he wasn’t there. Hmm. You peeled back the double layer of blankets and dropped your legs over the side of the bed, toes wiggling into your waiting moccasins. The rushing sound of water moving through the pipes met your ears as soon you were on your feet, and you guessed that he’d gone down a floor to use the bathroom. You folded the blankets and reached for the forest green thermal shirt that Ryan had worn the day before, pulling it over your head and pushing your arms through the too-long sleeves. With a yawn, you combed your fingernails through your hair, twisting it up into a knot, before leaving the attic to quietly head downstairs.

You padded down the creaky steps, the soft leather soles of your slippers tapping on the hardwood. Reaching the first floor, you turned into the family room. The fire was crackling with more life than it would be had it been left alone since last night, so you knew someone had come down to stoke it. You’d wanted to be up first, get coffee going and start breakfast as a way to thank your hosts. You strained your ears listening for any signs of life, hearing only the snapping and popping of the flames, the muffled sounds of snores, and the shuttering pipes upstairs. It’s still quiet down here… maybe whoever it was went back to bed.

Passing the tree, laden with homemade ornaments spanning decades, your heart warmed more than it had from the fire. Mason jar lids and popsicles sticks, pipe cleaners and painted macaroni adorned the branches, illuminated by bright bulbs in every color. Aunt Holly had brought the box of Christmas memories up from Georgia with her as a surprise for the bunch of them. The night before, once everyone had settled in, you all gathered around the tree to add to the few decorations that Taylor and Dean had already hung. You sat on the floor by the fireplace leaning against Ryan’s chest as the box was unpacked, listening intently to the stories behind each and every one of the decorations, imagining smaller versions of the Brenners painstakingly glueing and glittering pieces of construction paper around Holly’s kitchen table. Your fingers brushed over a clothespin that had been painted brown with messy brushstrokes, pipe cleaners bent and twisted to look like antlers, and a red pom pom stuck on as a nose.

“That’s one’a mine”, he told you as you watched Taylor’s 5 year old daughter agonize over the perfect spot on the tree. “Made it for Aunt Holly for Christmas the year she took me in.” He spoke in your ear, right arm draped over your shoulder, rough fingers tracing gentle, soothing patterns on your left bicep. “S’nice to see this stuff again.”

You turned your head, leaning it back against his shoulder to look up at him. The flickering firelight danced in his eyes as they met yours. You’d been together for two years, but the feeling that you got when that happened hadn’t changed except to grow stronger. You smiled, reaching across your body for his hand and linking it with your own. “I bet it is,” you said. “I’m glad I get to see all of this, too.” You dragged your nose over the spot where his neck sloped into his shoulder before pressing your lips to the exposed skin over the collar of his shirt. You felt him swallow and heard a happy little hum come from deep in his soul.

Ryan tightened the arm he had around you, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies. His lips found a spot near the crest of your cheek, scratchy beard tickling you as he spoke. “You’re the only one I wanna share it with, Junebug.” You closed your eyes, a fullness in your chest that no one but Ryan could put there. He smiled as he kissed your cheek. “The only one I ever wanna share it with.”

“Ryan,” his name twirled off your tongue, dancing, light as a feather, to the skipped beat of your heart. You looked around the room, laughter and the smell of nutmeg filling the air as Zach and Jimmy regaled Dean with the infamous sunburn story. Holly was helping Cheyenne hang a wreath made of mis-matched buttons near the top of the tree while Jimmy chased a much-too-hyper Evan around the room. This is home, you thought, even though it wasn’t for either of you.

“Evan Jacob Bingham!” Taylor’s voice cut through the merriment, all 5 foot three of her small frame suddenly stern as she stuck both hands on her hips.

“Uh oh,” Ryan said in a low voice, causing you to snicker.

All eyes turned to Evan, his sandy hair hanging from his head as Fitz held him upside down by the ankles. Little green eyes widening to saucers, his face flushed scarlet as he took in his mother’s expression.

“Did you eat all of those cookies?!” She demanded, gesturing to the plate on the counter that now suspiciously only held crumbs.

Fitz righted the child, setting him back on the ground and ruffling his hair. He leaned over to hover over Evan’s shoulder. “Better fess up, kid. ‘Member, Santa’s watchin’. Lyin’ won’t do you any favors.”

You laughed to yourself, feeling warm all over again as your fingers left the little clothespin Rudolph. Stepping into the kitchen, you busied yourself with the coffee can, measuring scoops of the nutty grounds and dumping them into one of the leftover filters that you’d used to make paper snowflakes with Taylor’s kids the night before. More ornaments for next year’s tree. You secured the lid on the can, giving it a smack to make sure it was sealed tight, when a peel of laughter hit your ears. It was muffled slightly, and followed by a deeper, fuller chuckle that you couldn’t mistake if you tried. Ryan. Setting your task aside, you moved the curtains over the sink just in time to see Ryan hoisting Cheyenne and Evan, one under each arm, up to place the hat atop the head of the most perfectly constructed snowman you’d ever seen, a grin broke out on your face and your hand came up to your mouth. There you are, Ryan Brenner.

You watched the three of them admire their handiwork as the coffee pot bubbled and steamed to life somewhere behind you, before you saw Ryan toss his head in the direction of the house, telling them it was time to go back inside. The kids turned and immediately ran towards the back door, wobbling like penguins in their snow boots. When Ryan turned, his eyes went straight to the window, a wide smile brightening his face. Above his beard his cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold, a puff of vapor forming as he let out a breath. Raising one hand, he waved to you, and you wiggled your fingers over the cuff of his shirt to wave back, biting your bottom lip.

The door banged open and Cheyenne and Evan burst inside, stomping clumps of white onto the mat and yanking the zippers of their jackets open. “We made a snowman!” Evan said, turning to you as though he knew you’d be there to receive the news.

“I see!” you said, pointing out the window. “A very nice one, too.” Cheyenne’s arm was stuck in her sleeve, her little eyebrows furrowing in frustration. You stooped down next to her to pull her free. “Did you name him?”

“Uh huh,” the little girl smiled at you as she sat down to take her boots off. “Frosty, like in the song.”

“That’s a perfect name,” you said, recalling the afternoon before yesterday, when Ryan and Jimmy had played a bunch of kid friendly Christmas songs to keep the kids out of Taylor’s hair while you helped her and Aunt Holly with some of the baking.

The door opened again, a rush of cold air blowing in as Ryan stepped inside. “‘Mornin’, bug,” he said, eyes bright and wide awake from the icy temperature. He removed his hat, his long hair askew. Morning, Ryan. “Merry Christmas.” He wiped his boots off before bending down to undo the laces, tattooed fingers working nimbly once they were free of his gloves. You rose back to your full height as he took a step to close the distance..

You felt the cold coming off of him but still only wanted him closer. “Merry Christmas, Ryan.” You raked your fingers through his hair and behind his ear. “You three were up ealy,” you said, eyes never leaving his.

He shrugged with a grin. “Frosty i’nt gonna build himself,” he said before turning to his accomplices. “Right guys?”

“Right!” They answered in unison.

“Right.” He turned back to you. This man.

“Right.” You agreed, nodding as your smile turned into a laugh. You draped both arms over his shoulders, twirling the curl at the nape of his neck around your finger as you leaned into him. “Why don’t you go get warmed up,” you suggested, and I’ll get some breakfast started and-”

“Is that mistletoe?” Evan was staring at the two of you, pointing to the bundle of greenery hanging in the doorway above your heads. You hadn’t seen it before, nor had you realized that you’d gotten as close to him as you had, or that he’d placed both of his frozen hands on your hips. It is. “You know it’s poisonous, right?” He asked, matter of factly.

You and Ryan looked at each other before bursting into a laugh that had you collapsing into the frosty fabric of his coat, his hands rubbing slowly up and down your back as you both looked back up at one another. “That so?” Ryan asked, Evan nodding emphatically. “And who told you that, your mama?”

“Yeah,” came Taylor’s voice from the kitchen doorway, the lights from the tree glowing on her rounded cheeks. “Sound familiar, Ry?” She quirked an eyebrow as Evan and Cheyenne scrambled passed her, one on either side. She touched both of their sandy-haired heads as they headed upstairs to change into warm clothes.

Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It might sound a little familiar.”

“That’s what he told me,” Taylor answered your question before you could ask it. “When we were kids, and I was a young, hopelessly romantic seven year old pining her pigtails off for Bobby Hartshorne, sayin’ that I hoped I got to kiss’m under the mistletoe. And then here comes Ryan,” she gestured with mock annoyance at her closest cousin who grinned mischievously. “Tellin’ me kissin’ is gross and mistletoe is poison.”

“I did say that,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“How romantic of you, Ry,” you said, barely keeping the smirk from your face.

“Well,” Taylor clapped him on the shoulder before smiling at you. “Glad to see that some things change.” She winked and then headed over to help herself to the coffee you’d made.

Without taking his eyes from yours, he spoke quietly and pulled you closer. “Rules are rules,” he said, nose brushing yours before you felt his lips steal the breath from your lungs. “Poison or not.” His fingers flexed around your hips as your hands found their way over his jawbone and up into his hair.

The kiss was quick but you felt it all throughout your bones. “Love you, Ryan,” you told him, knocking your nose against his again. “Let’s get some coffee, huh?”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @obscurilicious @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @ymariejp @breanime @gollyderek @traeumerinwitzhelden @malionnes @elanor-of-imladris

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#12 days of christmas fics #ryan brenner #passing through #the brenner bunch #ryan brenner x you #ryan brenner x reader #home for christmas #i love the gaggle of cousins #and i look for any excuse to let them loose

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 6 years ago

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20 Seconds of Courage -Part 3

The Elementalist AU

Beckett c MC (Oriana)

words: 2122

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this story!

As Oriana quickly showered and got dressed for the day, she kept thinking back on Beckett’s text message.

“Don’t let him win.”

She was furious that he somehow got her phone number when she didn’t give it to him or want him to have it. But at the same time…she felt bad about running out on him the previous night. Maybe she should have stayed? She wasn’t sure. A couple minutes after the message came through, her phone started ringing. It was Jason’s boss and she almost didn’t answer. Finally, on the third call, she had picked up. Alex begged her to come back to work. Jason wouldn’t be a problem, both he and the intern were fired for sexual misconduct.

Thinking on Beckett’s words, she stood tall as she demanded a raise and different responsibilities. Alex guaranteed her to head the project she’d been working on previously with Jason, except she could choose someone of her own to work with. Adams Industries was a large client, and getting this deal was vital to her firm.

“We need the best.” Alex said. “And you’re the best.”

Finally, she agreed to go into the office and discuss it at the very least. And she couldn’t lie to herself, she got butterflies thinking of seeing Beckett again. That man had fucked her in a way she hadn’t been before, and she’s never seen him in the office. She couldn’t help but wonder how he was outside of the bedroom. And it would give her an opportunity to tell him to fuck off for grabbing her phone while she wasn’t looking.

Her blonde hair was freshly curled, a grey pencil skirt and white blouse, a dusting of makeup, and she found herself marching into the office building, her head held high as she heard whispers and small gasps all around her. Not even looking at anyone, she went straight into Alex’s office and shut the door.

Beckett was already hard at work, going over some specifications he’d been handed for the Adams project. His boss had recommended him for the job, and he readily accepted. A job like this could make his career. He started hearing commotion coming from the front of the building. Frowning, he hunched back over the blueprints and tried to focus. But the whispering continued and finally he sighed, looking up to see what everyone was so distracted about. His breath caught as he saw Oriana gliding past everyone, not giving anyone the satisfaction of even looking in their direction. A small smile tugged on his lips as he quickly opened his phone, firing off a message to her. He knew she wouldn’t respond, at least, not while she was demanding whatever it was she was demanding in return for her coming back to work.

She’s a smart girl and he was smitten. Now that he’d had a taste of her…he was going to have her again. It was just a matter of time. While she was in the boss’s office, Beckett inched closer, to hear what everyone was saying.

“…Gonna take him to the cleaners…”

“…demand Jason’s position…”

“…can’t believe she didn’t know…”

“…back for good…”

Before he even realized it, he was right in front of the office door as it swung open, and Oriana walked straight into him.

“Holy!”

“Ah! Beckett! How perfect it is that you’re here! Have you met Oriana, yet?” Alex was right behind her.

He opened his mouth but before he could get a word out, Oriana grabbed his hand, shaking it.

“Nope! Never met him! Nice to meet you…Beckett, was it?”

A small blush crept up his neck. “Indeed I am. And you’re Oriana Miller. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She was glaring at him, so Beckett looked past her to Alex. She withdrew her hand immediately.

“The two of you will be working together!” Alex announced cheerfully. “Beckett, I understand you were already put on the Adams account?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great! Then you’re familiar. Oriana is now the lead on this, so you two will need to work closely together. Oriana was not expecting to be here today, so I think it’s best if the two of you went over to the site and get a look around.”

“I’ve already seen the site.” She snapped.

“I haven’t.” Beckett piped in, eager to get out of here with her.

“Then it’s settled! Oriana, go, teach our newest employee the ropes.”

“Alex, don’t you think he’s a bit…underqualified? He’s only been here two months, and you said I could choose…”

“Between him and Charles, yes. However, Beckett was already placed on this, and although he’s only two months in, his work has been…impressive, to say the least.”

Oriana started again, but Alex dismissed her with his hand. “Excuse me, I need to go speak with human resources about the changes.”

Beckett and Oriana are left alone, staring at each other. “Welcome back.” He said quietly. “I’m glad you took my advice.”

She narrowed her eyes, turned around, and stalked off to the elevator, Beckett’s eyes lingering on her swaying hips as he followed. As soon as the doors closed, he stepped into her space, backing her up into the wall.

“Feel familiar?” He murmured, grazing her ear with his teeth.

“Stop it” She hissed, pushing him away. “Look. No one can know that we slept together, Harrington. This is a job, and I’m not screwing it up just so I can screw you.”

A smirk formed on his face. “We did do a lot of screwing, didn’t we? Until you ran off?”

“I ran off not knowing you’d looked through my phone!”

“Oh, please, as if I had time to look through it. Not to mention, I don’t care what’s in there, Oriana. I just wanted your number.”

“After I told you I wasn’t giving it to you.”

“It’s good I took it, we’ll need to be in constant communication during this project.”

She rolled her eyes.

“In all seriousness, Oriana, why did you come back? You were dead set on not returning last night. What changed?”

“I wanted to scream and tell you off, that’s what changed.” She glowered.

“Feel free to continue screaming my name, I certainly won’t stop you from that.”

Her jaw dropped and this time they were both blushing.

“You’re so….so…” Her fists were balled up, and there was heat in her gaze. “So fucking infuriating.” She launched herself into his arms, and he kissed her back fiercely, slinging one of her legs around his hip as her skirt bunched at her waist.

For a brief second, they were lost in the kiss, tongues dancing, hands travelling each other’s bodies. He nipped at her neck and she moaned in response. He pressed his hips into her, pinning her between himself and the wall and she gasped at how hard he was.

The ding sounded as the elevator came to a stop. She shoved him back, straightening out her skirt and blouse, and running a hand through her hair in attempt to smooth it, while Beckett adjusted himself and his jacket. When the doors opened, they walked out calmly, as though they hadn’t just been clawing at each other in heat.

Once on the busy street, she tried hailing a cab. Beckett rolled his eyes, pulling his phone out and making a quick call. A minute later a black town car rolled up.

“Seriously? You have your own driver and car?”

He shook his head. “I have a service I use. They’re very fast.”

She stared at him a moment. “Are you like. A serial killer? You’re taking me away in an unmarked black car, out to a field where you’ll rape and kill me, and your ‘driver’ helps you get rid of my body?”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s quite the description. I assure you that will never happen as long as you’re with me.”

“Ohhh right. So, you’re my bodyguard then. Here to protect me from the big baddies of the world, as if I’m not capable of defending myself.”

“Just get in the car.” He snapped, losing his patience and opening the door for her.

“Geez, Beck, sorry you couldn’t handle the joke.” She responded snidely, sliding into the backseat as he slipped in beside her and the car started driving.

“It’s not a joke. Joking about either of those things is not funny. The world is dangerous, Oriana. Some people really do get killed, some people really do need bodyguards. It is not a joking matter. All I’m saying is that you’re safe with me, okay? That’s it. Take it or leave it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to gaze out the window, lost in a memory he can never forget.

“Hey”

He jumped when he felt her hand on his leg and turned back to face her, seeing her eyes filled with concern.

“Beckett I’m sorry, I…I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Do you even care?” He muttered.

She winced, moving her hand from his leg to intertwine their fingers together. She didn’t know what happened just now, but suddenly she knew there was a lot more to the man sitting beside her than just someone who wanted to be in her pants, which is what she had thought until this very moment.

“I do care.” She told him softly, her green eyes never leaving his blue ones, those butterflies in her stomach returning as his gaze intensified before dropping to her lips. He leaned forward…then stopped just a breath away from her, searching her eyes.

She bit her bottom lip, contemplating. He was clearly letting her make the decision on what happens next, and she was finding it insanely sexy how confident he was when it came to her. And she was now completely intrigued by what lies beneath his surface.

“We’ll be there in just a minute.” The driver announced.

She sighed and pulled back, pulling out her phone and checking her messages, her breath catching as she read one of them.

“Thank you.” Beckett told him, looking back out the window, unaware of what she was doing.

The car was silent until they arrived at the open space, when Beckett said “If you wouldn’t mind, can you wait…”

“Thank you very much. We’ll call when we’re ready to return.” Oriana interrupted, causing him to look at her in surprise, but she was already stepping out of the car. He went to stand next to her as the car drove away.

“I didn’t think we’d need a lot of time here?” He questioned.

“Is this true?” She blurted out, showing him the phone where his text message was.

“I…I didn’t think you’d read that yet.” The tips of his ears turned a bright red, his heart pounding. He’d been so distracted that he forgot he sent it to her when she arrived in the office.

“That’s not an answer.” She replied, trying to get a read on him.

“Yes.” He whispered hoarsely. “Of course.”

In an instant she’d closed the space between them, kissing him softly as he brought his hands to cup her face, kissing her with a tenderness he didn’t even realize he was capable of.

“Who are you, Beckett Harrington?” She murmured into his lips.

He smiled. “I’m the guy you’re going to marry.”

She chuckled and lightly pushed him away. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”

He smirked, pulling her back to him. “You’re right. One thing at a time. We’re going to finish up here, and then I’m going to call back the car. After that, we’ll go to my place where we’ll spend the rest of the day and probably most of the night making each other feel really, really good.”

“Is that right?” She laughed. “And tomorrow? You really expect me to just casually walk into work with you in today’s clothing?”

He grinned. “Personally, I wouldn’t mind, but if you’re concerned I guess we can make one stop and get some clothes for you.”

“Oh, lucky me.” She teased, eyes rolling. “Come on. Let me put this job into perspective for you.”

As they walked around the lot, they kept themselves engrossed in conversation about the job, mixed with some personal information as well. She kept stealing glances at him, this man that just walked into her life one day and kissed her.

When they waited for the car, she pulled her phone out again, staring back down at the message, unable to contain her smile.

“I hope in your negotiations you ask Alex for the world. Because that is what I see when I look at you, and that is what you’re capable of.”

@annekebbphotography

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@drakewalkerfantasy

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@mistychoices

#beckett x mc #beckett harrington #beckett harrington fanfic #beckett x oriana #choices the elementalist #the elementalist #the elementalist fanfic #the elementalist 2 #playchoices #choices stories you play #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #fluffy-marshmallow-heart

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minsyal · 6 years ago

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[How It All Ended, Sam x Reader]

Summary: Reminiscing on the world you once knew.

Word Count: 1.8k

The musty motel room didn’t feel the same as you passed through the threshold to find it empty. Despite the constant temperature, the room felt colder than before. The night brought an eerie feeling cascading over you, one that typically subsided with the Winchester brothers. The sounds of TV static and creaky faucets no longer tugged at your eardrums keeping you awake. It was something different. There were no more spitting fights, no more jovial conversations, no more… anything.

You walked somberly into the room, it was a mess. A few old flannels were laid out on the bed, ready for the youngest brother who had a habit of laying out his clothing before he needed it. A thick leather-bound book that had been “borrowed” from a library in Kentucky sat on the table opened to the section detailing possessions. You deeply frowned. How had it come to this?

“So, what?” You threw your hands up as you let out an exasperated sigh. “We just let Cas turn himself into a human cannonball for the freaks of Purgatory?”

“I don’t know what else to do, Y/n.” Dean frowned. He was just as irritated with Cas as you. Since the death of Raphael, Castiel decided he enjoyed prancing around as God and left on a whim and a prayer. You sat with the brothers at Bobby’s, crowded around the coffee table that was covered with discarded plates and empty pizza boxes.

“Maybe talk some sense into him?” Sam commented, leaning back and extending his arm over the back of the couch. His slender fingers played with the excess fabric on your shoulder, something he had been doing more since his soul was returned and the wall was instigated. If you were looking more into it, you’d say there was something there.

“How do we talk sense into someone who has a literal God-complex?” Dean took a long drag from his bottle of beer, eyes falling to Sam’s hand as he let his arm shift down to rest on your shoulder. An inquisitive brow raised. He spoke into his bottle, “you two got something going on here we,” he nudged an arm toward Bobby who was happier to fall into blissful ignorance than waste time with this conversation, “don’t know about?”

“What?” Sam quickly brought his arm back to his side where it remained the rest of the night. “No.”

The next morning was darker than usual, shadowy clouds filled the sky as rolling thunder sent bottomless vibrations through the small town you had stopped in. Your four-door outside was being pelted with golf ball-sized hail, the hard-plinking sounds making you cringe as you pondered the damage that was being done. You turned in your bed expecting to find Sam, but instead found nothing.

“Update: Angel is still on the fritz. He’s not answering prayers anymore.” You walked into the kitchen where Bobby was hunched over the stove, cooking breakfast.

“Tell me something we don’t already know.” He turned with the pan in his hand, a couple cooked eggs inside of it. His eyes widened for a moment as he took in your new look. “Isn’t that Sam’s?”

“What?” You stood in the kitchen shocked and embarrassed that you had forgotten. Sam wore a particularly large shirt that fell to your knees and acted more like a dress. “Oh!” A nervous sweat broke out on your forehead, “uh…”

A strong arm snaked around your waist, pulling you gently backward to crash against a strong chest. “It is.” Sam’s groggy voice rumbled through his chest making you stand on your toes.

“Gross.” Dean shoved past you, having none of it, as he snatched the skillet from Bobby who let out a disapproving sound.

He wasn’t there. The bed wasn’t warm. The place you expected him to be was cold, filled only by the unused blankets. There was no divot where his body should have been, there was no rustling under the sheets as he kicked his legs out, and there was no groan from Dean has he cringed in response to your couple-y behavior. You missed that.

“So, Cas turned to jelly and now we have chompers running around like chickens with their heads cut off.” Dean jerked the door to the Impala angrily, climbing into the car and falling into his seat. Sam’s eye caught yours as he looked into the rear-view mirror, a concerned expression on his face.

“Dean, we’ll fix this.” You attempted to calm him down, “We always fix things.”

“Pssh,” he rolled his eyes, “hardly.”

You found solace in a selection of hard liquors and the occasional cigarette. Empty bottles filled the small circular desk in the room, and more were discarded on the ground below. It didn’t matter what happened at this point. You were useless. You failed.

Sam’s hallucinations grew worse with each passing day. He insisted he was handling it, but he had prescribed himself zero hours of sleep a night and sparse eating. It backfired. You held a hand against his back, rubbing calming circles into the knots that had developed in his aching muscles.

“You need to sleep.” Your voice came out as a whisper as you leaned forward to press your forehead against his. “Sweetheart, please.”

“I can’t.” Sam stated with a slight tinge of irritation bubbling beneath his words.

“Sam-“

“I can’t, Y/n!” He said, barking angrily at you as he vehemently pulled himself away from your touch. As fast as he snapped, he broke, eyes going wide as he searched yours for forgiveness. “Y/n...” His head hung low, unable to bring himself to face you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sam. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you want to try again?”

He nodded. How could such a hulking man seem so small? Your hands found his as he settled into your embrace, his head resting lightly against your chest as he listened to your steady heart. A sigh escaped his lips, his head sunk further into you, and his nervous shaking stopped. He finally slept.

Cars were crashed everywhere along the road with pieces and parts of bodies scattered throughout. You didn’t make it on time to save anybody. The motel room had turned into a bunker-of-sorts; it was a safe place. You had gone to the local hardware store, easily slipping through the bolted gates to grab wood and nails along the dark deserted isles. You stocked up on borax and cleaners, keeping a large supply tucked into ever crevice of the room.

Sam had turned to drugs, something you never thought he’d do. He found himself locked in a hospital with some of the crazier people on earth. Dean was disappointed but was far from disowning him. He was supportive, upset that his brother was giving up so to say, but stopped by often to visit Sam. Eventually, Sam forgot your name, who he was, Dean, Bobby… everyone.

“Good morning, Sam.” You nodded to the nurse as she exited the room. Sam had just taken his morning medication to keep him at bay. He laid on the bed that was far too small for his body, staring blankly at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach.

“The hunt went well. Dean saved my ass again, I should really stop hunting werewolves.” You pulled the chair at the desk out and sat down, pulling your purse to your lap as you withdrew a few pieces of paper and a pencil. He had used the paper you left last time. While it was mostly chicken scratches, it was the best you had gotten out of him in weeks.

“Cas has been trying really hard to help with the Leviathans. They’re some weird-ass monsters. You’d probably get a kick out of them, though. Their leader is Dick Roman, you know, the billionaire business man? Crazy right?” You watched as he continued breathing, chest rising and falling slowly. He only blinked in response.

“Sam,” you turned to make sure you were alone in the room, “I really miss you.” His hands were still warm. You hesitantly rested your hand on his, choking back tears as you looked upon the man you had grown to love. “I miss you being around. It isn’t the same with just Dean and I. I miss waking up next to you…” A tear fell to soak the thin sheet on the bed. “Sam, I don’t think this is going to turn out well. The Leviathans are getting really out of hand… we need you, Sam… I need you… Please, please come back to us.” He had given up mentally and let Lucifer drive him to insanity. Your Sam died a long time ago.

The leviathans took over. They became too strong and wiped out almost every living being that they could get their slimy hands on. They easily hid in plain sight until it was too late. Dean was killed while fighting Roman, Cas disappeared, and the hospital Sam was at was burnt to the ground. You were alone.

How the world had taken a turn… The once triumphant heroes of the apocalypse had crumbled down to nothing. Both brothers, Bobby, and the majority of your hunter friends were dead, and the angel was missing. You spent countless days praying to some higher force, hoping some angelic asshole would answer, but no one came. God had abandoned you and the rest of humanity.

You laid mindlessly in your bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling that had begun to leak and mold from burst pipes. It was dark out, silent, not even the summer crickets dared to make a sound in fear of the black sharp-toothed creatures lurking about. The roar of an engine caught your attention, but you hadn’t the mind to bother preparing for a fight. If it happened to be death, coming to break down your door and steal your soul away, you’d let it. The welcoming arms of the darkness were becoming more and more attractive as each lonely insufferable day passed. You just wanted Sam back.

You wanted Sam to burst through those doors with a camera crew telling you it was all a rouse. You wanted him to hold you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he enveloped you in the scent of old spice and gun oil. You wanted your life back.

Heavy footsteps padded outside, stopping at your door as a hand knocked softly on the rusted metal. “Y/n?” It was Sam’s voice. “It’s me. Can you let me in…quickly? I don’t want to draw any more attention to us.” The knob jiggled and rattled before it turned, and the door creaked open. There stood Sam clad in his white t-shirt and white pants that he died in. He looked how you remembered him, bags under the eyes, messy hair, and a heavy five-o-clock shadow. The only difference was the malicious smile that spread across his lips and the piercing teeth lining his mouth. “I’ve missed you so much.”

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #oneshot #supernatural oneshot #supernatural fanfic #sam imagine #sam winchester one shot #spn fandom #spn imagine #supernatural

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karenninaaa · 6 years ago

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Across the Street Ch.4 Updated!

Here’s the link!

If you want to read an excerpt here it is.

AC/DC blasted through the speakers as Tony worked in his garage one morning. He sat at his work table, cleaning the detached outboard motor of a speed boat. He had been putting some grease on a certain part of the engine when news on the television had caught his attention. There was someone he recognized on the TV. He looked at the flat screen TV attached to the upper portion of the wall.

“Fri, mute down the music,” Tony ordered. “And up the volume on the news. I want to hear it.”

The AI obeyed silently. The song disappeared and was replaced by the voice of a male anchor. Tony put the grease gun down on the table.

“- as Mr. Obadiah Stane, CEO of Stark Industries, went on stage to receive his third Business Leader Awards this year.”

Obadiah Stane stood proud and tall at the podium, holding a glass trophy. He was a bald man in his fifties with a white scruffy beard. He was wearing a black suit with a charcoal gray necktie. Spotlights were focused on him as the camera zoomed in.

Stane looked briefly at his trophy, then glanced back at the crowd. “This is wonderful. It’s always an honor to receive this prestigious award. You know, every year, it is our goal to give the world more clean energy and better technology, and better and cleaner will be the lifelong brand of Stark Industries. Thank you!”

The video cut off and went back to the male anchor sitting behind the table together with another female anchor. The male anchor spoke. “There you go, Stark Industries is really ushering the world into a new era of cleaner and better. Weapons manufacturing is long gone as the Fortune 500 company stirs in a different direction.”

“Of course, John,” The female anchor piped in. “The switch from weapons manufacturer to an innovative research company in clean alternatives to energy was ten years ago and Mr. Obadiah Stane has, again and again, proved that he is worthy of receiving all the awards he has gained for everything he has done for Stark Industries and the world. Congratulations, Mr. Stane! And on to some other news. . . .”

Tony zoned out after hearing the news about the Stark Industries. Nonetheless, there was a proud smile etched on his lips as he resumed on his work. “Nice one, Obie. . .”

He felt nothing but respect for the old man. Tony had once led Stark Industries. He knew how hard it could be to lead something so big, especially after the monumental change that had happened in his– the –company. He was aware of the obstacles that Obie had had to go through for the company to be where it was right now. Obie was the one who had taken the hits when the company made a turnaround when Tony made his final decision of stopping the weapons manufacturing before he had stepped down as CEO. He had put Obie in that position. He knew that it was unfair for the old man to be in that tough position in such a critical time, while he just ran away, but Tony was still firm about the decisions he had made in the past, that it was all for the best.

And now, he was seeing the fruition of the decisions he had made. The company remained stable, still on the top, while he was living a quiet and safer life together with his kids. They were happy in the life they had chosen and that was what mattered the most.

He was broken out of his reverie when the doorbell suddenly rang.

Tony jolted a bit. “What was that, Fri?”

“That was the doorbell, boss,” Friday answered.

“Exactly. Why is the doorbell ringing? Are we expecting a guest?”

“Yes, boss. Miss Virginia Potts is at the door. And I believed you scheduled this day to tune up her car.”

Tony dropped the grease gun on the table. It thudded. “That was today?”

“Yes, boss.”

He looked around in mild panic. The whole garage was a mess. Equipment and motor parts were scattered around. There was some motor oil spilled on the floor. Dum-E, Butterfingers and You– his robots slash assistants that consisted mostly of robotic arms and claws –were whirring in the corner as if they were all worried. Dum-E tried to be helpful to his master by moving forward and offering a fire extinguisher.

Another ring from the doorbell and Tony stood up, rattling the table. He pointed at the three robots.

“You three, try to be useful and clean the floor. See that motor junk there-” He pointed again at the mess where some screws and bolts in varying sizes, empty bottles of unknown substances, and some disassembled engines littered the floor. “Sweep all of that. I need the space clear because another car is going to be here. I don’t want them to be run over. And for the love of God, Dum-E, when will you drop that stupid fire extinguisher? Try holding a mop, will you? Mop that oil on the floor.”

Another whirr came from the bots.

“Yeah, don’t be a useless heap of metals. Or I’ll disown all of you.”

The bots produced a sad whirr. There was another ring of the doorbell that sounded more urgent than the last.

“Gosh, why is she harassing the doorbell?” Tony mused out loud. “Friday, please tell the lady that I’ll be out in a sec, so she will stop ringing. It’s giving me anxiety.”

“Understood, boss,”

Tony went out towards the door in the corner that led to the dining hall of the house, frantically attempting to wipe the grease off his face. He glanced in the mirror in the hall and winced. All he’d managed to do was make black smears across his forehead. It was too late to fix it then. Tony jogged through the living room and finally, to the main door. He opened it.

And there she was. Virginia Potts was standing at the door. Her blonde hair was down this time. Her hair reached her chest, the end of it was curled and bangs cascaded gently over her forehead. She was wearing denim shorts and white long sleeves. He tried not to stare at her long and even-toned legs. From where Tony stood, he could smell the jasmine scent coming off of her.

Tony mentally winced at his own state. He was a mess and probably reeked of sweat and motor-oil. He should have taken a shower, or at least changed out of his greasy black tank top. His hands were practically black. He inconspicuously tried to wipe off his hands on the brown plaid shirt tied around his waist.

Nonetheless, he gave her a bright smile. “Hi, Pepper!”

“H-hi . . .” She stammered. “Uhh, am I too early? Are you busy? I can come back later-”

“No, you’re just in time,” Tony tried to reassure her. “I was just tidying up in the garage. Give me your car keys so we can park your car in my garage. Friday, roll up the garage door.”

Continue reading on AO3

#pepperony #fic #pepper potts #tony stark #ao3 update #karennina writes

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yourdeepestfathoms · 6 years ago

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Apex Predator Untamed

AN: I’m sixteen years late to the Silent Hill 3 party, but it’s okay. This is a SH3/Life is Strange fic inspired by @magpieartem’s comic that I’m super excited to see more of! This is also on Archive, where it might be multi-chaptered. Who knows. Just know that Heather has PTSD and trust issues and will literally fight everyone

———

Everything hurt.

Well, everything always hurt, but it hurts more than usual at this very moment. Heather can barely force her eyelids open; it’s like they’re glued together. She thinks she’s standing up, but it feels like she’s falling down. And, holy mother of the now-dead God, did her head throb.

She thinks shock has finally worn off. She can feel every stab of pain, every pinprick is agony that needles her body. The bite mark on her left leg from a particularly quick Double Head looks to be festering. Her knees are darker than a ripe eggplant in the fall and she thinks the burn on her shoulder is peeling again. Her collarbone is definitely fracture, three of her ribs have to be cracked, and blood had been dribbling out in persistent streams from her nose a little while ago- she can’t remember why. At least the gash on her side has stopped bleeding, but now it’s just drooling out copious amounts of slimy discharge, which isn’t much better.

But it was fine. Everything was fine. She managed to survive in Silent Hill with all of these wounds. If open injuries were going to get badly infected anywhere, it would be there. But she was okay.

That front lasted for half an hour and then she saw the sigil on the bathroom mirror. Why did she even think to go in there? She should have just left with Douglas immediately. Now she’s...well, she can’t quite remember. Her head hurts too much.

Geez, though, who turned on the lights? She’s barely opening her eyes and she already feels like she’s being blinded. Burning white light stabs into her retinas; was it this bright in the bathroom?

And what was that sound? Was someone brushing their teeth or something? Better yet: when did someone else walk in here with her? She would have noticed. And it’s not like there was anyone else around, beside Douglas, but he wouldn’t waltz right into the girl’s restroom and start brushing his teeth or something.

Wait, what the hell? This mirror is cleaner compared to the one in that gritty little amusement park bathroom. And were those showers in the reflection? And who in the ever loving hell is that girl brushing her teeth next to her?

Heather does a double take. She inhales a sharp breath and slowly cranes her head around to look at the stranger. Her face drains of all color as the blonde girl’s toothbrush fell from her mouth, clattering into the sink bowl. They both stare at each other for a long time before Heather bolts towards the door. She stumbles into an unfamiliar hallway with even more unfamiliar people. They seem to recognize her as an unknown alien to this place and turned to stare. It didn’t help that she was breathing heavily and looked like she was in serious need of a hospital.

She took two steps back, only to get herself into a wall. She narrowly dodges someone coming at her and- where the hell is her shotgun? It’s not on her. Of course she left it somewhere that wasn’t here. At least she had her pipe and pistol; they were lighter, anyway.

Heather swerved away from the teenager walking towards her and sprints into a storage closet, pressing up against the door to keep it shut once she’s inside. She slumps to the ground, trying to catch her breath and process what exactly was happening.

She could hear talking out in the hallway. It was muffled through the wall, but it would only take a little common sense to realize they were talking about her. Because of course they were.

“...I don’t know. I just blinked and there she was!”

“...That’s so weird. I’ve never seen her here before. Maybe she’s a new student?”

“...We would have known by now.”

“...True.”

Heather holds her breath and prays in the god she has recently killed that they’ll go away. They don’t. This is why she isn’t religious.

There’s a knock on the door that sends Heather hauling into the opposite wall. She collides with cleaning supplies and she feels her burned shoulder and fractured collarbone ache in disagreement. She grits her teeth and waits for the pain to subside, which causes her to miss what’s being said to her for the first few seconds.

“..Hello? Hello? Are you okay in there?” Asked a first voice.

“Umm, are you on any kind of drugs?” Piped up a second.

It takes a moment for Heather register that words are being spoken to her. Words of concern; not ones that are screaming religious sacraments or going on about how she was going to birth a demon. These people sounded genuinely worried about her. That didn’t stop her from putting up a protective front, though.

“What? No I’m not on drugs!” She snapped and her voice came out shakier than she would have liked. “I just- Where the hell am I?”

“Blackwell Academy in Arcadia Bay.” The second voice answers without missing a beat, then added softly to their friend, “...See, I told you she wasn’t from here.”

Arcadia Bay? The good news was that at least she was still in Oregon. The bad news is literally everything else about the situation she’s got herself into.

Heather swears softly to herself. She wants to scream and pull her hair out, but that hasn’t done any good before. Besides, she doesn’t want to add anymore pain to her already throbbing head.

“Do you mind coming out here? So we can talk face-to-face? Maybe we can help you?” Requested the first voice.

Heather was this close to just saying “That’s it! I’m killing myself!” and then shooting herself in the mouth with her pistol, but she stamps down that urge. She stands up very slowly, half because of her hesitancy and half because of her wounded leg. She puts her hand on her pipe and opens the door begrudgingly.

Two completely normal looking people stared in at her, trying to seem as less threatening as possible, which she kind of appreciated.

Both of them were taller than her, most people were, and appeared to be slightly older. They seemed friendly enough. The brunette reminded Heather of a doe, while the girl that had been brushing her teeth looked like a barn owl. Heather made a mental note to stop comparing people to animals.

“Hi,” Doe-girl said with a small smile, “I’m Max Caulfield. This is Kate Marsh. What’s your name?”

Ah, so she wasn’t “doe-girl”. Good to know. Weird that they’re just giving out their real names to a complete stranger like it’s no big whoop, though. Heather sifted through the many aliases she had used before, until she finally settled on just using her most recent one. She considered coming up with a new one entirely, but getting used to another title wasn’t something she wanted to memorize right now. And it wasn’t like she was ready to use Cheryl yet, either.

“Heather,” She said, “Heather Mason.”

Max and Kate exchange looks, and for a moment Heather worried that she’ll have to kill them if they know about her. Then, they smile in a friendly way that eases her up a little. Not enough to pry her hand loose from her steel pipe, though.

“It’s nice to meet you, Heather.” Max says, “So I take it that you’re not from around here, huh? I mean, I’ve never seen you around school before.”

Heather is only partially listening. She’s gone temporarily deaf in one ear and the other is constantly ringing, so she can’t hear much. She wonders if that blood trail is still dried down her ear, or maybe she scratched it off.

“Yeah, no. I’m not a student.” She answered.

“Do you have any idea how you got here?” Kate asked.

Heather shakes her head. Really, that’s the truth. Being transported to another city entirely has never happened before.

“That’s okay,” Max said, “We’re not strangers to weird and unexplainable occurrences.”

Heather is actually curious about that and really wants to question this deer-looking girl, but her mouth is way too dry to waste speech on something as unimportant as that. She can’t remember the last time she drank anything. Or ate. All she can taste in her mouth is blood and sour traces of bile from when she threw up that disgusting fetus thing. Mainly blood, though.

“Oh...I bet.” She said, trying to humor them. “Listen, I’m, uhh, sorry for this disturbance. If you can just point me to the nearest bus or train station then that would be just-“

She attempted to walk, but it didn’t go so well. Her wounded leg and bruised knees finally turn against her and completely stop working. The ground rushes up to meet her and the last thing she heard was those two girls screaming. Maybe her name. She can’t be precise, though, because the roaring in her functioning ear gets louder and it’s not long before she’s unconscious, staring at the grotesque figure of God that now flits behind her eyelids.

———

Claw away the darkness.

Heather tries. She really does. She’s weaker. It’s harder to fight.

Fighting is all she can do now. Silent Hill, the Otherworld, has changed her. It morphed her into a slayer that she never wanted to be. Not that she had a choice, though. When you’re shoved into a situation like hers, fighting is the only thing you can do. Running only buys you a little time, but not enough to get to safety.

Animal instincts. That’s what Heather has developed. She has climbed her way to the top of the pyramid and was crowned as the apex predator. Killing is all she learned and it’s going to stick with her for the rest of her life. Never trust anyone.

But when all of that is stripped away, when all of it is taken and you’re left completely helpless, it’s fucking terrifying. Heather feels naked without all the power she struggled to obtain. She needed to be strong or she’ll die in this new environment.

Her claws chip and darkness overtakes her.

Heather is pulled back into a freezing black ocean. Waves batter against her. Salt water stings in her several open wounds. Red bubbles explode from her lips and, in return, bloody mouthfuls of sea foam rush down her esophagus.

“...Ho-ly shit. You weren’t lying. She looks terrible.”

Over Poseidon’s wrath, she thinks she hears a voice. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s the only thing she’s got. She tries to cling to it.

“...What I want to know is why nobody called 911.”

“...Common sense, Rachel. Something is different about this girl and we can’t let her go without finding out what that is. It’s been too long since we had a good mystery on our hands.”

“...It’s been a solid two months, Max, but okay.”

Too many voices. Too many people she definitely doesn’t know. Heather is scrambling for a hold, for air, but she’s shoved down to the sand once again.

“...Hey, guys!”

“...Hi, Warren!”

“...Why are you climbing in through Max’s window?”

“...You mean the Chloe door?”

She thrashes. She kicks and paddles in sheer desperation before she’s able to grab onto something. It becomes her anchor and it’s the only thing she has. She hauls herself upwards and breaches the surface.

Heather bolts upright, nearly smashing her head into someone else’s skull. Multiple yelps of shock fill wherever-she-is and she looks around frantically, barley registering the overwhelming pain that floods through her entire body. When she does, she cringes.

There are not one, not two, but five people in what she assumes to be a dorm room. Five people that she doesn’t know and could be dangerous. She kinda recognizes Max and Kate, but she doesn’t know them well enough to be cool around them.

The other three complete strangers are as followed: Blue haired chick who is definitely gay (a wolf? maybe a shark?), lady with brown hair (lioness, definitely), and some dude by the window (possibly a ferret or lemur). Heather has no idea who gave them the right to watch over her unconscious body.

“Too fast,” Max mutters, her hands going out to steady Heather.

The girl defensively snapped her head around and bared her teeth, reaching for her pipe.

“Don’t touch me.” She warned and Max backed off.

“I like her.” Said the wolf-shark.

Heather eyes her wryly before going to stand up. Every muscle in her body strains in disagreement and it feels like two-ton chains are weighing her down at the wrists.

“Woah, hey, I don’t think you should do that.” The boy said, but Heather ignores him.

Her spine bows when hands close around she forearms and she’s paralyzed for a moment, like an animal shot with a tranquilizer dart. She struggled but fatigue has zapped most of her energy.

“For once, listen to the geek over there.” Says the culprit of the touch, wolf-shark.

“Hey!” The geeky lemur barked.

“His name is Warren,” Max informs, “That’s Chloe and Rachel.”

Heather hums roughly in response, mainly because it hurts to talk. Her stomach cramps from hunger, but she isn’t about to go and eat something from this unknown place. It’s not safe in the slightest.

“What happened to you?” Rachel asked and Heather spends a long time just analyzing her.

She quickly realizes what she’s doing. She’s sizing these people up. Estimating how easy it would be to kill them. It’s not a morbid thought- it’s self defense. She can’t trust people anymore. If she struck now, she could probably bash in the obvious Christian’s head before anyone could react. Then, if she spun around quick enough, she could definitely nail the doe in the back of the skull or neck. Lemur-boy shouldn’t even be a challenge. She might be able to get him in the throat with enough precision. She has her pistol, too, so that should make quick work of Blue Hair and Queen Bee. Yeah, she liked to think she could have them all down in a minute.

“It’s not something I want to share,” Heather grits, idly tracing her fingertips around one of the holes in her calf. The bite mark was blackened and warm to the touch. She hasn’t thought much of it until now, but she still pushes it out of her mind.

“Something wild, I bet.” Warren comments, getting closer to really join the huddle.

“Wow, did it take a Master’s Degree in psychology for you to realize that?” Heather said sarcastically. That came out much harsher than she had really intended. She’s more sardonic when scared.

Chloe barks with laughter while Warren huffs, muttering something underneath his breath.

“Okay, I’m- I’m sorry.” Heather sighed, “Can I just- can I have some space? So I can clean up? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s the showers.” Kate suggested.

A shower actually sounded really nice. Heather couldn’t turn it down, so that’s where she shuffled off to.

“Oh my god,” Rachel said once she was out of the dorm room, “Max, what a mangy little weirdo you managed to scrounge up.” She meant that in a good natured way.

“Maybe she can time travel, too.” Max says, genuinely interested in this weird experience, “This is a perfect opportunity to learn more about the ability! And I would have felt bad if I just left her unconscious on the floor.”

“So would I.” Kate agreed.

“What are we going to do with her?” Warren asked, “She can’t stay here. People can’t just waltz into this school. You have to be accepted. Even though most people on this campus act like they are drugs every second of every day, even they could figure out she shouldn’t belong here.”

“Or would they.”

Chloe is smirking from where she’s perched on Max’s bed- not a good sign.

“Not another one of Chloe’s ideas...” Kate mutters.

“It’s another one of my ideas!” Chloe announced, “Just sneak her in. Say she’s new and just hasn’t been added to the system yet.”

“I said everyone here takes drugs, not that they lack any brain cells.” Warren says against her plan.

Chloe shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“It might work.” Max shrugs, “There’s an empty dorm in the girl’s building. She can stay there.”

“I thoroughly enjoy how we’ve all collectively came to the agreement that we’re not letting her leave.” Rachel chuckled.

They all laughed, but there’s no way they’ll be laughing forever. Fog rolls into Arcadia Bay in thick white sheets that afternoon. Heather feels sick all over again, like another demon is trying to claw its way out of her stomach.

#this is a hot mess #but #im actually proud of the attention to detail #and just the way I wrote it #but seriouslt #the comic I was inspired by is really good #silent hill #silent hill 3 #heather mason #life is strange #max caulfield #chloe price #kate marsh #rachel amber #warren graham #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #writing

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cyrelia-j · 6 years ago

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[fic] The Hunter (Garak/Bashir)

Sequel/prequel to the fucked up horror story "The Hunted". If you hadn't read that you can check it on AO3 HERE (There was a post on Tumblr, but the AO3 version has about 2-3 more paragraphs of content and a few fixes so it's better to check it there).

The Hunted summary is as follows: Everyone knows to fear the Hunters. Miles O’Brien is no different. And then he meets a man travelling alone in the English countryside.

I'd been meaning to do a sequel to this for awhile since everyone likes the other one so much, and here it is!

Summary: Julian Bashir has been traveling alone since the Hunters came; it's safer that way. The old train tunnels are piled with the bodies of the dead, but they're the safest places to hide. And then Julian meets Garak.

Warnings: Horror, gore/cannibalism, dark, graphic

The smell of decomposition calms him. When he breathes in deeply and that thick sour smell, that rotting meat in the humidity fills his nostrils, it makes makes him smile. His father always has something to say about Julian having a better sniffer than most- used to always tell his friends they called him “nostrilla” as a baby because of the way his nostrils flared out when he’d cry as a child. Whether or not that’s true, he’s better than most at catching the scent of decay on the winds and following it. It’s what’s kept him safe since the darkness came.

The Hunters have no use for those already dead.

So Julian follows the scent of the bodies. He remembers watching The Walking Dead, seeing the characters cover themselves in the blood and remains of the dead bodies for disguise. The Hunters aren’t so easily fooled but their beasts are. His duffel bag has been long stained over, and contains only food, a cigarette lighter, and a tennis racquet. It’s a silly affection, but sometimes he likes to take it out at night and gives a few practice swings to the air, eyes closed, like he’s back on the court. He wonders how he’d have placed this year if things hadn't gone to shit.

Julian has been traveling alone, having learned quickly that the living only attract death. He’s been making his way by tunnels, slowly, carefully, trying to get back to London. He isn’t the only one; so many fled to the old tunnels, the old coal mines especially, trying to escape the Hunters, trying to hide. All the old places reek of death now, some piled half a man high with bodies, chunks of flesh ripped out, bones regurgitated back coated in the digestive fluids of the monsters. It didn't take them long to realize that the Hunters weren't seeking to eradicate them for its own sake.

They were hungry.

The Summerhill tunnel is nearing collapse. He remembers Maggie, the lovely woman at the front desk who he could actually understand, telling him if he was of a mind to be adventurous he’d best avoid the temptation. Julian had looked, just a glance, watching the walls caving in, before going for a nice hike elsewhere. The Summerhill tunnel is where he is now. He’s waited long enough that he doesn’t hear or see another living soul. He’s had to make his way past more bodies to do it, but his feet land on the ground steadily and he stands with a smile. He’s sure the smell could turn away the hearties of stomachs. It’s particularly nasty and he can hear the flies buzz buzz behind him as he reaches into his pocket for his lighter.

“Don’t.” he hears right before he flicks it, and Julian drops it with a start. His hearing, he’s been told, is better than most, and he hadn’t heard anything. He also hadn’t expected anyone else to be in here. People are bad, and not just because of the Hunters. People are bad enough in their own right, hunters enough without the monsters’ influence.

“I’m sorry,” Julian says softly, breathing slowly and deeply. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. It’s just me so I’ll go if it’s alright with you.”

“Go?” The voice asks curious. Julian thinks it’s male but he can’t tell. He’s also not certain of the accent either. He’s sure it would be rude to ask, not like his father who takes every excuse to bang on about “those Paki fellows” completely un-ironically given their own ancestry.

“Now that would be a pity,” the man continues, the hairs on Julian’s arm standing up as he does. “I don’t believe I’ve had the company of such a lovely young man in awhile.” God, he’s mad as a bag of frogs then, wherever he’s from. Figures, Julian, the only other person you can understand since your holiday started and he’s wait… can he see you?

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company. Not much to look at either, twigs and pipe cleaners. I’m sure you can smell me too,” he says carefully. “Really, it’s safer by yourself. Trust me on that one. You’re better off if I go.”

“I assure you my dear, you smell delightful.” Crazy. Crazy, get out, Julian.

“Right, and what a brilliant nose you’ve got, grandma. Better to smell me with and all that.”

“I don’t have a nose,” the man replies sounding amused. Julian picks his lighter back up by feel and puts it into his pocket.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to see you,” he offers taking a step forward in the darkness. It doesn’t matter how well his eyes adjust, there’s nothing but black ahead.

“It’s better this way,” comes the soft response and there’s something about its’ sibilance that makes Julian shiver.

“Alright, that’s fine. Better not to waste it, but I don’t really have food to share. Been going it alone to London and if you’re hurt I don’t have anything except some BenGay and some ace bandage.”

“Oh you have my assurance I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone actually and this seemed an optimal location, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s a good spot to keep away from the Hunters,” Julian agrees relaxing a little as he sinks to his knees and starts a slow crawl further in. He’s been careful in uncertain terrain not to risk damaging his legs. They’re his most valuable asset.

“Is it really?” the man asks sounding surprised.

“Yeah. They don’t like that death smell. I don’t think they like their food already dead. They’re not carrion feeders. They like it fresh, scared. Think I read some old vampire trope saying scared blood tastes better or something. It also confuses their animals. They’re trained to smell certain pheromones, sweat or something. At least that's my theory." Julian laughs softly and takes an absent swipe of his blood stained thumb to his mouth. “Can’t find you if you smell like everything else. I’ve had to lay amongst the bodies a few times. S’not too bad, though is it stupid to say I’m still afraid I’m going to like… wake up and realize it’s the zombie apocalypse instead or something and those bodies will start moving?”

“My, such an imaginative young man.”

“Not much else to do at the end of the world.” Julian crawls forward a few more feet, sure he’s climbing over another few corpses as he does. He can feel the bones, feel the soft bits of flesh sticking to his fingers. He finds it strange that it’s not as soft as the ones further rotted. He’s about to ask if the man minds him getting much closer, but then he remembers no nose, so likely his smell won’t offend. The man said he smelled delightful? Must’ve been a weird sort of joke.

“Is it really the end of the world?” the man asks.

“Well I don’t know what else you’d call it. Don’t tell me that you don’t have any eyes either,” Julian huffs.

“Ah yes, the extinction level event known as the Hunters,” the man agrees. “But would you really cache the extinction of a single destructive species the ‘end of the world’? I should think the world will continue on without much intervention.”

“Great, you’re one of those,” Julian huffs with a sigh. “What are you, Tom Bombadil?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, don’t mind me just… for those of us who care about our fellow man it’s a nightmare out there. Let me guess? You and this fellow you’re waiting for are gonna hole up in here and watch the world burn writing some self congratulatory manifesto.”

“Perhaps,” the man agrees sounding amused.

“Lovely,” Julian drawls. “Well, Mr. Nietzsche, do you have a name?” Julian stops when his pant leg snags on something sharp. Cuts are bad. Cuts breed infection, and he isn’t going to die of an infection. He sits down, with the lightest touch and starts to work at it.

“I do.”

“I’m Julian. Julian Bashir.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Not if you don’t follow tennis. S’funny though. People know me. More people than I realized. You would think that it’s strange, trusting a total stranger at a time like this. I don’t know if it’s some weird imprinting thing from seeing me on the telly all the time or what, but I’ve been fortunate. People see me and they don’t think I’m dangerous, not threatening. Just like… that friendly looking chap who lost to Federer in ‘16.”

“Trust is a valuable gift,” the man agrees, Julian shaking his head as he continues to work at the snag. It’s odd because it almost seems that something sharp dropped down from the ceiling to pin the denim to the stone.

“I’m not getting a name then, am I?” Julian asks stopping a moment before he gets frustrated. He can’t seem to pull it out.

If he didn’t know better he’s say it was a sharp end like the stinger of a scorpion’s tale.

“You can call me Garak,” the man answers. Julian thinks he’s lying. “That will make it easier for us to pass the time while I wait for my friend.” Julian looks up instinctively, though he isn’t sure why. He still can’t see, and out of respect he won’t use the lighter. The man hasn’t threatened him. He still feels that spike driving through his pant leg and he resolves to pull at the fabric and allow it to tear. Pity, those True Religion jeans aren't cheap.

“I don’t want to be pessimistic, but if your friend isn’t here by now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Julian absently sucks a finger in his mouth this time. He isn’t sure when he started that habit. Out of nerves from this whole ordeal likely, but the saltiness is nice. Lord, he hopes he doesn’t get some sort of brain infection.

“You think so?” Garak’s voice is louder now. Julian is satisfied as his leg is freed, and he starts moving forward again. He starts to hear respirations loudly, like a furnace without a light. There’s more sibilance and he doesn’t understand what that means. He feels a few rocks under his hand, and he’s about to press on when Garak’s voice stops him. “That’s close enough if you please.”

“I’m not gonna bite you,” Julian says. “I mean whatever you might look like… ah… alright, I understand. You know, it’s funny. You see all these doomsday end of the world things and everyone comes together like Independence Day or Armageddon and everyone cries while a rock ballad plays. But really it’s more like…. Every man for himself. It’s all shit and everyone is shit.”

There’s no answer to that, and Julian continues.

“You know, the other morning I was out too close to dark. It was the closest I’d even been to an attack. It was a family. It was awful. I hid in an alley behind a dumpster. And you know, there was another man catty corner in the same alleyway with a hand up to his mouth to keep from screaming. We both stood there, crouched down, listening to them being eaten. And do you know what I was thinking?”

“Tell me, Julian,” Garak says, sounded enraptured.

“I was thinking… just… just for a mad second if it might not be best if the man were to be killed in case he gave us away. And… and then when the screams stopped and it got real quiet, and I could hear them feeding, I wondered if I shouldn't use him as a decoy instead.”

Julian swallows, pulling his knees up to his chest, turning, leaning back a bit finding something warm and solid when he does. Ah, perhaps he was closer to Garak then he thought then.

“You see I’m… I’m fast, so fast I might have been an Olympic sprinter if I hadn’t loved tennis so much. See, when you’re out there… outside, you don't need to outrun the Hunters. You only need to outrun everyone else. That man… He was a sad middle aged fellow. He’d never make it… and he wouldn’t be the first man that I’ve outrun.” He’s outrun them all. He’s left them all to die as they screamed for help. Run and never turn back. He’s seen what happens to the ones that turn back.

“Yesss,” he hears from so close to his ear that he closes his eyes even in the darkness. “You do have those long, beautiful legsss.” Julian is about to ask if Garak has seen him on TV then, when he feels a brush to his pants, feels a ghost over his shin, his calf, up his thigh. He slaps at it, the sensation already gone, but it tingles where it left. Was that Garak? Was that his hand? But it couldn’t have been a human hand because-

“Garak? Was that you?” Julian asks. “I mean I’m flattered but-”

“You underssstand me?” Garak asks again and his voice is deeper, but it… doesn’t seem any different than before. Julian turns towards the sound blindly reaching out.

“Of course I understand you but you just can’t go pawing at people and… Garak?” He calls the name again as he feels… skin that’s not skin. It’s scales. It’s a smooth expanse of scales like his mate’s bearded dragon but like-

“That feelsssss niccccce,” he heards Garak say again and in that nervous habit his fingers are in his mouth again, biting them like this one bloke he went to school with named Jack used to do. He can feel his heart start hammering, and the cool tunnel suddenly feels so very hot. Is it firedamp? If he pulls out the lighter will it cause an explosion? Well not it’s not a coal mine so it- “Don’t.” He hears again, just like when he first entered the tunnel, his lighter in hand. Julian realizes that his hand is still stroking whatever that is and stops. He thinks that he should be terribly afraid right now. “Don’t turn on the light... if you don’t want to run.” His heart skips a beat when he hears those words, and his hand once more strokes the long winding expanse more forcefully, hearing a tssss in return. He knows he should be afraid now as he flicks the top off.

Julian licks his lips, tasting the blood again. He doesn’t understand why he feels so… hot. He doesn’t know why he brings his hand to his mouth and tastes more of it. But then he thinks of the bodies, of the bites, of the pools of blood mixed with their saliva and digestive enzymes, and how he’s tasted more and more here and there. Those who eat the food found in the underworld shall never leave it. That was one of the myths his mother had read to him from an old story book when he was a child. “But what if the food is so good you can’t stop yourself, mummy?” What if you can’t stop yourself, Julian? What if it tastes to good that you can’t… help yourself… that you're always craving more?

Julian flicks the light on, to the side, the ambient light kicking shadows off the wall and the creature in front of him. Oh, that's what it was, he realizes distantly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so-

“I’ll run,” He says, standing slowly heart a steady pounding, mouthing at his palm. It really is so very good. “But you won’t catch me.”

“I’ll catch you Julian,” Garak promises drawing up dark, beautiful, undulating and so, so bloody brilliantly. Julian thought the Hunters appeared different than this- smaller, more human in their appearance- but perhaps that was only an illusion. Perhaps they're shapeshifters? Julian takes a step forward and not back, seeing the sharp spike that had pierced his pant leg earlier. He doesn’t understand why they would hide something so deadly beautiful.

“And what will you do when you catch me?”

“Run, my dear, and you’ll find out.”

Julian smiles.

Julian runs.

#star trek ds9 #deep space nine #au #garashir #garak/bashir #horror #Julian Bashir #elim garak #fanfic #cyrelia-j #Sequel #alien invasion

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xtruss · 3 years ago

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We Don’t Recognise Our Own City: The Bastard Child of the United States Zionist Cunt Israeli Barrage Redraws the Map of Gaza

A ceasefire is finally in force, but traumatised families have little hope as they recall collapsing buildings and deaths of loved ones

— Oliver Holmes and Hazem Balousha in Gaza City | Saturday, 22 May 2021

As they emerge from hiding, people living in Gaza City have had to adapt their memories. So deformed is this small place on the coast that a mental map of its roads and landmarks from two weeks ago is largely useless today. Shortcuts to avoid traffic may no longer work, as craters dot back streets and rubble blocks roads. Locally famous high-rises no longer exist.

Eleven days of bombardment have buckled the city. Air attacks shook the ground so violently that some bomb sites appear as if buildings have been pulled into the earth rather than hit from above.

On one street, the bent walls of a kindergarten descend downwards at an angle until they disappear completely.

Israel’s latest war with Hamas, which ended in a ceasefire on Friday, killed 248 Palestinians, including 66 children as well as scores of fighters, and left more than 1,900 wounded in Gaza.

In Israel, 12 people, including one soldier and two children, were killed by militants firing rockets, mortars and anti-tank missiles. The country’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, said his forces had done “everything possible” to keep their own citizens safe, but also to make sure Palestinian civilians were not in harm’s way.

Statements like those would lead to scoffs along al-Wehda Street, a main road in the centre of Gaza City. The boulevard has been rocked by several strikes during the past week, including the deadliest single attack of the latest round, which killed 42 people.

A Palestinian man sells balloons in front of the destroyed al-Shuruq building. Photograph: Mahmud Hams/AFP/Getty Images

At one end of al-Wehda, Gaza’s largest medical facility, Shifa hospital, contains many who survived.

Amjed Murtaja, 40, lay in a hospital bed, his legs dotted with scratches. He was in his fourth-floor rented apartment on al-Wehda when he said a missile hit his balcony. “The building was shaking. My only thought was to get to my wife and son,” he said. Murtaja ran to the other room just in time to embrace his family before a second strike hit, causing the entire structure to collapse. “We fell together,” he said. When they landed, Murtaja had his arms pinned, although his wife, Suzan, and his two-year-old boy were next to him.

As he spoke of being trapped, other patients, visitors and a hospital cleaner stopped what they were doing and listened intently. Murtaja and his wife, who doctors would later confirm had broken her back, would be trapped for four hours until neighbours and rescuers dug down and dragged them out.

In the same strike, several members of the al-Auf family, including one of Gaza’s most prominent doctors who worked as the head of Shifa’s coronavirus response, would be pulled out dead. Murtaja said that while he was trapped, he could hear neighbours from inside other parts of the debris. “They were screaming,” he said.

His wife was now in the same hospital, but two floors down in a women’s ward. A drip fed liquid into her hand, and a plastic water bottle and yoghurt pot sat on a shelf by her bed. Under heavy pain killers, her eyes rolled as she spoke. Suzan Murtaja, 36, said that when the building fell in on itself, she was so disorientated that she first thought only a cupboard had fallen on them. But, with one free arm, she was able to reach her phone. “I turned on the phone light and we realised the building had collapsed.”

For those four hours, even before she knew they would be found and would live, she tried to calm her son to sleep, but bits of rubble and dust kept falling and waking him up.

Palestinians run from sound grenades thrown by Israeli police in front of the Dome of the Rock in the al-Aqsa mosque complex in Jerusalem, on 21 May. Photograph: Mahmoud Illean/AP

Israel said the aim of its attack on al-Wehda last Sunday was to destroy an extensive network of tunnels it called the “Metro”. The military said it had not intended to make the building collapse.

What Hamas was hiding in those underground passageways, if they existed, is unclear. Al-Wehda is deep within the city and far from the frontier with Israel.

Nearly a week after the attack, large mounds of concrete still lined the road. A seven-storey building that survived stood at an ominous angle, as men quickly removed wooden furniture from the ground floor. Further up al-Wehda stood a giant pile of debris that once housed the Murtajas’ apartment. Amid the dust were twisted plastic water tanks, a washing liquid bottle, pillows and a frying pan. All that remained was a three-storey-high internal staircase at the back. A sign has been erected with the names of the dead and “Al-Wehda massacre” written on it in Arabic.

A yellow taxi pulled up, and a woman got out with her teenage son. She said her name was Zakia Abu Dayer, 44, and she lived in the next building. It was the first time she had been back, she said, to collect some belongings.

On the night of the bombing, as the Murtajas were trapped under the rubble, Abu Dayer, her husband and her son moved further up the street to a relative’s home. They thought they would be more secure there as it was on the ground floor, possibly allowing them to rush outside quickly.

But two days later, she and other family members were eating rice and lentils outside when another strike hit. “There is no safe space,” she said, her leg still wrapped in bandages. “The whole place went black.”

People in Beit Hanoun return to their homes after the ceasefire. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images (Left). Palestinians inspect the damage of their destroyed homes in Beit Hanoun following a ceasefire after an 11-day war between Gaza’s Hamas rulers and Israel. Photograph: Khalil Hamra/AP (Right).

Abu Dayer remembers smoke and then rushing water as the tanks on the building above exploded in the blast. Her husband, who was a few metres away from her, was killed after shrapnel hit his head. An 11-year-old relative was also killed.

The building that was hit still stands, although its windows were blown out. The ground floor was a bank with two ATMs covered in dust. A dental clinic sits on the first floor. Several local charities operated there. Higher up, a box with “US AID” written on it is visible through the smashed glass.

Across the road stands the damaged shell of another building. “It’s a very old primary health clinic, maybe the oldest in Gaza,” said Abdel-Latif al-Hajj, director-general of international cooperation at the ministry of health in Gaza, who stood by the gate.

At first glance, the clinic appears to have been bombed, with large pockmarks across its walls and football-sized bits of debris covering the ground. However, it was not hit directly. Instead, when the Israeli missile struck the building across the road, it ripped off the top two floors, which then slammed into the clinic.

‘It will not be the last war’: Palestinians and Israelis reflect on Gaza ceasefire

Al-Hajj said the building was Gaza’s main testing centre for Covid. Staff had been working inside during the explosion, and several were wounded. Gaza was already suffering a dangerous spread in infections, and another outbreak is expected, he said.

“Anyone can imagine what will happen if we stop doing tests,” said al-Hajj. In addition, the war had meant thousands of displaced people were now crowded together, which could speed up transmission.

According to the United Nations, the violence on Gaza has destroyed nearly 260 buildings. Fifty-three schools, six hospitals and 11 primary healthcare centres have been damaged. Nearly 80,000 people were internally displaced, and 10 times that number have little access to piped water. As well as Israeli strikes, armed groups have launched faulty rockets that landed short, with reports of extensive damage and even fatalities within Gaza.

The strip’s two million inhabitants already live inside what they call the “world’s largest prison”, with more than 50% unemployment, a collapsed healthcare system, sometimes-poisonous water, and relentless power cuts.

Palestinians enjoy the beach as the ceasefire came into effect on 21 May in Gaza City. Photograph: Fatima Shbair/Getty Images

Israel and Egypt, Gaza’s other neighbour, have maintained a crippling blockade, locals say “siege”, for 14 years. Israel, which recalled its forces occupying the area in 2005, says the restrictions are for its security. But the UN says the blockade constitutes collective punishment.

At the damaged clinic on al-Wehda Street on Saturday, Lynn Hastings, the UN’s deputy special coordinator for the Middle East peace process, had come to assess the impact.

Flanked by aides and bodyguards, she was asked by a television reporter if this round of violence might, unlike the previous three wars, spur significant political change.

“Everyone is saying it should not be business as usual,” she responded. “You know what the definition of insanity is,” she added rhetorically. She was referring to a quote usually attributed to Einstein, that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Palestinians return to devastated homes as UN calls for Gaza dialogue

Friday’s ceasefire brought some Palestinians and Israelis hope that the violence would spur a renewed push to resolve the crisis. Hamas kicked off this round of fighting when it launched rockets at Jerusalem on 10 May, but it followed weeks of growing frustrations over the treatment of Palestinians by Israel, which has for decades dictated how millions live their lives.

Gaza! Palestinians sit in a makeshift tent amid the rubble of their houses which were destroyed by Israeli airstrikes.

The head of Oxfam in Israel and the Palestinian territories, Shane Stevenson, said the truce should not be celebrated as a solution. Israel should be held to account “for the atrocities it has committed over the last 12 days”, as should armed factions in Gaza for their indiscriminate targeting of Israeli towns and cities.

The truce, he added, “will not change the illegal occupation and denial of human rights which Palestinians are subjected to daily. This inhumane and brutal status quo has to change, once and for all.”

New York, US! A Jewish boy holding a Palestine flag takes part in a protest in support of Palestinians in the Queens borough.

Lying in Shifa hospital, Amjed Murtaja had less ambitious reasons to be happy. Despite his exhaustion and injures, he had stayed up late on Thursday as rumours of a ceasefire circulated. He had been waiting for the ceasefire announcement, he said, “because I don’t want to lose the rest of my family”.

— The Guardian USA

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