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cursestothemoon · 3 years ago

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A Cruel Favor

Regulus Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Request: Could I get and angsty and sad blurb with Regulus? Nothing specific in mind, Regulus’ entire life is pretty tragic already- just throwing some strained and kind of heartbreaking romance into that mix sorry i like pain this is how i cope

Summary: Your relationship with the youngest Black brother in the form of memories seen in a pensieve by Sirius Black.

Warnings: Death, sadness, crying, the dark mark, ghosts

Word Count: 3265

Author's Note: babe you asked for a blurb and i just did not listen i am so sorry, if you'd still like a blurb let me know and i'll whip up a little short piece but regardless i hope you enjoy this 😌

“You didn’t know him! You didn’t want to know him!” Your voice bellowed, trembling with the burning anger you held in your heart for the eldest Black brother.

It was true, back when the war was just ‘politics’ and the ‘Dark Lord’ a name whispered behind closed doors, Sirius Black had already made up his mind about his family- Regulus included.

“He was my brother.” Sirius spoke the statement as if just the mere fact of relation was supposed to trump that he hadn't even spoken to his brother in the months prior to his death.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Don’t lie for the sake of saving face, you never saw him as a brother; not then and certainly not now.”

Sirius seemed taken aback by your accusation, his words getting lost on his tongue for a moment before he quickly regained his fiery passion for argument.

“He betrayed me.”

“You were the one who betrayed him!” Your accusatory finger pointed at Sirius.

The eldest Black brother’s features went stoney, “The moment he decided to get that mark, was the moment he lost his name as my brother.”

Everything in the mangey old house seemed to still, a silence falling so powerful you could hear a pin drop. Your slow footsteps were exaggerated in the quiet, each creak ringing in both yours and Sirius’ ears. With a tired hand, you pushed a small pouch onto the surface of the dining room table, the vials inside clinking together softly.

“They’re numbered.” You breathed out. “There is so much you don’t know, Sirius.”

You walked through the door and onto the street hastily, not wasting any time to apparate back home.

Sirius sat down in the nearest chair with a huff, his knees spread as his shoulders slid down the back of the chair. He hadn’t remembered just how far up his brother’s ass you were.

Roughly, he rubbed his face with his palms before lazily reaching for the dark velvet pouch on the table. The emerald green reminded him not only of his brother, but of his entire family, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Sirius couldn’t help the groan that left his mouth at the memories of his family that seemed to plague his mind.

Fittingly, Sirius opened the pouch to reveal just that. The silvery, viscous tendrils that floated through each vial were immediately recognized by the pureblood. You had given him your memories...and a letter.

You deserve to know him.

Y/N L/N

Sirius’ curiosity regarding what secrets of his brother’s seemed to be swimming in the vials bubbled over, he was sure 12 Grimmauld Place was harbouring a pensieve somewhere within its walls, he’d just have to get up and find it.

17 October 1974

Barty Crouch Jr. was an insolent child, the type to collect bones and listen to them rattle. He had a nervous tick, his tongue slithering past his lips every so often in a manner that was so serpentine it made your skin prick.

“Come on then, L/N, be a good little girl and do as I say.”

You threw down your quill in frustration, “Bugger off, Crouch. I’ve said no.”

“Don't be like that,” Barty smirked, coming closer to where you were sitting. “It’s only some homework. You were going to do yours anyway, why not get some extra practice in by doing mine too?”

“I’d rather have unforgivables practiced on me than do anything you ask.”

His sickly sweet smile wasn’t one you were expecting, his voice low and threatening, “That can be arranged.”

Your blood ran cold as you watched his nimble fingers move toward his wand pocket in his robes. Truthfully, you should’ve known better. Being in the same house as Barty allowed you the luxury of hearing all the gossip surrounding him and his hobbies, dark magic and curses being at the top of that list.

“Barty.”

The cold baritone made the sandy-haired menace stop in his tracks, his face contorting into an expression of mild annoyance and frustration.

“There’s no need for you to be acting like a child. Quite humiliating asking someone else to do your work, isn’t it, Crouch? Are you too thick to get it done yourself?”

Barty turned to look at his friend, words jumbling as he tried to figure out how to get himself out of the hole he had dug.

“Reg-” The stone-like stare had Barty cowering and mouth snapping shut, the boy seemingly trying to fold in on himself.

With a simple nod of his head, Regulus directed the him to make himself useful elsewhere, but you were far too taken by the handsome boy in front of you to notice the stomping footsteps of Barty’s as he left. Of course you had known of Regulus Black, seen him from afar and even once had Transfiguration with him, but seeing him up close was an experience in and of itself. His skin was ghostly pale, hair dark and wavy as it fell just below his ears, and his cheekbones were high accentuating the slant of his nose. Regulus Black was beautiful, everything about him seemed to be placed just right and sculpted with the utmost care and attention.

He turned to you, your eyes meeting before he gave you an appraising look.

“Regulus.” His hand struck out, a rather rugged introduction.

Slowly, you took his hand in yours and proceeded to shake it. You couldn’t seem to rid yourself of the feeling that your hand was far too dirty, far too boring to be touching his, to even be near his.

“Y/n L/n, thank you- for that.” You were proud of yourself for not allowing your voice to shake.

“I’m sorry he was a bother.”

Regulus seemed to lack the ability of holding a conversation, he nodded- you assumed a goodbye- and got ready to make his way to the dorms.

“Wait,” Your voice came out before you could stop it. “You could stay, I’m almost done anyway. We could...talk.”

The suggestion had the boy's ears turning pink, his words coming out stuttered and jumbled, a stark contrast from the boy who had told off Barty so eloquently.

“If you- alright.”

You thought for a moment before speaking again, “You’re not very good at talking to people are you?”

“Excuse my blatant honesty, but you make me quite nervous.”

It was your turn to have your ears turn a soft hue of red, “I could say the same about you.”

5 April 1975

“Haven’t you got your own side of the blanket? Must you be so close to me?” You giggled, trying to roll away from Regulus while still avoiding the grass.

Regulus smiled, his eyes closing and nose scrunching in thought before he spoke, “I prefer to be close to you; making sure you won’t run out on me.”

Both of you began giggling, his head falling to nudge your shoulder. Ultimately, Regulus shuffled away from your side, allowing just about a foot of space in between your bodies. The wind rustled your hair as you turned your neck to look at the youngest Black as he sat up, his legs stretched and crossed at the ankles, arms propping himself up as his palms pressed flat against the floor.

It was no secret that Regulus was beautiful. His dark hair- now gently flowing in the cool breeze- stood out against his pale skin, freckles were dusted delicately over his aristocratic nose and sharp cheekbones. You could tell he’d never worked a day in his life with how handsome and soft his hands were. His fingers were long and slender, never dry or rough, and his nails perfectly trimmed and always clean.

Regulus Black was absolutely perfect and you were regretting ever complaining about his proximity.

You were quick to right your wrong, bashfully you raised yourself onto all fours and crawled over to your boyfriend. Regulus tried to hold in his smirk, avoiding turning to look at you directly but you could tell his resolve was breaking.

“Regulus…” You spoke his name with an innocent lilt, sitting back on your shins once you were close enough to have your knees touching his thigh.

He hummed, not giving you the satisfaction of having his full attention.

A huff of frustration fell past your lips at his stubbornness as you threw your leg over his thighs, straddling his legs just above his knees. His composure was thinning, a wide smile threatening to spread across his thin lips.

“You’re far too close,” he teased, his hand coming up as if trying to stop you from getting any closer. “I believe you are on my side of the blanket, L/n.”

“Don’t be so fickle, Black.”

Regulus’ pale blue eyes found yours, his delicate hand coming up to run across the delicate collar of your dress.

“It’s in my nature isn’t it?” His eyes held a certain sadness that you could not place, one you wouldn’t see again until a few years later.

Your lips parted to respond to him, only to be interrupted by a Hogwarts ghost floating nearby. It was a ghost neither you nor Regulus were familiar with and as she passed she mumbled something- rather spitefully- about young love. The event had your train of thought derailed, a quiet giggle erupting from your throat as the transparent, deceased woman floated on.

Regulus seemed to find the woman just as amusing as you did, his eyes crinkling with laughter as you two now looked at each other in fits of hysterics.

“Oh her poor soul!” You exclaimed, eyes looking off in the direction she had gone. “If you were a ghost, Reg, where would you haunt with your undead presence.”

His expression contorted into one of reminiscence, “Uncle Alphard’s cherry orchard just a few kilometers from Monts de Venasque. When we were little, Sirius and I would play in the trees. I could sit in those cherry trees for hours, everything just seemed to disappear. Alphard’s been burned off the tapestry since, but he’s left the property in my possession along with the small house on the land. I think if I were to choose one place to spend eternity, it would be there.”

You smiled softly at his answer.

“And you?” He asked, bringing you out of your lovesick haze.

“Me?” You chuckled. “I’d suppose my eternity would be well spent as long as I was somewhere with you.”

28 June 1976

It seemed the entirety of 12 Grimmauld Place shook with how hard Sirius had slammed the front door.

He was gone.

Completely and entirely gone.

And Regulus was completely and entirely alone now.

Regulus swiftly made his way up the stairs and to his room, just barely avoiding a collision with the poor house elf.

“Y/n’s room.” The words were spoken clearly and concisely as the floo powder fell from his shaky hands.

The time of night- 2:27 am- was of little importance to Regulus, he needed to see you.

You woke up with a jolt, the sound of someone stumbling into your room and panicked mumbling doing nothing to ease your nerves though the mop of dark curls had your heart calming down.

“Reg?”

He turned to look at you with heartbroken eyes, watery and bloodshot.

“He’s gone.” He choked out.

You kicked the blankets off yourself and stood up from your bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor.

Keeping a calm tone you slowly got closer to him, “Who’s gone, love?”

His pain was so evident, rolling off him in waves, “Sirius- he’s not coming back.”

“Oh,” You sighed, treading lightly. “I’m sur-”

“No!” He cried, “Burned off the tapestry, probably with the Potters- he’s gone an-and he left me with them.”

Regulus’ anguish, tear stained cheeks, had your own eyes welling with unshed tears. It was clear words would do nothing to calm him, instead you opted for pushing yourself into him and taking his crying form into your arms. His body seemed to give out as you held him, his tears soaking your shirt as he wailed into your neck.

Neither of you could tell how long you stood in the middle of your room seemingly holding him together, but his cries subsided into gentle whimpers and the occasional sniffle as his nose nudged the side of your neck.

His voice came out rough and strained, just barely above a whisper, “Please don’t- don’t leave me like Si- like he did.”

You could feel your heart shatter, “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

“I don’t know how I would’ve survived in this mess if I had never known you.”

Your breath came out ragged as you spoke the truest words you've ever dared to speak, “My heart beats for you, Regulus.”

30 December 1979

His forearm itched.

It seemed to always have an odd itch ever since he was sixteen.

Regulus watched your form get closer, bundled in a thick overcoat and a dark blue scarf- Christmas present from himself- wrapped neatly around your neck. You were the picture of beauty, like a living doll with your soft smile and adoring eyes.

“My love.” You greeted him, leaning in to place a soft kiss against his cold cheek.

His eyes seemed distant, your only greeting a tight lipped smile.

Your eyebrows knit together, “Everything alright?”

Regulus nodded, his eyes swimming with a sadness so familiar, “Just taking you in.”

He pulled off his leather gloves, stuffing them deep in his coat pocket before reaching his hand out to hold your jaw, his thumb running across your skin. The action was comforting and you couldn’t help but close your eyes to savour the feeling of his thumb caressing your cheekbone.

You let out a small gasp when you felt him take your lips in a slow kiss. It was passionate, loving, yet there was a certain finality to it that had a shiver run up your spine in the most unpleasant way.

“I have the cruelest favor to ask of you, and I can only hope you’ll forgive me once I do.”

Your stomach dropped, “What do you mean, Regulus? What- what favor?”

“Please, try to understand-”

“What favor?”

“I couldn’t-”

“Tell me what the favor is, Regulus.”

Your voice had an edge to it that made him compose himself almost instantly.

He took a breath before speaking, his eyes looking off somewhere behind you as he spoke, “He’s getting stronger.”

You didn’t need to ask who this ‘he’ was, the tone made it very clear.

“He has these… horcruxes. Incredibly dark magic, I don't know how many but I know of one. It’s hidden and I’ve found out the location, I can destroy it I know I can but-”

His tone was hushed and your heart rate had started to pick up speed.

“But you don’t know if you’ll live to tell the tale?” You asked with a humorless laugh.

The look in Regulus’ eyes had told you, you were right.

“I can’t let him continue. If this could stop him, weaken him even, it’s worth whatever the consequence to myself may be.” He argued.

You pushed yourself further from him, “I can’t- I won’t lose you. No, there’s no way.”

His expression shifted into one of sorrow and pleading, “I have to.”

And you knew there was no changing his mind.

You bit the side of your lip anxiously, looking at the ground before asking, “And this favor?”

The heartbreak was almost palpable, his voice going raw.

“I cannot be fully prepared to do anything that is necessary to destroy this horcrux if-”

He cut himself off with an intake of breath.

“If I know you’ll be waiting for my return, if I know what I have to leave behind I may be tempted to not go through with my plan.”

You couldn’t help but feel and look horrified, “What are you asking of me, Regulus?”

He seemed to flinch at the tone of your voice, a tone you’d never used before and one he couldn’t name.

“I need you to obliviate yourself from my memory.”

It felt as though your chest had collapsed in on itself, “I-I couldn-”

“You have to!” Regulus cried, his arms gripping the sides of your face as you couldn’t help but let a choked sob escape from your lips. “It’s the only way I’ll be able to go through with it, I can't know that there’s a possibility of leaving you.”

“Please, Regulus, you can’t ask this of me.” You choked out, searching his eyes for some sort of humor, something that told you it was all a cruel joke.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, both of your eyes closing as you two took in short, ragged breaths.

Everything seemed darker. The flowers in the Black garden were cold and dead, the snow wasn’t snow at all, instead dangerous sheets of ice. It was then you realized the war, the death eaters, everything had become so real.

“There is a letter on your bed at home, I’ve settled everything for you. I’m going to stand against the pillar, my back to you, and you are going to do it from behind the hedges so we won’t see each other after. You need to leave once it’s done alright?”

You nodded solemnly, knowing there was no use in fighting it. The cause was bigger than you, bigger than Regulus. Everyone made sacrifices, this just had to be yours.

“My heart beats for you, Y/n, whether I know it or not.”

“And mine for you, Regulus.” You smiled sadly, pulling his wrist up to your face and pulling back his sleeve to reveal his dark mark, pressing a kiss to the skin you spoke, “You aren’t them, you never were and you never will be.”

Regulus smiled but said nothing as he lowered his arms and put his gloves back on. With slow steps he walked to the pillar and looked back at you one last time.

“I’m just taking you in.” He whispered, before slowly turning.

You took your wand from your coat as you took even slower steps to stand just far enough for him not to notice you after it had been done. Regulus felt his resolve crumble with each crunch of your boots against the frozen ground, his eyes screwed shut- tears rolling down his face freely- as he prepared for what was coming.

With a shaky hand you raised your wand.

“Obliviate.”

Present

Sirius seemed to be thrown back from the pensieve, as if the memory had rejected him from viewing any longer, still sensitive. He felt an odd tickling sensation run down his cheek, his hand raising to brush away a stray tear as he fell into a nearby chair.

He never knew…

***

You pushed open the backdoor of your small home, the warm scent of cherry trees welcoming you. The sun was just barely starting to set as you looked off into the horizon of the vast field of trees, if you looked long enough you could make out the handsome silhouette of a boy you once knew sitting up in a cherry tree.

Only a few short months later, the lone figure would be joined by another… a brother.

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

@erinruby003

@maybesandohnos

@onlyfreds

@tayyx

#regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black blurb #regulus black imagine #regulus black x fem!reader #marauders era

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supersizemeplz · 3 years ago

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We Meet Again

Incubus!Erik Stevens x Black PlusSized Female

Another #supersizedfic Halloween fic. I know, I know. It isn’t October yet but I wanted this to jumpstart my writings for it. I definitely want to push out more creepy/scary fics around that month. Let’s call this practice. Also, I’m calling him an incubus but I’m not sure if he fits that category fully in this. Idk. Enjoy!

Song suggestion: Algorhythm by Childish Gambino

"Come on down to Moreen's Super Savin-" The commercial was clipped short as the screen went black. It had to be the millionth time it'd came on in the past two weeks and it was becoming repetitive. The young woman sat the remote on the glass coffee table before she stood. Her adoring pet took that as her cue to hop down as well and follow her owner close.

"How about a snack, Mina? We deserve that right?" She spoke to the puppy as if she'd reply. Well she kind of did with a bark and shake of her tail. Sierra made her way to the fridge and pulled open the freezer. Only to be met with ice trays and frozen meats. Frowning a bit, she looked down to her animal companion.

"Looks like we're out, mamas." Closing the door, she made her way to the dining room table. Grabbing her keys from atop a local Moreen's Super Savings ad paper. She took a quick look in the hallway mirror and made a quick 180 to head up the stairs to her bedroom. "I guess I need something to cover up, huh."

Keys jingled in a hurried dance as she moved, sounding along with the calmed patter of the loyal four little paws. Out of the bedroom once she'd grabbed a hoodie, through the hallway, and down the stairs. Sierra slipped her braids into a bun atop her head, adjusting the silk headband that protected her edges.

Turning to the eager little bichon frise at her feet, she squatted to talk to the puppy. Mina. "Mommy will be back, ok? I'll get us some snacks from the store." She chuckled as Mina barked her reply. With a soft head rub, Mina turned away satisfied as she went back to play with her toys.

Locking the door behind her, Sierra made her way to her car. She was craving vanilla wafers and ice cream. The wind was a bit chilly as she got further from the house, picking up just a little. Fall was slowly making its way and she was amped for the holidays to start rolling in.

With a soft close of the car door, her right index finger pressed the start button to bring the car to life. The time on the radio read twenty minutes until ten o'clock which was just enough time for her to make it before the store's closing. Once she'd set the radio to a slow R&B jam, she was on her way.

A quick ten minute ride was all it took to reach the store since traffic was basically non-existent. Weird but not impossible. She pulled into the nearly empty parking lot without a second thought and turned off the car. "Out and in, two minutes." The words were a mumble as they left her lips, more so a reminder that the store would close soon and she needed not to slow poke.

"Welcome to Moreen's Super Savings." A lone cashier spoke to her as soon as she entered. She smiled with a polite greeting in reply before heading off to the frozen section. Her house shoes made little noise as she found the ice cream selection with ease. A glance to her watch showed she had eight minutes until closing. She had to hurry.

"Hi, how are you?" Her southern hospitality showed as she passed a man that occupied the aisle as well. Not really paying attention to any of his details. Her mission was ice cream, not a man. He gave a polite smile and simple reply, looking over to her once he heard her voice. From her quick glance, she could see his hands were empty though he seemed to be looking for a frozen dessert as well.

The moment between them came and went as she began her quick search once again. "Ah-ha." She spoke the small victory, grabbing the last personal sized vanilla blue bell pint. "Now to the cookies and then something for Mina." With a quick stride she went over two aisles to find the large variety of cookies.

Squatting down to look at the vanilla wafers on the bottom shelf, she saw someone standing at the end of the aisle out of her peripheral. She thought nothing of that as well until a weird feeling fell over her. And the figure was still there. Raising a brow, she looked over to where the figured stood. Or where it should've been. No one was there.

"Hmm." She gave a quick hum of confusion as she stood from her current position. With her choice of cookies in hand. Her head turned both ways to see if she was just imagining things and after seeing that no one was really there, she decided she was. A quick shoulder shrug ended the paranoid thought and she went on her way to get her last items. Coming to the end of the aisle, she stopped to look for the overhead sign to direct her to the pet aisle. Moreen's was kind of new to the town and she had only been here a total of three times, including now.

"Household, paper products, pets." She began her lengthy walk across the store, passing three aisles before she noticed that someone was mirroring her from the other end of the aisles. It could be ignored and pushed aside as a coincidence until she stopped to pretend that her sock needed adjusting. Only for the figure at the other end to stop as well. "What the hell?" She stood quickly to see who was the asshole sending her paranoia through the roof. She knew this store gave off weird vibes. Just as she looked up to see his face, the store went dark and its usual cheery pop songs went silent.

Her gasp was caught in her throat as her grip tightened on the old container of ice cream. She didn't even register the thought of it slowly attempting to escape its containment. Those big brown eyes of hers kept looking to the spot where the man had stood before the power cut.

"Shit." A short curse left her lips as the once frozen dessert made a mess of her hand. Giving one last glance to the spot, she slowly stepped backwards towards the registers before hurrying to it. Her eyes darted around the area to make sure she was still alone as she attempted to rid her hands of the sticky sweet. "There is no way they closed this damn store with me still inside. The cashier literally spoke to me when I walked in the door."

The door.

Sierra discarded the paper towel that was little help as she looked to the large glass double doors. Her exit. She almost scolded herself for getting so worked up, letting her fear of being in the dark affect her sense. Putting pep in her step, she made her way to the door with a quickness. A quick tug to the handle was supposed to ease her heart rate but it sent it soaring. Locked? Why in the hell is it locked? Oh no. She was trapped here, in the dark with her paranoia. Her back turned to press against the doors. "I just had to watch those damn scary movies today."

The dark aisles seemed to mock her as she scanned across them as quick as she could from where she stood. The light that came in from the windows of the store front could only reach so far. With a shivering hand, she fumbled to pull her phone from her pockets. "No, no, no!" She whisper yelled, holding the side buttons to try and make the screen come to life. Only to be met with the screen that told her that her phone was dead. "You were just on fifty percent. How the fuck could you be dead?"

A loud thud from her left caught her off guard, causing her to tense up and her phone to fall to the ground with a soft clap. She looked frantically to the direction of the noise as it's echo sent chills over her. "H-Hello?" Her words stuttered out as she slowly bent to pick up your phone. Maybe it's an employee? "I think you guys locked me in by accident.."

Still like a tree planted by the water, she didn't move. No one answered her call but she had an eerie feeling that she wasn't alone. "Come on, girl. You're stronger than this, remember what Dr. Hamina said.. Fears are nothing more than a state of mind. You're ok." Finally pulling her feet from the invisible glue that held them, she took a slow step forward. "There has to be an emergency door around here somewhere."

In the distance, just barely behind a faraway aisle, those four familiar red letters caught her eyes. "Exit." Hope sparked in her mind and she was happy to know there was another way out. The trick now was getting to the other side without being caught by the man that lurked in the shadows.

As if he'd known she'd thought of him, his voice surrounded her like a cloud. "Sierraaa. Don't be afraid of me, beautiful.." A sudden, single light cut on in the center of the aisles. Close enough to the back that she was directly across the supermarket from him. The soft buzz of the light could faintly be heard from where she stood. She squeezed her phone this time to cope with the fear piercing her as she took another step backwards towards the door.

"How do you know my name? W-Who are you?" She couldn't hide her fear if she wanted to. The waver of her voice gave it away and she hated that it. Because he chuckled at her. His back was to her and she could just make out him looking over his shoulder back at her. In an instant, the light cut out and it was darkness again before a different light popped on. This one was closer than the last but she still couldn't make him out fully. It was only his clothes that gave away his identity as the man that she'd spoken to on the ice cream aisle when she'd came in earlier.

"You don't remember me, sweetness?" He pretended to be offended, finally turning to reveal his face before the lights turned off. It popping back on with him closer. "All the nights we spent together during your college years, just as you were finding yourself. The nights we spent together.. in your dreams, sweetness." That name, that voice. That face.

"E-Erik?" His voice suddenly found its place in her mind. In those memories she'd locked away. "You're not real? H-How are you-? How did you-?"

She'd went through a weird patch in her early stages of youth and adulthood. Her grandmother had called it 'spirit soaring'. The gift ran through the women in her family, but she seemed to be the only one who couldn't keep her control of it. The first few times were innocent during her teen years with short trips around the home for just a minute. That soon crept up to her soul venturing around her neighborhood to see what night could bring. Snowballing into a faint obsession.

Her grandmother had warned her plenty times before of the addictions of her lucid dreaming. But she'd assured herself she could control it. Then she'd met Erik, the man of her dreams, literally. He'd resembled an actor she'd adored and that was his bait. Everything was perfect between the two until it would inch closer to her having to leave him. And he didn't like that, he wanted her company full time. He'd began to find ways to prolong her visits with him.

She began to notice that he wasn't under her control like everything else in her dreams. It honestly scared her. His demeanor changed and he became obsessed with her, finding ways to pull her under when she'd fall asleep. Passive aggressive and manipulating were his sudden traits. The last time she'd seen him ended with a scuffle. Scarring his left eye and her getting away by a hair.

"How I found you?" He spoke her thoughts, finally allowing her to see his face. That familiar scar was healed now. Making him look like a monster from some horror film. "I never lost you, sweetness. I've just waited patiently.. watching you from the shadows..." He took a step towards her, taking in the sweet scent of her fear. "Never..out of..reach."

The lights began to flicker and her adrenaline started pumping. Sierra began to rack her mind for an escape. The exit sign. It was the same escape route she'd use in her dreams long ago. Her feet started their movement before it fully registered in her mind. "Just make it to the door."

Erik's laughter filled the air around her, loud and mocking as she kept her quick pace. "You can run, but you can't hide. Escape is inevitable.." His words were chilling to hear. He really wanted her for himself.

The door seemed to be getting further away. Like she was running backwards. Tears began to gloss her eyes as she became weaker. Her legs were getting tired, but she pressed on. Just make it to the door. Still the door grew smaller with every attempt to reach it.

"Nooo!" Her knees hit the ground below her, meeting the cold tile floor. "It can't end like this.. Leave me ALONE!!" She screamed into the darkness. A last effort to fight her attacker.

The air was still once her echos silenced. Her eyes moved around as best they could in the darkness. The light above her popped on and the slow echo of footsteps in the darkness came towards her. She trembled where she sat, trying to crawl to the door as best she could.

Erik emerged from the darkness like a villain and stopped just before her. "When will you learn sweetness? Running will only tire you out.." He squatted before her, bringing a hand to her cheek to rid it of a stray tear. "Stay with me and we can spend this life together. Happily. Forever."

"This moment.." He spoke lowly, eyes glazed with lust. "I have been waiting for this moment for so long, my sweetness, to have you all to myself.." He rolled his shoulders as he hummed. "..And here we are. Alone, at last. Destined to be brought together as one."

Licking his lips, he held a smirk at the corner of his lips. "Isn't this what we once dreamed for? To be together forever?" His smile widened at her drooping eyes as they fought to stay open. "Well, I did. At least."

Her lips tried to speaks but all her energy was being drained. His voice began to sound distorted to her. She didn't want him to win this time. Have to..stay..awake. Darkness.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Can you hear me?" The voice was far off in the darkness, barely audible. Sierra fought to make out the words on her mind. Please don't let him win. Her body wouldn't listen to her in her struggle. She screamed internally at herself to wake up, wanting whoever was trying to talk to her know that she could hear them. It seemed to take forever. "There you go. Breathe."

She had shot up to a seated position, breathing heavily and looking around to see if he was still there. Her eyes held worry as she was only met with two E.M.T. and a small group of employees in the distance. The female E.M.T gave an assuring smile to ease her nerves, though it didn't help much. Though it did calm her a little to see a friendly face. "An employee found you laying in the aisle, nearly unresponsive. So we're gonna take you to the hospital and make sure everything is okay. Are you alright with that, hunny?"

All Sierra could do was nod, needing to get out of this damned store. She'd never come back here, that was for damned sure. The medical duo eased her onto a stretcher and gave her a water for her throat. Since she hadn't uttered a word since she came to. "We'll do a few check ups in the truck on the way there. You just let me know if anything feels weird suddenly or hurts. Ok..."

Tears blurred Sierra's vision as she was lifted into the ambulance, listening to the distant sounds of the medical personnel that assured that she would be just fine. Her mouth didn't open and their words didn't register as she looked forward. Not directly looking to the group of employees that watched her being taken away, but more so to what was behind them where he stood. He was relaxed as he watched her with a smirk. His words rung off in her head as she noticed him vanish behind the passing of employees heading back inside. "Alone, at last. Destined to brought together as one.." She was stuck with him forever.

#black reader #erik stevens #erik x reader #oneshot #halloween fic #supersize the spooky

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vivilove-jonsa · 4 years ago

Note

Halloween prompt 😁: "we have to run, now!".

Hello, my dear! Thank you for the prompt. This turned out different than my original thoughts on this one but have a little Halloween Haunted Corn Maze Fluff.

(and just fyi for others, I afraid I won’t be able to do any more prompts for a bit after this one)

Halloween night. What on earth had made her agree to this?

Pride.

Oh yeah.

Look, it’s not like she doesn’t love her siblings. She does.

But sometimes, they have a knack for making Sansa feel like an outsider in her own family. It’s not intentional but a lot of the stuff she likes just doesn’t appeal to the others and vice versa.

And one thing they all seem to love which Sansa does not is scary stuff. Horror movies, haunted houses, Halloween stuff.

Even Jon, who isn’t technically a sibling but gets treated like one by everyone else, has more in common with them than Sansa does, it seems.

So, when she’d asked Arya what she was doing this Saturday night, not remembering that it was October 31st and therefore Halloween, she’d been told she was going to the corn maze.

“A corn maze? Who’s going?”

“Me and Gendry are going to meet Robb and Jon who are taking Bran, Rickon and some friends there.”

“The boys are going too?”

Their little brothers are still underage so it wasn’t the usual Saturday night pub crawl that Sansa has occasionally joined the others in. (Which she’s joined them for more frequently since breaking up with her boyfriend three months ago.)

“Yeah.”

“Well, it sounds fun…”

She’d let that linger, waiting to see if her sister would extend an invitation. Her stomach had knotted up at the thoughts that the offer might not come but Arya hadn’t let her down, not exactly.

“Right. Well, you’re welcome to come. There’s a pumpkin patch or hayride if you want to wait for us there.”

“Why would I want to go on a hayride alone? And who’s picking pumpkins on Halloween night? Won’t all the pumpkins be picked?” (Honestly, she’d be very sad if there were any pumpkins left behind and would want to take them with her.)

“But…Sans, it’s a haunted corn maze. I don’t think it’ll be your thing.”

Thus, Pride had had its say and insisted that of course she would enjoy going to a haunted corn maze on Halloween and how dare anyone suggest otherwise.

Alright, she’d looked wistfully at the little shed where they were selling popcorn, caramel apples and hot apple ciders upon their arrival. She might have even sighed seeing the young couples wearing gloves with rosy cheeks climbing onto the haybales for their hayride. But she’d marched determinedly up to the booth ahead of everyone else to buy her ticket first because Sansa Stark is not a fraidy cat.

Which has led to her current predicament.

“We have to run, now!” Rickon shouts as the chainsaw-wielding murderer gets closer.

Yes, part of her agrees. Her fight or flight instincts are kicking in with flight winning. Every hair on her head is standing on end. Why does a power tool get to have that level of impact on my psyche when I’ve never even seen that movie?!

But running doesn’t seem like the answer to her logical mind. They’re all together, a pack. That’s how they’d got past the zombies after their first wrong turn. They’d been hemmed in until Jon had spied the exit path. They’d shuffled along as one with Sansa and Rickon’s friend Shireen doing their best to be as much in the middle of their group as possible. (Clearly, the girl was scared and wanted to hold Sansa’s hand, okay?) Anyway, they’d out-shuffled those zombies and been in the clear for five whole minutes before this Leatherface guy showed up.

So, that is obviously the solution here. They should stick together, not take off in the middle of a huge ass corn maze in the dark in three different directions.

Unfortunately, that’s precisely what Rickon and his friends do.

“No, we don’t need to run! Kids, we’re…ugh!”

Robb shouts after them as well to no avail. “Rickon Stark, if you don’t get your ass back here this second I am never taking you and your friends anywhere ever a-…shit.” They now have three 12-years-olds to hunt down in the middle of a corn maze. “Okay, Arya and Gendry take this path. Bran, you come with me down that one. Jon, you and Sansa look for them that way.”

Sansa tries not to grimace. It’s not a grimace of distaste. It’s a grimace of something else. Based on the way Jon scowls, she knows she didn’t succeed in not grimacing. Well, he was already scowling. Scowling is kind of a go-to look for him in social settings. (Don’t tell but it’s a surprisingly good look on him.)

“Fine. Come on,” he mutters, leading the way with one of the three flashlights they’d brought between them.

It’s not that she dislikes Jon. She hopes he doesn’t dislike her though they’ve never been as close as he is with the others. She’d like to be closer maybe. In fact, she’s teetering pretty firmly in the opposite direction of dislike, has been for the past month or so since she’d got over her break up (nothing that serious anyway) and started spending more time with him and the others on Saturday nights.

Yeah, Robb sniggers when she orders her daquiris instead of the ales they all drink but Jon doesn’t. He’s really pretty sweet about fetching drinks and often offers to give her a lift home. He’s actually kind of funny when he loosens up a bit, too.

But he’s Jon. He’s known her since she was three. Those little flutters she’s starting to notice around him are obviously the effect of the alcohol, right?

Except you’ve not had anything to drink tonight.

So, why the grimace? Well, because she likes Jon and she’s already a little afraid of embarrassing herself out here which means it’s bound to happen.

Maybe I should’ve just rode the hayride alone. I could’ve saved all the unloved pumpkins and stuffed them in the back of Robb’s SUV, too.

They set off down one of the paths, the mowed down corn stalks and mud squishing beneath their boots while they’re surrounded on all sides. She’s glad they’ve got a full moon. It’s a blue moon. They’re already rare but on Halloween? That seems pretty special. It’d feel romantic in other circumstances.

Like side by side on a hayride. He might offer me his jacket and…

Ugh, would you stop? You’re not on a date with Jon.

“Ow! Will you watch it?!”

She’d been staring up at the moon and hadn’t realized Jon had come to a halt. She’s run right into his back, her boots catching his own boot-covered ankles. He’s more solid than you’d think just looking at him. He also smells good…and she’s a clumsy dork.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He’s looking around, listening.

“What is…”

She doesn’t get the rest of her sentence out because someone has grasped her arm.

Someone who isn’t Jon.

She’s screaming bloody murder and there’s maniacal laughter coming from the close-packed stalks that surround them. Yes, they’d been told they might be lightly touched by performers during their ‘experience.’ They’d had to sign waivers that they agreed to that and that they wouldn’t physically retaliate. Sansa is not remotely a violent person but, right now, she’s ready to knock the living daylights out of whoever grabbed her arm.

She’s pulled herself into the middle of the path, not that it’s that wide, and is hugging herself and shaking once the hand lets go of her.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s move this way,” Jon says, pulling her down the path away from whoever that was hiding back in the corn.

He thinks he has to protect her, like she’s some little girl who can’t handle a scare.

She mutters she’s fine. She is fine but also embarrassed. And yeah, there’s the chainsaw in the distance again and this whole experience is making her jumpy. It may be a bit obvious.

“Why’d you come tonight?”

“Huh?” She’d been walking along, lost in her thoughts. She glances over at Jon and it clicks what he asked. “I don’t know. I like hanging out with everyone.”

“We like you hanging out with us but I didn’t think a haunted corn maze would be your thing.”

“It’s not. I just thought…” She sighs. “I just didn’t want to be left behind.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It’s okay if you don’t enjoy stuff like this.”

“But everyone else does.”

“You don’t have to be everyone, Sansa. You’re perfect the way you are.”

She raises her eyebrows, grinning at him. “I’m perfect?”

“Don’t let that go to your head.” He starts grinning back. His grins are even hotter than his scowls.

“Thanks, Jon.”

“And I wouldn’t have left you behind. I mean if…” He scrubs at his beard, looking a little embarrassed himself. “I would’ve stuck with you outside the maze while everyone did this.”

“You would?!” He would?!

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t want to hold you back from having a good time with everyone else.”

“I’ve done corn mazes before. You wouldn’t be holding me back from having a good time. ��Not that I’m much company or…”

“GARRRRR!!! MU-WAH-HAHA!!!”

A horrific looking clown comes out of the corn right behind them…carrying a huge freaking axe?!

And we’re screaming again, she notes internally as she grasps Jon’s arm.

The thing is, he’s shouting, too. “We need to run, now!”

He half drags her along but she’s not complaining. She’s too busy trying not to hyperventilate.

They run until they run out of path. They run until they’re both laughing at themselves and each other for running. They run until they realize they’re surrounded by the warmth of glowing lights and cute carved pumpkins instead of corn with the smell of apple cider and popcorn in the air. They’ve escaped the maze.

Rickon and his friends are all sitting together at one of the nearby tables, eating caramel apples and popcorn in huge bites. Her little brother laughs when she attempts to scold him for running off, saying he figured everyone else could find their own way out. “I mean, we found our way and we’re just kids.”

“Should we go back in and look for the others?” Jon asks her.

“No, they can find their way out, can’t they?”

Surely, they can. Besides, she’s got a few unloved pumpkins to save. Jon doesn’t say a peep. Just helps her load them into the back of Robb’s SUV.

“I love toasted pumpkin seeds.”

“Me, too.”

And when her and Jon decide to go on the hayride after sharing some apple cider a short time later, Sansa decides she hopes it takes them a little longer to find their way out of the maze. Especially when Jon drapes his jacket over her shoulders as they hold hands under the full blue moon.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #dialogue prompts #vivilove-jonsa fic

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nxcturne · 4 years ago

Text

⌜ ⁰⁰¹ satana hellstrom. megan fox. she/her. cis woman. ⌟ looks like SATANA HELLSTROM has joined the search for the missing mutants. the TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD is known as THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER and works alongside NO ONE. they were spotted recently in NYC, hopefully they’ll have some luck finding the missing mutants. ( may. 21. she/her. est. )

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

name: satana hellstrom alias(es): the devil's daughter, succubus, queen of hell age: 29 birthday & zodiac: october 29th, 1991 & scorpio sexuality: bisexual ( i checked and it’s no longer formatted like this :( but... the queen ) mbti: entj enneagram: 5w6 –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 affiliation: mostly no one. occasionally hell lords, avengers of the supernatural, thunderbolts, witches, legion of monsters, masters of evil west coast. sometimes an ally to the midnight sons. weapons: ------- basilisk: although he has since been exorcised, she was bonded with the powerful demon 'basilisk'. although it was largely parasitic, he proved useful in his ability to... basically kill anything when she released him. abilities: -------life-force absorption: as a succubus, she is able to devour the souls of men via a kiss <3 ------- superhuman strength ------- superhuman durability ------- levitation ------- astral projection ------- hellfire manipulation ------- mind control ------- magic

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

triggers: murder, satanism, brief mention of sacrifices (including one animal) & cults, brief mention of sex work

satana was the product of a literal unholy union between human victoria hellstrom and secret literal satan marduk kurios, an alias the satan adopted. it had been a plan set in motion for years -- for a half-human, half-demon, child -- but none took until marduk found himself charmed by victoria.

but! satana was not their first half-demon, half-human, child. born three years after her older brother, daimon hellstrom (pls bring him!), she became the happy byproduct! and she became the only family member who saw who her father truly was... and, like, at an intensely young age??

nonetheless! she was deemed a daddy's girl... and what better bonding activity than performing an animal sacrifice as a young child? when her mother witnessed this, she finally put two-and-two together (took her long enough...) and was driven mad, sent to the asylum she would die in.

she was separated from daimon. he went to a new human home and she went with her father to literally be raised in hell. various demons who walked amongst them helped her train and sharpen her powers <3

so that said, all she ever longed to do was impress her father, so her exile to earth was one that was initially assumed as temporary -- and, when made longer term, assumed manipulated by a powerful group: the four. and with the exile came the attachment of the basilisk.

on earth, she found herself walking the streets. plenty of attempted assailants and johns soon found themselves void of life and soul. a kiss on the lips, she sucked the life force from them and their soul turned into nothing but a butterfly for consumption. she was cursed to be a succubus, to gain her power and send further power back to her father through the kisses of many men (and it _only_ worked on men... #girlboss)

around this time, satanism was booming. she found herself commonly in the presence of satanists who believed her a prophet due to her birthmark, 'the devilmark.' however, with fanatic satanism came fanatic christianity (y’all, her comics began in the 70s, so just go with it)

it wasn't long before she found herself a victim of a fanatic christian group attack, left in an alley. and, ironically, saved by an ex-priest -- michael heron <3 of all mortal, and some immortal, beings, he was the only one who had enough willpower to resist her when she found herself accidentally going in for the kill.

he was a good man. not all good men were spared, but not all good men were as good as michael heron -- not all made her feel as human <3 for that, and for the care he took, she set his soul free... much to the chagrin of daddy dearest <3

all humanity escaped her when she learned the truth of her exile: her father was the cause of it. for all she had dedicated - her life to him and his cause - she was met with a cruel 'goodbye.'

with her mother (whom she never truly cared about <3) dead and her father proving to be her greatest betrayer, all she had left was daimon... the priest. so obviously, she would continue to go it alone.

with time, she not only built her own hell dimension, but built it so that it was booming. so entertaining, so lively, that she questioned who would want to go to heaven when they could meet all of their favorite dead musicians, actors, novelists, and so much more in her hell dimension!!!

she began oscillating between the good and the bad. whatever was for her, was for her. whatever would benefit her...

a time would come that she would become as close to her brother as she could be, but the general concept of having chosen a life of priesthood, even if it was before he knew his truth? wild!

also i literally just copied and pasted all of this from a discord server i used to write an intro for her in a couple months ago so............ pls do forgive me if it ain’t its sharpest!! i thought it wld be!! quicker than rewriting it all and it’s already been!! so long!!

tl;dr: should’ve been considered for her father’s right hand, not daimon. (#gaslightgatekeep)#girlboss. i like to pretend witches didn’t happen. i’ve never watched helstrom before bc i don’t have hulu but if u have from the gifsets i’ve seen i think her portrayal is great. has jim morrison in her hell which we love for her bc my god the amount of references to the doors in her early comics......

#vanished.intro #satana .#satana: intro.#character two! electric boogaloo!

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avengersassemble-fics · 4 years ago

Text

But Not Us

part 03/?? “an agent of shield”

previous part // next part

word count 4k

an: there’s a lot of background info in this one, with only a couple mentions of steve. so sorry for that but :3

May 2014

What should have been the greatest experience for a newly assigned SHIELD agent turned into the world’s first global (known) alien invasion. A select few were stationed at the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility in the Mojave Desert in New Mexico, where the only information the average agent had was to protect the scientist, and any and all information at all costs. Serving alongside Hawkeye, Phil Coulson, and seeing Director Fury almost up close and personal would have made your friends still awaiting assignment at the Academy jealous.

But when an Asguardian almost single-handedly leveled the facility, some not making it out or even barely, those who risked their lives demanded an answer. It was one of your golden experiences at SHIELD, and what may have gained you notice from the Phil Coulson. So they revealed the truth: known as Project PEGASUS, SHIELD had been in possession of an otherworldly power source, and was analyzing (and eventually) weaponizing the power it emitted. You, along with the other six agents who had demanded answers, were brought along for the next wild ride. A helicarrier awaited and there was an elite team being brought in.

The Avengers Initiative had been a ghost story at the Academy. Theories of who was being scouted, where the idea had come from, who was behind it.. During your years every theory had been tossed around it seemed.

I heard Fury created it because some alien invasion inspired him in the 90’s.

What? That’s not true! We would’ve heard about an alien.

That’s literally the point of SHIELD. Secrets. We hide ‘em.

They had a point now that you thought back on it. SHIELD was all about hiding knowledge and keeping people safe from the knowledge. How else were they going to explain that JFK was actually assassinated by a ghost story named the Winter Soldier?

Forget you just read that. That’s classified.

Regardless, seeing the likes of legendary Natasha Romanoff, the brilliant Bruce Banner, and chivalrous Steve Rogers aboard that helicarrier that day should have been momentous. But from the moment they stepped on board things had taken a turn for the worse. Hours were spent trying to locate the Asguardian who you heard was named Loki, but when he finally popped up in Germany, none other than Steve Rogers was sent in to apprehend the God. Did anyone expect Tony Stark to swoop in? Or Thor, the God of Thunder? Loki’s “adopted brother” as others heard him say.

As you did your sweeps that day, it honestly felt a little too easy.

You had only met Steve Rogers on one occasion, and that was on this day, right before Barton’s attack on the Helicarrier. You were doing a sweep on one of the lower levels, when you passed by a hallway that led down to a door that from the corner of your eye looked.. Open? Other agents passed you without even a glance to what you were seeing, so with a deep breath you walked down the white hall, and examined the door. You could hear the quiet sound of someone inside and knew what needed to be done. The door was pried open just enough for someone bigger than yourself to enter, so you managed to slide through the door and into the holding compartment.

Crates among crates were stacked on top of one another, almost every single one had the PEGASUS logo next to the SHIELD logo. The closer you got to the sounds of shuffling, you undid your holster on your leg, resting your hand firmly on the hilt of the standard SHIELD icer given to every agent. When you rounded the corner and were met with the back of Captain America himself (who wouldn’t know that iconic blue-starred uniform?) you weren’t sure what to do. You didn’t even know what overcame you to speak to him.

“Didn’t have to break the door y’know,” you said to him. You remember his shoulders tensing, setting something down in a crate he had opened and slowly turning to face you. Your hand still rested on your icer, while your other motioned back from where you both had come from. “It’s gonna take them a couple days to fix that.”

“I’ll send my apologies,” Steve said back to you. He glanced you over, not without noticing your loose grip on the weapon at your side. His eyes hovered there before he spoke again, and his piercing blue eyes met yours once more. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“No,” you didn’t hesitate in answering. His shoulders relaxed, but it looked like confusion was replaced in his scowl. You relatched your holster, and took a couple steps back with some final words. “I just hope you found what you were looking for.”

October 2013

You had come a long way since that first assignment.

You never saw Steve Rogers again, or any Avenger for that matter. Your encounter with the super soldier was soon cached as a one off meeting. He was a hero, you were an agent. And as before, you were following a lead on a secret the world wasn’t ready for yet.

For several months there have been missing person cases worldwide, but there was a catch. They soon turned up found, but encased in rock. SHIELD was called in immediately, and you were assigned to a task force to investigate. Research showed that after time the rock began to crumble, and the person was gone, dust if you will. There was nothing that could be done to save them, no matter what was attempted on the rock formations.

Your task force was a shadow team similar to Phil Coulson (who was alive, but that’s classified. Only a select few know, his team, and now the one you served on). Communication was erratic between his team and yours, but his scientist couldn’t find anything different than yours could.. This was the mission that changed your life.

Locals had come across a set of crystals during an excavation of a nearby temple. The report had said that one of the explorers touched the crystal, and was petrified within seconds. Luckily, for the first time ever, SHIELD was able to finally see what was causing these unnatural phenomenons. You remember it was hot, and being lowered by a rope into the hole the locals had cut out. When you removed yourself from the harness holding you, you examined the explorer before looking to the crystal formation in the middle of the room. It was unlike anything you had ever seen.. It was beautiful. And to this day you swore it had whispered in your ear.

You weren’t sure who knocked the crystals to the ground. Everything had happened so quickly. A blueish-grey mist evaporated into the air, and every agent, you and three others, were frozen in place. Something began to cover your body, unlike the rock that you had seen it didn’t feel rough, or scary. As the solidifying cocoon enveloped you it was as if a voice rang in your ears that you’d be fine.

And a month later, you were. Or at least you thought you were.

You don’t remember falling out of the enclosure, but they told you you did. You remember waking up in a medical room, the sound of different beeps monitoring different things in your body was evident. The first face you saw when you came to was actually Maria Hill. You should’ve known her presence was going to be followed by Director Fury, but you chalked it all up to formalities. Every test the ran on you pointed to you being fine, but you didn’t feel fine the more time that progressed.

It was January 2014 when you got into your altercation. Being back in the field was hard, you were struggling to handle your anger when someone on your team merely bumped into you. But that was it, you remembering blacking out and suddenly being on top of them, their blood covering your knuckles. An hour later, Director Fury himself was signing your suspended leave papers.

You were even more pissed off, upset that SHIELD essentially told you to handle your issues on your own. Ever since that damn mission you didn’t feel the same, something just didn’t feel right to you. You were angry, skittish, and it began to take its toll on you and your family. They didn’t know how to help you, and neither did you in all honesty. One night after having a shouting match with your father, you packed a bag and took the next plane out of there. And it didn’t matter where it went.

There’s a blank between that and when you met Gordon. You could blame it on the transition, or really just blame it on the way you took to bar hopping to mash that anger down to something else. You had managed to piss off a small group of motorcycle men (you didn’t mean to knock their bikes over, it just kind of happened), and when backed into a corner a blue field appeared before you. It shocked not only your pursuers, but you thought you were dreaming. Gordon offered you his hand, and you took it with no hesitation.

Inhuman. That’s what they said you were. A race of altered human beings that were the result of experiments on ancient humans by an extraterrestrial race who embedded their genetic code the potential to transform and/or acquire superhuman abilities through a process known as Terrigenesis.

In all honesty it was a mouthful, and a lot to accept all at once. But it.. Made sense in a way. The woman in charge, Jiaying, asked you if you had ever come in contact with a crystal, which she showed you rolled up in a small handkerchief. You recited your story, a bit modified, about coming across crystals in an old temple, and someone knocked them over by accident. You lost two months, and haven’t felt the same since. She told you that you would be taken care of, and you were safe now.

You met Lincoln a couple days later. He told you that acupuncture was supposed to help your body adapt to the Terrigenesis, but because you were going on three months since your transformation, it was going to take time. You warned him you weren’t an overly patient person, and he laughed and said he wouldn’t be going anywhere. After your first session, you didn’t feel much of a change besides the pain your neck disappeared, but the anger lingered.

You went weeks without knowing what your “superhuman ability” was, and everyday you got more and more irritable.

“Why am I even here,” you expressed to Lincoln and Jiaying one day. You clenched your fist as you paced before them, and motioned towards them. “All I feel is just pissed off because I don’t know what I’m even doing.”

“We just haven’t had a breakthrough yet,” Jiaying explained. “Everyone is different when it comes to this process.”

You couldn’t accept that. You didn’t show up for your next acupuncture appointment with Lincoln, and within 10 minutes he was knocking on your door. You tossed your pillow back to your bed, and stared at the door. Maybe if you were silent--

“I know you’re in there,” Lincoln said to you. You narrowed your eyes at the door when he spoke again. “I’m opening the door.”

“No you aren’t,” you told him through clenched teeth. When you saw the door slowly inch forward you exploded. “I said no you aren’t!”

The room shook, the door reclosing in a loud smack. You weren’t sure what had happened but saw the lingering blue ripples of energy that danced over the walls. You huffed and looked down at your hands, which were enveloped by the same blue energy. The door flew open and you looked up to see the shocked look of Lincoln. He later told you your eyes looked like they were glowing blue, but after you took him in it all disappeared.

You hadn’t gotten far on controlling your powers (you could turn invisible too, how cool was that?) when Jiaying and Gordon found out who you worked for. Lincoln was the only one who fought for you to stay at Afterlife, he said your ties with the organization didn’t mean you’d turn them in. You were one of them now. And he was right, it hadn’t even crossed your mind of turning these people over to SHIELD.. They were there for you when SHIELD wasn’t. But it didn’t matter. You suddenly shunned from this new community with the promise you’d never return, and never expose their secrets. Those last few weeks were.. They weren’t the best. Your only solace was found in Lincoln, growing closer to one another with every moment you spent together, but before anything could happen you got the phone call that changed your life. Again.

July 2014

It rained that day. The ground was soft and still had little specks of water on them. You only remembered that because your sister pointed out that everyone’s shoes were dirty. You also remembered that she tucked away one of her blankets with your mother, because she didn’t want her to be afraid. She was more wise than you were. You remembered the soft and grainy feel of the dirt you tossed onto both caskets, and when you placed your clean hand on your sister's shoulder you hadn’t noticed Lincoln step to your other side. Not until he grabbed a hold of your damp hand. The light electricity that spread over your palm was welcomed, enlightening warmth in you for the first time in days.

You didn’t see Phil Coulson and Melinda May had been in attendance in the back.

The wake after wasn’t your idea, it was your grandmother's (paternal, ever the doting family figure, god rest her soul) and that was when Coulson approached you. He was more stoic, even had a bit of stubble on his face, and asked you to speak privately. When you were able to slip away and talk outside on the porch of your family home, he offered his condolences. You remember he kept glancing May’s way, hesitant on what he was going to say, but he was very careful. Calculated you could say.

That same year Steve Rogers had exposed Hydra for having deep roots within SHIELD, and Coulson was the new Director. All he offered was that Fury was indisposed at the moment, and he offered you your position back. You wondered now if he knew what you were, what had happened. If Lincoln had any intelligence with SHIELD it had to be someone on Coulson’s team. But you were getting ahead of yourself. He said to take some time to think about it, to process your loss, and told you that you’d know where to find him. With a final goodbye, the two agents left.

Lincoln went back to Afterlife. You took full custody of your sister, and though she didn’t know why you disappeared, your grandmother did. The three of you lived comfortably in your family home (to not disrupt your sister’s life) and when you had to be off on a mission, your sister was always taken care of. Four years of never missing her softball games, listening to her awful Clarinet playing (it wasn’t bad, you just liked to tease her), and being there for any of her questions. Life was good. It wasn’t too hard to balance your work life and personal life.

Two years after accepting Coulson’s offer, you were forced to resign indefinitely. The Sokovia Accords were wanting any and all SHIELD agents who were Inhuman (thanks to the database SHIELD had collected) to sign and continue to serve, or face time in The Raft. Neither was an option you were going to accept, so a compromise was offered to those who refused. The Accords and world nations would keep their own database of Inhumans, or any enhanced individuals, with the notion that if these persons were found to be using their powers, it would be a charge of criminal negligence. And if you were assigned to any government agency (SHIELD, the FBI, anything) you were to resign immediately. All on the down low of course. Reluctantly, you agreed, along with anyone else who didn’t want to be used as an on call superhuman soldier.

It was freedom at a price. But you weren’t leaving your family. Not again.

May 2018

Your sister shut the door to your car abruptly. You remembered how she nearly raced to the bag to grab her gear from your trunk while you shut the engine off. She was eager to get inside and shower after her teams win for the week, even racing past your grandmother who sat on the swing on the porch. You remember feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket, news of Tony Stark’s disappearance was everywhere. Being out of the game for two years now made you feel out of touch, only getting the same information as everyone else. But you tried your best not to stress about it too much, for your sister’s sake. You remembered your grandmother offering to make a roast that night, but you thought it would be more fun to have your sibling choose - a post game tradition and an excuse not to do dishes that night. You nearly tripped over her duffel bag while trying to set your bag down and sighed.

“I thought we had an agreement about putting this away!” You called out.

“Sorry! I needed to get some water, it’s too hot,” she replied. You pushed her bag out of the way (the last thing you needed was your grandmother taking a fall like last time) and walked further into the house. “(Y/N)-”

“You’re lucky it was me and not--”

You stopped mid sentence when your gaze landed on her. She was terrified, and you felt like you had no time to process what was going on. It started from her feet, inching upwards in a dim cloud and she was evaporating before your eyes. You rushed over, but by the time you got there your fingers only barely touched the dust. You were sick, falling to your knees as the sounds from the outside world flooded your home. Your eyes never left the spot where the dust collected, not when far away booms were heard, voices yelling into the air, and you looked back to the open door.

“Nana?” You called out. You stood and rushed over to the door, rounding the archway abruptly. You saw her standing and looking back out to the road, and wanted to cry out.

She died six months later. You boarded up the house and all the memories it held and headed back to New York City. You haven’t been back since. You were able to get a small place in the city, and isolated yourself from the world. That was until Lincoln came knocking on your door. You weren’t sure how he found you, but it didn’t matter in the end, or really that moment. You didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Dancing on the edge of friendship and something more, Lincoln became an integral part of your life. So when people began to go missing, and you both quickly realized they were Inhumans, it felt as if that responsibility fell on your shoulders now. You had a purpose again: helping people.

You know the rest. You began to go to Steve Rogers meetings, and when he didn’t recognize you you were in the clear it felt. He wasn’t overly nosy, didn’t push you to reveal much, really he let you do things at your own pace. You told yourself you went to his meetings to see if you could slyly get information out of him, but really you did enjoy them. They often made you feel better. Not much, but enough to where you didn’t want to disappear yourself.

The fogginess in your mind was replaced with something else. You didn’t know if it was fear (probably) or not, but your exhausted body wasn’t prepared for this fight. You had been followed for a half an hour now when you were on your way to the community center. You tried to shake them, but it wasn’t working. They knew where you were headed and when you lost a pair, two more took their place. You weren’t making it to Steve’s meeting that morning.

Adrenaline laced with fear coursed through you as you rounded a corner. It took all the concentration in you to mask yourself with your abilities. Out of sight you quickly slid your way into the opening of an alleyway and watched as the two men on your tail walked by without even a glance your way. You should’ve known it was too easy, you shouldn’t have let your guard down so fast. Maybe it was the exhaustion gnawing at you, but you took careful steps back towards the other end. If you could get there then you could see about making it to the center.

You were still invisible when a shock was sent through your body. Little jolts of electricity worked its way through you and the sudden attack made you reappear as you fell to your knees. The smell of burning rubber filled your senses first, followed by the sound of boots on the ground. You forced yourself to look up, only to find yourself surrounded by figures behind dark grey skull masks. You grimaced as one lowered themselves to look you in the eye, though you were only met with your reflection.

“Too easy,” the voice said. You took a shaky breath, the electricity not making anything easier for you, and clenched your hands at your side.

“I’m not done fighting yet,” you warned.

With a thrust of your arms, a shield like barrier exploded out from around you. Those closest to you were sent the furthest away, except for the one who spoke to you. Whatever was shot into your side evaporated, and you stood freely bracing yourself against those who were able to get back on their feet quickly. You dodged and countered punches until one grabbed the bag on your back, pulling you towards them. You spun out from the straps and with your hands enveloped their feet with your powers, throwing them away from you. Two more came from your side and you grabbed the arm of one burrowing for your body and shoved them back into another foe.

There were too many, but you couldn’t give up.

The bigger one who spoke to you managed to push their way through the group, facing you head on. You were breathing heavy, you didn’t know how much longer you could fight them off. Maybe if you could hold them off a little longer, Steve normally passed this way, just a few more minutes.

“You’re surrounded,” the deep voice said. You didn’t know if it was their real voice or something modulated, but they began to circle you. “Stop fighting, and we won’t make this hurt.”

“Yeah I don’t think so,” you replied. You cemented your feet into the ground, and it took all the energy in you to produce the blue energy around your hands. In this state your eyes turned the same blue, but it didn’t seem to stop them from coming at you quickly. You redirected their moves, one arm one way, the other in a whole other direction. There was a click too fast for you to catch, they fought your manipulation and grabbed you from behind, arm trapping you around your neck and it made you gasp. All at once your powers disappeared as you grabbed at their arm. There was no way they did that.. Something disrupted your energy.

The sting of a needle into your neck made you push against them. Their stance didn’t falter, and an overwhelming pain began to spread through you. All you could seem to manage was gasp for short breaths as the person eased you down to the ground. You watched the sky grow bleeker, and the last words before you were met with darkness was an order to get you into the truck.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #Lincoln campbell #Lincoln Campbell x reader #Lincoln x reader #dormammu ive come to queue

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spooky-draws-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Late Halloween post, sorry

The Egos horror movie

Written by me

Jackie and chase stood outside marvin's door, waiting for him to answer. It was the month of October, and they needed to help marvin prepare for Halloween. Every year, marvin would dress up in a fancy costume and hand out candy to the kids in his neighborhood. He would decorate his entire house and cover it in lights. This year was going to be different because he decided he wanted to open his doors and allow guests to come over and vist for a party.

Jackie sighed and turned to chase. "It's hard to feel happy during this season. There's so much pressure on people to clean their houses and waste money on candy. I feel too old to celebrate Halloween."

Chase nodded and took a sip of whiskey. "It's not so bad though. You could come over to my place and we could watch a movie together."

"But we already did that last year! I'm just tired of being lonely. Ever since I moved away from the city and got a new computer repair job no one has been showing up to work on time. It's so boring getting only a few customers a day but it pays well." Jackie explained.

Chase finished his whiskey and handed the bottle to Jbm. "You shouldn't let others expectations bring you down. I know living in the city was a rough time for you and I get it, I understand. Sometimes it's hard to move forward. You can't just give up like this. You mean so much to me. You're my friend and I really care about you."

Jackie smiled, then knocked on marvin's door. "Hey marvin! What's taking you so long? Get your ass over here and open the god damn door!" Jackie's smile disappeared and he kicked the door aggressively. Marvin! Hey marvin! I SAID OPEN THE DOOR!" Jackie's eyes widened. The door slowly creeked open. Fresh blood was soaked into the living room floor as Marvin's lifeless body was posed in a disgusting shape. His mask was broken and chopped into bits. Large wounds covered his face as maggots crawled into his exposed ribcage. He had been dead for weeks.

Jackie fell to his knees sobbing and screaming. Chase threw up all over the lawn. "DAMN IT MARVIN! Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you call me? I should have never had that argument with you! I never got to apologize!" "I should've known better, I could've done something to make sure this didn't happen again! It's not my fault I swear!" Jackie stood up and turned around aggressively. "It's time chase. He has returned, and he's going to come for our sorry asses if we don't do something about it."

Chase looked confused. "Who's coming to get us? What do you mean?" he shuddered, his voice a childish tone. "How the hell should I know chase? He comes back every Halloween, and he won't stop until everyone of us is dead or even worse...A puppet..." "Think about it chase...He's always wanted the channel....and he's always hated Jack...but with us out of the picture, it gives him the perfect opportunity to strike and to take over. Once he has Jack in his grasp, there's no telling what he'll do to him...And then the fans, our fans chase...The ones who love us and support us will have no one to turn to...We have to stop him before Halloween night. We have to save Jack before it's too late..." Jackie exclaimed.

Chase didn't say anything at all. "I know a place where we can go, but we need to get a car first."

Schneep was driving home from work when he suddenly got an alarming phone call. Since he was driving on the road, he had decided not to answer it. The phone rang again, but he still refused to answer.

Once Schneep was at his house, he opened the door to his garage and parked the car. Once he was sitting comfortably on his couch, he finally answered the phone call. "Hello? Who is this?" Schneep questioned. A bunch of static sounds layered over Chase and Jbm's worried voices played.

"We're in the car now"

"to your house!"

"Hurry!"

"It's an emergency!"

"Not much time"

"Only a few days"

"Marvin's dead!"

Schneep hung up and sat there, staring blankly at his Tv. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind. "Marvin's dead? Since when? Emergency? Where? Why are they driving to my house? What's going on?" "What did they do this time?" "Are they in danger?" "Should I call the police?"

Finally after a long wait Schneep stood up and walked into his bedroom. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a carving knife. In his closet, he pulled out a medicine kit with bandages in it, and then started packing a bag filled with surgical tools. He walked outside to the shed in his back door and carried wooden planks and a tool box into his house. He locked the back door with a padlock.

Inside the tool box were multiple chains and locks, a wrench, a wrist watch, a sledge hammer, a regular hammer, and nails. Picking up the board, Henrick took some measurements and started to nail it over the window. He did this to every window in the house. Once chase and Jbm arrived, he shoved them inside and locked the door.

"What where you doing out there, standing alone together like that? That's how you get killed," Schneep scolded.

"Chase, hand me those canned goods. Jackie, I need you to go into the pantry closet and search for the flashlight. There should be a notebook in there and a flare gun. The flare gun is for emergencies only, do not mess with it. After that, cut the power supply and turn off all the lights. Chase, I need you to start restocking the fridge and the pantry. Jackie, use the notebook to keep track of how much food we have. Everyone stay calm, do not under any circumstances use your cellphone at anytime. He can interfere with the signals and find you easily that way."

Chase and Jbm nodded and got to work right away. "But what about Jack? Is he safe too?" Chase turned to face schneep.

"Forget about him for now. We're going to survive this." Schneep pulled out a beer from the fridge and smashed it onto the floor.

"Hey! I paid good money for that thing!" Chase whined in protest. Schneep sighed heavily and face palmed, shaking his head. "If we're going to prepare for his return, then we're going to have to cover some ground rules."

"Who are you, my parent?" Chase talked back. Jbm continued to scribble into the note pad, humming a peaceful tune. "Chase, you are the most childish and immature person I have ever met in my entire life. You think I could trust you with the simple chore of handling a gun?" Schneep growled.

"Yes." Chase soon regretted what he had said and stood there awkwardly. Schneep left and pulled a white board into the living room. He started writing with a marker.

"Rule number one, never go outside"

"Rule number two, no more Tv"

Jbm walked over to the Tv and started smashing it with schneep's sledgehammer. Schneep nodded a silent thank you and continued his lecture.

"We already know he can travel through television. Same thing with radio signals, he can listen to our conversations. No more internet, he can find our address that way too.

"Rule number three, do not let anyone into our house without my permission. He can disguise himself to look like us."

"Rule number four, he can't find you if you stay quiet. If you make a noise, he'll kill you."

"Rule number five, this is a hard one. No more alcohol. You cannot fight back if you are drunk. Common sense."

Schneep rolled the board to another room. Jbm layed down an air mattress.

Chase fell asleep on the couch. Schneep walked to his coffee maker.

Jack was busy planning for his next Halloween video. He had already emailed some ideas to Robin, and they were talking about where they could film it, which cameras they would use, what clothes he would need to buy, and what time during the day it could be released. He was thinking about doing another ego skit, but was also wondering if he should just buy a pumpkin instead. It was quiet that evening and the sun had already started to go down. Jack walked to his kitchen to get a glass of water and a snack. He sat down at his table eating a brownie. He paused after hearing footsteps somewhere. He shivered, the air was freezing cold. Jack grabbed a kitchen knife and held it close. "Hello? Anyone there?" he whispered. A tall shadow breathed heavily behind him. Jack squeaked as the glitch's arm choked him.

Jameson and Robbie were chilling at their apartment. Since Robbie didn't have a job and couldn't work due to his medical conditions, Jameson took care of him when schneep wasn't there to visit. Jameson worked at a local library for kids, and he didn't make that much money. The Tv was on, and the two of them sat at the couch watching their favorite show. Jameson looked at Robbie. "Hey, you want any popcorn?" he questioned in a friendly manner. Robbie nodded slowly, his faded purple hair brushing past his face. Jameson hopped off the couch and opened the pantry. Robbie waited patiently for his food. Jameson fell over, and his wrists started to burn as fire rose from the stove. He layed motionless on the ground, unconscious. Two strong arms reached for his legs and carefully dragged his body through the open window. Robbie looked up at the ceiling. "Where...Did..You go...Jameson?" he spoke slowly. Robbie felt a warm hand brush past his shoulder. When he looked behind him, no one was there. Robbie looked outside to see a moving figure in front of the house. Robbie's white eyes glowed angrily. "Give...Him...Back..." he muttered while crashing his body through the window. Anti smiled holding Jameson. Red strings pulsed in his hands. He didn't speak, but it seemed he was saying "Come over here an get him."

Robbie leapt high into the air, attempting to pounce on Anti. He became confused when fistfuls of grass and dirt filled his hands. Robbie's eyes stopped glowing. "What?" a blurr dashed by him, and then there was nothing left. Robbie, Anti, and Jameson disappeared.

Jack opened his eyes. Colored spots danced in his vision. He saw Jameson hanging from the wall, with two knives pinning down his arms. Jameson was still breathing, but had 2 syringes poking outside from his neck. Anti was busy sewing, carefully cutting some red thread. Anti's eyes glowed green in the dim light of the unknown location. He turned slowly, and Jack instantly panicked as soon as he saw him. Anti held a spool of thread and a needle. His messy brown hair covered half his face, and blood dripped from his black boots, the silver buckles on them glinting in the moonlight that poured through a tiny window. Robbie stood up, his eyes bleeding. Anti handed Robbie a scarf from the table. Anti pointed at Jack, and Robbie obeyed. Robbie approached Jack, cautiously tying the scarf around his mouth. Jack's entire body started shaking. Anti stomped on Jack's leg, the sound of Jack's bones cracking broke the silence in the air.

"Anything...Else...You...Need?" Robbie's arms went limp at his sides. "W-What did you d-do to him?" Jack stuttered, his whimpers muffled by the cloth. Anti snarled, and dropped down to his knees. He stared at Jack, his eyes stopped the light they emitted in the darkness. Anti shoved his clawed hand over Jack's mouth. "Shhhh..." he hissed, and looked behind himself quickly.

Anti picked up the needle and thread and Robbie looked at the chains holding Jack's arms. Anti then took his time to make careful incisions along Jack's left wrist. Anti sewed the thread into Jack's skin, making even stitches and avoiding his veins. Tears flooded Jack's eyes as he was forced to feel tiny pricks and thread under his skin as warm blood glazed his hand. Anti moved on to the next wrist, repeating the process. When it was over, he smiled and gave Jack a pat on the head. "Good puppet." he whispered hoarsely.

Anti's footsteps echoed across the wooden floor. He brushed his hand along the knife that was in Jameson's arm, and moved his head, admiring his work. Whistling to himself, he used his fingers to follow the blood trail on the wall. He meticulously pulled out the two syringes in Jameson's neck and shook Jay's head gently, making sure he didn't break his neck. "Wake up Jay. I've brought you a friend." Anti laughed. Jay said nothing, his eyes were shut tight. "Oh...That's disappointing...Maybe next time..." Anti returned to his work table and picked up a cloth that was soaked with blood. "No, not this one." he talked to himself quietly. He put the cloth down and picked up a carving knife. "I'm going to give you a nice smile, Jack."

A loud scream belted from the cabin. Birds raced away from the danger.

Schneep was passed out on the floor, while chase and Jbm were drunk and playing uno. They had a secret stash of liquor bottles that went undiscovered by schneep. "Now listen here you little shit, my card, the red card says that I'm going to reverse what you just did, because you decided you were going to fuck up my entire strategy." Chase slurred. Jbm shook his head as his body swayed. "No, it says in the rules you're supposed to draw 20 or admit that you're too stupid to finish this game!" Jbm face planted onto the ground. "Oh god oh fuck I'm bleeding my nose oww"

Schneep jolted awake. "What is going on with you two? Haven't you watched any movies at all? IF YOU DRINK, YOU DIE! Any character who drinks gets killed, and you just ruined everything for yourself. So don't blame me if you two get dragged away or stabbed to death. Schneep yawned and then kicked the bottles away. He grabbed chase's hat and smacked his face with it. "Now stop goofing off, tomorrow is Halloween." he sighed and sat down on the couch, loading a shot gun. "Go clean up Jbm, and chase, go get some water. I'm sending myself to the front lines, I've been training all year for this day."

Schneep's house was very tall and well built. The windows were boarded, the power lines had been cut. The front door was locked multiple times, and the back door had been bolted shut. The car was filled with emergency supplies, a spare tire, and a full tank of gas. All possible weapons were removed from the garage, leaving empty space and lots of room to move. Schneep had drawn a map on the whiteboard and went over the plans for the layout in the house. Chase and Jbm had gathered anything they could use to fight with:Gardening tools,(Chainsaw, weed eater, Lawn clippers, and a rake) Knives, and the items in schneep's tool box(Hammer, sledgehammer, and a wrench) Schneep held his gun close to him and looked at the time on the alarm clock. "You have your pistol ready, chase?" Schneep took a sip of tea. Chase nodded. Jbm held up the rake. "It reminds me of my bow staff at home. I can definitely fight with this." He held it close to himself eagerly.

Schneep walked up to the window. He waved his hand at chase and Jbm.

"You see something?" Chase whispered.

Schneep peered through the hole he had carved into the wood that allowed him to have a tiny view outside of his house.

There stood a man, large and frighteningly tall. His brown hair covered his emerald eyes. A red wound oozed blood against his pale, icy skin. Dressed in black, his silver buckles were the only colors present on his boots.

Gripped tightly in his right hand, he held a large kitchen knife. In his left hand, he held up Jack's body. Schneep frantically glanced back at Chase and Jbm, struggling to breathe. His hands shook rapidly as he began to pick up shards of glass and cut up his own arms. Chase and Jbm said nothing, they were helpless to stop it. They were paralyzed against their will. They had seen Anti too. Before schneep fell onto the floor, he had written only a few words. "The Glitch returns." Schneep lied motionless before being able to move again. He tore off a piece of his shirt and covered up the hole. "New rule...Don't look at him" Schneep picked up his med kit and injected himself with Antibiotics before cleaning his cuts and bandaging himself.

Chase and Jbm hid behind the couch as the back door rattled viciously. A few rustling noises and the crackling noise of a lighter was enough to tell them to run. Too fearful, they did not move. Bright orange flames licked at the door. Footstep sounds moved to a new location. The door burned, the nauseating scent of ash and smoke filled the air. "Why didn't you tell us the door was made of wood?" Chase whispered harshly at schneep. "I didn't think that through!" Schneep shouted a little too loudly. A fist knocked a hole into the door. Everyone in the room held up their weapons. A boot pounded through the bottom of the door and succeeded, wood splinters and shavings littering the ground. Anti gripped both sides of the door before tearing it off completely. Fire bounced onto his clothes, and he calmly ignored it. With a clap of his hands the flames stopped. Without muttering a word, he tossed Jack's body onto the floor. Stitches were sewn into his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a forced smile. His mouth bled, and his jaw was damaged. His eyes were open, and he was still breathing.

With wild eyes Jack reached out to grab Chase's leg, crawling towards him. Chase lifted up Jack and they scurried into another room to hide. Anti did not follow them, it seemed he was not interested in his old prey. Schneep fired his shot gun multiple times at Anti, but Anti just teleported out of the way. The only time a bullet hit Anti was in his arm. Anti pulled the bullet out and dropped it onto the floor. The wound closed up as he regenerated.

Schneep picked up the sledge hammer and swung at Anti's chest. Anti's ribs make a popping noise, but they only mended back together. Anti grabbed schneep's shirt collar and choked him, lifting him high off the ground before slamming him into the floor. "You puppets are no fun to play with anymore." Anti took his time holding up his knife in an over strike motion as schneep scrambled on the floor. Schneep 's hand landed on the handle of a wrench and he tossed it at Anti's head. Anti dodged and he pinned Schneep down with his foot. Anti stabbed schneep in his stomach, blood spewing out of schneep's body. Anti took his foot off and picked up a hammer. He paused, and stared at it lost in his own thoughts.

Chase and Jack were in the garage, attempting to start the car with no luck. Anti had already cut the wires in the car battery. Jack was alive with only mouth injuries and a broken leg. He was missing a few teeth, and the strings sewn into his wrists were not deep into his skin.

Jbm was behind Anti being very still and silent holding up the garden rake. With speedy reflexs he wacked Anti on the head with the metal part. Fresh markings oozed crimson across his face. Anti touched his face and examined the blood on his fingers. He shrugged and stared at Jbm completely expressionless. Jbm took off running outside from the back door that had burned down. Anti picked up a chainsaw and started the mower, following Jbm at a snail's pace. Jbm stopped at the tool shed and desperately fumbled with the locks on the door. Anti was right behind him and turned off the chainsaw. "I don't need the channel in order to be feared. I don't need Jack in order to have control. I don't need the fans in order to have power. I am my own person now." He started the chainsaw again. "Now tell me, Jackie. Haven't you always wondered what your insides looked like?"

Chase hopped out of the car. "Jack? Can you speak?"

Jack nodded. "It...Hurts...Somebody...Please....Help me...The glitch...Anti...Has lost it....We're all going to die now...." He coughed.

Schneep was flat on his back on the sofa. Ropes tied his limbs together in complicated knots. He had multiple knives poked into his back. He wept softly into the night.

Jbm fell to his knees, begging for another option. Anti smiled and held the blade closer to his throat, the engine roaring. "Make a promise, and I won't decapitate you." he compromised.

Jbm nodded. Anti turned off the chainsaw. "Allow me to appear once a year for this little game. I hunt you all down on my favorite holiday. All you have to do is survive. Do you understand?"

Jbm nodded again, his entire body shaking.

Chase hugged Jack. "I'm sorry....I'm so fucking sorry...." Jack's eyes glowed green. "That's okay..." his voice distorted as he stood up and started healing, his body radiating a green color. He hovered above the air, his hair floating in different directions. "You don't have to be." Jack leaned back, his jaw unhinging as a sickening cackle unleashed itself from his body. Red strings shot up from the ground and wrapped around chase, encasing him in thread. Eventually the rest of his body was covered in thread.

"No...I never did." Jbm smirked. "What's so funny? What kind of last words are those? Isn't this the part where I enjoy killing you?" Anti tilted his head, curious why his prey was so talkative.

Jbm pointed at the sky. "It's sunrise. Time for you to hurry back home."

"No! NO! I CAN'T GO BACK!" Anti howled before going into shadow form. Smoke emitted from him as he raced to his cabin, where Robbie and Jameson were .Sunlight only hurt him the day after Halloween night.

Jbm looked in horror at the discovery of schneep. Schneep wailed in agony. Chase carried Jack, who had lost his memories of Anti but his body had fully recovered. "At least we're alive." Chase commented absent mindly.

"We sure are" Jbm gulped.

Jack cautiously pulled out the knives from schneep's back. "Not even that deep...He just wanted to torture him. Let's get him to a hospital. Jack examined Schneep's injuries before cutting the ropes that restrained him.

"Hey um chase....How did you get out of that rope trap anyway?" Jack asked.

"When the sun rose Anti lost his hold." Chase replied. "Who?" Jack looked confused.

"The glitch."

#jse egos #jacksepticeye #jse fandom #jse #marvin the magnificent #Antisepticeye #henrick von schneeplestein #Jackieboyman #Robbie the zombie #Jameson Jackson #Chase brody #Tw blood #tw gore #tw death

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bbk-writes · 5 years ago

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Notes: approx 2k words of an extremely fluffy and over the top story where Magnus tries to find a nickname / appropriate term of endearment for Alec. Magnus never looks through his mail. “It’s all mundane trash,” he says. “Everyone in the building gets it. If someone actually wants to send me something, there are much easier ways of getting it to me than sending it through the American postal system. Even bills get sent directly to my email now!”

This leaves it up to Alec to rifle through the fliers, sales papers, and community notices that get delivered to the apartment over the course of the week.

“Oh, this sounds nice,” says Alec one morning over breakfast. “There’s a harvest festival happening in Westchester in a couple weeks. You interested?”

“When is it?”

“Second weekend in October,” reads Alec off the notice. “Featuring mazes, a farmer’s market, hay rides, and over a hundred local vendors.”

The more details Alec learns about this, the more charmed he is and even before Magnus nods, Alec can tell by the pleased look on his face that Magnus is in. It’s the kind of thing Magnus clearly loves even though he always feels the need to qualify that enjoyment by contrasting it with the other, grander experiences he’s had.

As if on cue, Magnus says, “Sounds like a plan, pumpkin. It’s not quite the Tết Trung Thu, but what is?”

The, “Great, I’ll put that on the calendar,” that’s at the tip of Alec’s tongue is abruptly cut off, replaced instead with a confused, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you just say?”

Magnus looks as though he has no idea what Alec’s talking about. But Magnus is also a master conman, so Alec’s calling bullshit. “I said we should go?”

“Not that,” says Alec. “I meant what’s with the–” Alec makes what he hopes is an explanatory hand gesture, “the pumpkin– thing–”

“Oh!” Magnus brightens. “That’s just something I’m trying out. I quite like it, I think.”

Alec still doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, or why it’s happening, but he knows what his response is. “Magnus, no.”

“But,” says Magnus, looking meaningfully toward Alec’s ass.

“No,” repeats Alec, face getting hot. “Also, inaccurate.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s accurate or not when it comes to your behind, thank you very much.” Then, somewhat slyly, “Though I will leave you to be the judge, jury, and executioner for mine. And while we’re on the topic. Alexander, if you had to describe my assets using a singular, all encapsulating word–”

Joke’s on Magnus if he thinks he’s going to catch Alec off-guard with this request. Alec, who has spent perhaps an inadvisable amount of time thinking about Magnus’ assets during the time they’ve known one another, already knows what his answer is.

“A ten,” he says immediately, and Magnus looks immensely pleased. Alec’s opinion on this matter can’t be a surprise to Magnus though, and when Alec points it out, Magnus doesn’t pretend otherwise.

“Well, no. But it’s always nice to be told something nice, even if it’s for the forty-fifth time.”

The number can’t be that low, but Alec has more pressing matters at hand. “Okay, we’re getting off topic. Don’t try and make this whole… pumpkin… thing… into something.” The words sound familiar to his ears, and Alec remembers why. “Didn’t we already talk about this before?”

Magnus suddenly seems to find his forgotten breakfast very interesting. “I can’t recall.”

“Hmm,” says Alec. “Well, all right. Try and remember this time please. This sort of – nickname – isn’t really for me.”

And immediately, Magnus’ eyes snaps back to Alec and Alec knows he just said something wrong. Magnus doesn’t look like he heard what Alec had been trying to say at all. He doesn’t look resigned or disappointed or playfully grumpy at Alec.

Instead, the sparkle that’s always present in Magnus’ warm gaze is suddenly brighter, more mischievous.

“Oh?” says Magnus, intrigued. “So the problem is that it’s just not the right name for you?”

Alec realizes his mistake.

No amount of Alec insisting that that’s not what he meant will convince Magnus otherwise. “I’m going to find the right one if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You really don’t have to make a promise like that about something like this,” Alec tries to say.

“It’s not a promise, Alexander. It’s a vow.”

Magnus says this as though calling this fool’s quest a vow is supposed to have the whole thing suddenly make sense to Alec. It doesn’t. When Alec, in no uncertain terms, tells him, “Vow or not, there’s no way I’m changing my mind about this,” Magnus had taken it as a personal challenge.

Except not a challenge in the truest definition of the word. Mostly Magnus just starts suggesting things that are so nonsensical or outright terrible that it’s become some kind of game for him, and the way Magnus measures success is by how broadly he manages to make Alec smile.

“A-ha!” says Magnus, when Alec can’t quite hide his reaction to hearing ‘angelcake.’ “That goes on the shortlist, then. We’re making progress, Alexander. You’re partial to names which highlight your temperament and racial makeup.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Alec says loudly, pressing his lips together so they don’t betray him. He focuses on his task at hand, cutting carrots into little cubes to put into the stew they’ll have for dinner. Don’t break, he tells himself. Stay strong.

“Hummingbird,” tries Magnus next, broaching into another category. “No, swan. Tiger. Lioness. Beautiful, ferocious creatures like yourself.”

He looks at Alec in question and Alec just stares back. Those don’t even warrant a verbal response, which Magnus takes with surprising grace.

“What about stallion?” muses Magnus and Alec almost cuts off his whole hand. Magnus immediately takes notice. “Oh? Do you like that? My sexy, warrior stallion–”

“Magnus. No. Absolutely not.”

“Perhaps I’ll save that for the bedroom,” concedes Magnus. “Just between us. Although I’m sure everyone suspects your achievements, best not to give potential suitors any concrete facts.”

Alec should really be putting a stop to this more firmly but he recognizes that he’s the absolute worst at ruining Magnus’ fun, even when it’s at his own expense. At least Magnus very courteously only plays this game when they’re by themselves, which is quite sweet.

And so Alec says, “I’ll tell you right now that nothing based on food or animals is going to be a winner.”

“Oh?” says Magnus. “Are you saying that I should be trying a different tactic?”

“I’m saying that this is a lost cause and you should be very discouraged. Maybe you can slice some of these zucchinis instead of–” Magnus carelessly waves a hand and the zucchinis disappear and re-appear in a bowl, washed and cut into little half-circles. “Oh, is that how we’re doing this now?.”

For a moment, Magnus is silent. He’s looking at Alec thoughtfully, chin resting at the heel of a palm. Alec can almost see the wheels turning in his head. It makes Alec nervous, but also, bizarrely curious. Magnus’ mind is something else, and even in this context Alec finds it incredibly sexy.

And then Magnus says, “Light of my life.”

“No,” says Alec automatically. It’s his instinctive response, but also– “That’s not even a noun. That’s a – that’s a whole phrase.”

“Apple of my eye,” persists Magnus, ignoring Alec’s completely valid points. “Lily of my pond.”

“My God,” says Alec. “No.”

“Beat of my heart, sun of my sky–”

Alec can’t help it – he throws a dishtowel toward Magnus’ general vicinity to stop his menacing. In response, Magnus makes a show of pulling out a little notebook.

“Suuun-of-my-skyyyy,” he recites as he writes the words down. Alec really should be putting a stop to this, but he ends up just shaking his head instead. “That’s another one for the shortlist.”

Magnus takes to this new angle with renewed enthusiasm. Which is saying a lot, since it’s not like any of his enthusiasm had actually diminished at any point since he gave himself the job to find a term of endearment Alec would be comfortable with.

“You should pursue a career in poetry,” says Alec, even as he just refused a series of Magnus’ latest epithets. “Clearly you’ve got a talent.”

“Yes, well – sometimes a man’s heart is just bursting with songs about his love,” says Magnus. “A love so vast that it can’t be kept quiet, a human – or, well, warlock – body too delicate to rein it all in. What am I supposed to do when I have to express such a feeling?”

“Well, when I get that way, I usually just come and kiss you,” answers Alec frankly. “I say, ‘Magnus, I love you.’ Sometimes I try to take your shirt off. Those kinds of things.”

Magnus looks terribly, unexpectedly charmed. “Oh, stop it. You can’t be so sweet when I’m teasing you, Alexander. That takes the fun out of it.”

“Does this mean you’re going to stop with this?”

“Never,” says Magnus solemnly.

It’s an accident when Magnus finally stumbles onto something that works.

“Did you see my grimoire, darling?” Magnus asks, digging through his meticulously organized shelf. “Volume four, covering my discoveries from 1862 to 1907?”

Alec hasn’t, but instead of saying so he goes, “...That works.”

“Hmm?”

“You know.” Alec’s face is very hot. He needs to power through this conversation. “That. Your self-appointed mission to call me something that isn’t my actual name. That one. That one is okay.”

Magnus slowly spins around to face him. He looks a combination of confused and disgruntled, and Alec can see him rewinding the last few seconds in his mind.

Alec can also see the exact moment everything slots neatly into place.

“Oh,” says Magnus. His whole expression brightens and he sounds absolutely delighted. He seems to have forgotten about his missing grimoire as he starts toward Alec. “Oh, I’m a fool. How could I have not considered the fact that Alexander Gideon Lightwood is traditional man in all the right ways? Darling. Darling Alexander. Is that right?”

“Well.” Alec’s not going to say that that’s right, but it’s definitely... it’s nice to hear Magnus say that in reference to Alec. Always has been. Alec should’ve taken some initiative, done some self-reflection, and suggested it himself. “It’s nice. Normal. Nothing crazy.”

Magnus nods along to all that. “Yes, you’re right, it’s perfect.”

“Great,” says Alec, releasing a deep, relieved breath. “Now that we’re done with that–”

“And what about… beloved?” Magnus tries it out. The look on his face as he gazes at Alec is far too gentle for what is essentially a joke gone too far.

The way Alec reacts to it is even worse. Suddenly flustered, Alec has to clear his throat before he can say, “Good. That’s also… that’s fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” says Magnus, taking Alec’s face in between his hands and pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Sweetheart,” murmurs Magnus, thumb stroking along Alec’s flushed cheeks. Even though he states it, there’s still a question in his voice.

Heart hammering in his chest, Alec nods. It feels like giving too much away, but – but it’s Magnus. What’s there left inside of Alec that he hasn’t already given to him?

“Sweetheart,” repeats Magnus, and kisses Alec again. “Dearest. Darling.”

“All – all good contenders there.”

This is. This is definitely a thing. Alec closes his eyes, blood rushing in his ears.

He definitely has a thing for this.

And then Magnus says, “Alexander,” and the way he does – well. He’s clearly not just trying to get Alec’s attention.

The four syllables are said with the same trace of suggestion as all the others before it. If Alec had known this was in the running–

“I didn’t know this was an option.”

“No? It’s always been my favourite one.”

That spark of mischief is back in Magnus’ gaze, and Alec is ready to have this be the happy ending of this roundabout journey.

“Well, then,” he says. “Looks like you have your winner.”

#short-fic #shadowhunters #endearment

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halfgclden · 4 years ago

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Cards for Sorrow... | Abel&Gabriele

Date: October 30th, 2020

Summary: A page delivers a message. A plan is made.

It took a lot of Abel's strength to not immediately tell Gabriele everything that had happened that night when they saw him, but they restrained themself, if only for Rory's sake. However, once them and their cousin parted ways for the evening, Abel was back at the tarot reading tent, and, once through the queue, they sat in front of Gab and placed their hands face down on the table. "I have a problem, and I think you might be helpful in solving it. At least interested in it."

The night was nearing the end and Gabriele was starting to feel the strain of continually reading cards for the citizens of New Athens. Still, he smiled when Abel sat before him, not noticing the strain on their face. He shuffled his deck as they spoke. "Awesome. I can't promise tarot will give you answers to your problem, but we can definitely uncover some signs and guidance. Want to tell me more about it?"

Abel shook their head. "No, not tarot. Ag, I should've explained that better." They moved past lamenting the fact that they had not been clear in their first statement in order to be clear in the next one. "It's a ghost problem." They watched as Gabriele shuffled the cards. "Have you ever dealt with a possession?"

His hand slipped mid shuffle and one card fell face-up to the table— the Page of Pentacles. Gabriele frowned at the card, then at Abel, blinking for a few moments. A slight chill travelled through his body. "No, I haven't," he said. "But I believe I'm meant to be helping you with whatever is going on. Can you tell me more?"

Abel looked from the card on the table to Gabriele’s face, and their lips twitched upward involuntarily, reminded of Jacob. “Ah,” they sighed when he admitted that he had no experience, but had to admit that their spirits were slightly lifted (no pun intended) to know that someone would be helping them. “It’s Major. Being possessed. By... There’s one main ghost, but I believe there’s more, stuffed in there, and loud, and violent.”

Another chill moved down his spine and a small weight settled in his stomach; Gabriele's frown deepened as Abel explained. "Major," he mumbled, then he pressed a hand to his chin as his worry grew. "Do you know when this happened?" he asked. "Is he still in there? I only spoke to him once and I felt something strange, but he told me it was because he had a near death experience." Had he really missed something this drastic?

Abel shook their head again. "Nee. I had a dream about it, I believe, a few weeks ago, but I didn't know what it meant until I saw him." They frowned deeply under their mask. "I believe he's still in there. I silenced the ghosts, and he still spoke, and he seemed dazed. The ghost is not that good of an actor. He regained control after a few moments, then ran off again." Abel cleared their throat. "This was after the near death experience."

The more he learned, the more sure Gabriele was that this was exactly what he'd been looking for all this time. "Okay," he said quietly. He was partially relieved that he hadn't overlooked a possession, but it was still disturbing to know there was one at all. "I had a vision, too, about two months ago. I'm sure this is related." He glanced around the room, then picked up the card, folding it back into his deck. "Do you know who the ghost is?"

Abel nodded now, not taking their eyes off of Gab. "I doubt two visions about the same event are not connected." They ran their tongue over their teeth and sighed. "I think that it's the one that died on the quest in February. Lucien?"

Gabriele made a disconcerted noise. "I see..." He closed his eyes, rubbed his brow. "It was a violent death, yes? Sometimes ghosts have a hard time moving on when they are suddenly killed. But I'm surprised I didn't see anything between then and when... this happened." He shuddered, disturbed anew at the idea.

Abel nodded once more. “Violent, jarring, and now he’s been brought back.” They curled their hand into a fist on the table. “Ya, well... I don’t know. If it was his body, I could turn a blind eye, but now I have to get him out of there.” They sighed and leaned back in their chair. “Every time I’ve encountered him, I’ve been missing my spear, or else I would have reaped him on the spot.”

Gabriele nodded in agreement, up until Abel mentioned their spear. His face grew a little guarded and he leaned forward. “Are you sure that won’t also hurt Major?” he asked. He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought about it. “I’d like to help you, but I want to... try to make sure the host has minimal damage done to him.”

Abel set their jaw, pushing their headband up so that they could look at Gabriele with both eyes. "I'm not sure," they admitted, "but Major is in a worse pain right now. I don't know how... lucid he is, but having someone else in charge of you while you watch? A fate worse than death."

"Porca troia..." Gabriele mumbled as a wave of nausea rolled over him. "I hope for his sake that he's not lucid at all. I can't imagine what it must be— Well, I think I can, but whatever I'm picturing must be tamer than reality." He frowned again, fighting the urge to do a reading for himself for where he should even begin. "He doesn't deserve to spend the final weeks of his life like this. Let's try to make sure he comes out of this still living. Do you know where he's gone off to?"

Abel let Gabriele roll the thought over in his mind and shook their head. "No, but I know who brought him back from the dead. Do you know Jordan? He's a child of Hecate, and I saw him in my dream." They sighed. "He's a brother of my friend. Known to be reclusive, but not this demented."

Gabriele pressed his fingers to his temple and rubbed small circles there. "In my vision, I saw... A bird, coming back to life. Maybe he's done this before on a small scale." He was quiet again for a few moments. "I have heard of Jordan, but I don't believe we've spoken. I can't understand why he'd do this, unless he knew Lucien."

Abel set their jaw once more, a wave of anger at their inability to do anything thus far shooting through them. "Because he could? Do people not just test out their power to see if they can do things? Have you seen Jurassic Park?"

Despite the seriousness of this conversation, Gabriele smiled just a little. "I have not," he said, shaking his head. "You could be right. But I suppose I like to believe people are slightly more... forgivable? Regardless, we should try to figure out what spell he did."

Abel dragged their fingertips along the table, wishing there was some splinter to pick at. "I do not wish to give people the benefit of the doubt when they do horrific things. Can't stand the heat, don't attempt necromancy." They frowned again. "How will we figure that out? I can ask him."

Gabriele nodded in understanding, not wishing to argue the philosophy of this when there were more pressing issues. “Only if you believe that he will speak on it willingly.” He snapped his fingers. “I was hoping to talk to the children of Hecate for some personal research, maybe I can discover something that way.”

Abel shrugged one shoulder. "If I ask him directly and present him with the facts, I can gauge by his reaction what the best course of action would be. Maybe you can figure out the spell, and then I can speak with my father to decide what the necessary punishment is."

Gabriele didn't comment on the subject of punishment— he would happily let that be Abel's domain unless his goddess asked him to do otherwise. Letting the comment glide past him, he instead focused in on how he could get into the Hecate cabin. "I believe I've seen Jordan at the library, so I can approach him there."

Abel picked uselessly at the table again and nodded. "Sure. Let me know what information you glean from him, and I'll follow up, I suppose."

"Can I have your phone number?" he asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He had to admit, he thought they'd be exchanging information under different circumstances, but he could accept this.

Abel reached out as though to take Gab's phone, but didn't want a mishap with technology to turn this conversation (even more) sour. They recited it to him instead, then drummed their fingers on the table. "If I don't answer right away, don't be afraid to send a smoke signal or whisper my name into a hollowed out tree."

Gabriele, once again, was amused despite the seriousness of the situation. He also wasn’t sure if Abel meant it (their abilities were strange so Gabriele was willing to accept anything) or if it was a joke. This just made it funnier. “Noted,” he said with a small hum as he saved Abel as a contact. “If you need to reach me, I’m almost always on Instagram. No magical forms of contact for me, unfortunately.”

"Just the magic of technology," Abel sighed and pushed their chair back so that they could stand. "Your cards are lovely, by the way," they said once they'd made sure that they had everything. "I meant to say that earlier, but the other subject seemed a bit more pressing.”

“Oh,” Gabriele looked down at his deck and smiled. “Grazie. Yes, this was definitely more pressing. I will reach out to you very soon as soon as I learn more. And... I appreciate you coming to me. I think we can both help each other a great deal to save our friend.”

Abel felt that it would be in poor taste to point out that they weren't really friends with Major and were just doing this because it felt like the right thing to do, so they nodded. "I appreciate the help. You were the first person I thought of." Knowing that there were undoubtedly more people lined up for a reading from Gab, they took a step back into the shadows, held up a hand, and disappeared.

#c: abel #c: abelgabriele #cards for sorrow

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in-tua-deep · 5 years ago

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OKAY remember that snippet that got too long and i asked about how I should post it?? Well here it is -

and a copy under the readmore for tumblr people

When Five Hargreeves is four-years-old, he discovers his power.

He also discovers a whole lot more than that.

They’re all figuring out their powers, and as a consequence they all move out of the nursery into their own rooms after a somewhat unfortunate incident regarding the discovery of Six’s powers. Regardless, Five isn’t very fond of the new arrangement because he’s lonely.

He can’t sleep without the sounds of his siblings around him. One’s sleepy whuffling and Four’s random exclamations, Six shuffling around and Two kicking his blankets off in the night. It’s too quiet.

That is, of course, when the man falls into his room.

He arrives in a flash of blue. The same blue that Five himself recognizes like an old friend, because it’s the one he embraces and falls into because it feels so incredibly right, the one he pulls to him to jump. At the abrupt arrival, Five had scuttled backwards and curled into an alarmed ball, like a hedgehog.

He scrubs at the tears that definitely weren’t falling as the man on his carpet groans.

“Who - who’re you?” Five asks, definitely not scared, because he’s not. He’s not a baby. The man just groans in response. And now that Five is looking, he’s not like. Old old. He’s not Dad old. He’s not a grown-up, but he is a big kid.

He’s not quite as scary now that he’s not so old, so Five gingerly scooches to the edge of the bed to lower himself down to the floor. He pads across the cold bedroom floor and kneels down, hesitating before patting the boy on the cheek.

“You gotta wakey.” Five whispers, “Dad’ll be really really mad.”

The boy rouses at least, eyes snapping open and pushing himself up to his elbows with a loud groan. Five shushes him, because it’ll be real bad if his Dad comes in and finds the guy.

“What the fuck.” The boy wheezes, and Five tilts his head at the unfamiliar word.

They stare at each other for a solid minute. Five gets impatient enough that he reaches up and rests his hand against the boy’s cheek again, like he patted him into wakefulness the first time. The boy leans back, as if startled.

“What’s your name?” Five asks the boy. He feels like he should probably ask some other questions, like what this guy is doing in his room, and how he has the same powers as Five, but he feels like he already knows. Or at least, the answer he’ll get now is a confirmation of a suspicion.

“How old are you?” The boy asks him, instead.

“Four.” Five holds up four whole fingers proudly. Next year he’ll get to hold up five fingers, the most superior of all the numbers.

“Fuck.” The boy says the word again, bringing up his hands to his face and wheezing into them.

“Are you me?” Five asks bluntly, since he’s pretty sure he figured it out. The blue light was his blue light after all, familiar as the back of his own hand.

The boy sighs again. He sighs an awful lot. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He mutters, which makes Five frown in confusion. He’s a very confusing version of himself, this boy.

“You’re weird.” Five informs his older self very seriously.

“Well I am you.” The boy says reflectively, and Five almost feels like he should be offended but he’s too busy being curious.

Five frowns as he chases a tendril of thought to a logical conclusion, “If you’re me,” He starts slowly, sounding out each words, “If you’re me and you’re old, then you’re from… the future? So that means… I can jump time?”

“No.” The boy cuts him off, frighteningly pale all of a sudden. His eyes are wild in a way that makes Five flinch backwards, putting just a little bit of distance between him and, well, himself. Five can’t help but look doubtful, because really it’s the only obvious answer.

The boy at least looks somewhat apologetic for his sharpness, though he doesn’t say anything about it. Five knows that the nannies would insist on someone saying “I’m sorry” so that they make up, but Five can think of half a dozen things his dad has done that the nannies would say would merit an apology and he never does it.

“Hey,” The boy says, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. He looks older all of a sudden, and Five almost reconsiders his judgement of the boy’s age. “Hey, do you want to hear a story?”

And of course, those are the magic words. Five loves stories and has been known to constantly badger the nannies for one. Eyes bright, Five nods hard enough that he almost loses his balance before running over to the bookcase full of children’s books with big fonts.

He’s supposed to be learning how to read for himself, so he can tell himself stories, but that’s never seemed half as much fun.

“No, no.” The boy shakes his head, making Five look back. “Not one of those, I have a story for you, but it isn’t in a book.”

The boy hauls himself up, crouching low to the ground with his arm curling around his stomach. He huffs and puffs like the wolf in one of Five’s storybooks as he staggers over to the bed to sit down. It’s a little bit like when Four doesn’t want to do something and makes a big production out of everything, except much quieter.

Five shrugs and pads over, but when he crosses the patch of floor where his older self had appears he automatically jumps back a few feet in a flash of blue light, eyes wide. But jumping doesn’t change what startled him - his feet are wet.

Cautiously, he tiptoes forward and crouches down. There’s black shiny stuff on the floor, puddled and smeared with a sharp metallic smell, like rust in the rain. He recognizes it in a way no young child should. He pops up and fixes an accusing eye on the older boy. “You’re hurt!”

“I am, yes.” The boy admits easily, waving one careless hand. The other hand stays firmly tucked against his side. “Should’ve warned you, my bad.”

“I can go get a nanny!” Five says urgently, already walking to the door, “I’m sure they’ll know - ”

“No!” The boy once again cuts him off sharply and just a little bit too loudly. They both freeze in place, waiting to see if they’ll get caught, but nothing stirs in the house that they can hear. The boy sighs, again. “Don’t worry about me, it’s fine. Just come here - like I said, I have a story to tell you. It’s very important.”

Five is somewhat doubtful that a story is more important than getting fixed up and getting magic kisses, but he figures his older self probably knows more about that kind of stuff anyway. So against his better judgement, Five trots on over and allows the boy to help him scramble up onto the bed until he’s tucked against the older boy’s side.

“You have to stay awake for this.” The boy whispers, jiggling Five’s arm when he doesn’t respond fast enough. “It’s important.”

“Dad says that stories aren’t important.” Five whispers back.

“Dad’s wrong.” The boy says firmly, ignoring Five’s little gasp. “This story is the most important story you’re ever going to hear, okay? This story is going to save the world. And it starts on October 1st, 1989. On that day, forty-three children were born, which would have been unremarkable except for the fact that none of the mother’s were pregnant when the day began…”

Five listens, and any time he starts to drop off the boy shakes him awake again and makes sure he’s paying attention before continuing. He listens, even as the boy has to pause more and more often, as he starts wheezing in between sentences.

But the boy is patient, more patient than Five thought he would be.

“I like the names they got.” Five whispers, patting the boy’s cold hand a few times to get his attention. Luther, Allison, Diego, Klaus, Ben, Vanya. “Do we get a name?”

“My name is Five.” The boy tells him softly, as if imparting a secret. He smiles, and Five pretends he doesn’t see the blood on the boy’s teeth. “But you don’t have to be, maybe this time around you’ll pick something out. I don’t know. Isn’t the future a wonderful thing?”

Five rather thinks the future is a scary thing, considering the story he’s just been told. But rather than think about that, Five has another question. “How come you forgot about Seven’s powers?”

The boy falls silent. Five thinks it’s a fair enough question. Seven blew him into a wall yesterday because someone’s car alarm went off outside, he still has the bruise. He doesn’t think he’d forget about that just because she went away for a week or something.

“Go get me one of your books,” The boy says, putting a clammy hand on Five’s shoulder and giving him a little push, “And the blue crayon.”

If nothing convinced Five that they were the same before, it was that. Sheepishly, Five hopped down and went to retrieve the requested items. This time, he made sure to avoid the blood still pooled on his floor.

“Grab me your favorite, the one you read every night. But not the one that the nannies read.” The boy asks, and Five obeys.

He scuttles back and hands the book and crayon over, hoisting himself back onto the bed so he can watch. He almost protests when the boy flips it open and starts writing on the pages, but holds his tongue.

As if sensing this, the boy looks up. His eyes are soft and just a little bit glazed. “You were right,” The boy tells him, which makes Five preen just a little bit, “You - I should have remembered Vanya’s powers. It seems dumb that we just forgot, which means something made us forget. I’m just - I’m leaving you a reminder.”

The scribbling continues for a good while, and Five almost protests at how much his blue crayon is being worn down by all this but holds his tongue. Five is slightly more concerned by the fact that the boy’s hands are trembling and that he’s breathing really loudly. But eventually he comes to a stop, closing the book gently - like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The boy hands it to Five with a nod, “Go put that away, okay? Dad - Dad’d never think to look in a kid’s book. But, but you have to remember. Keep it secret, don’t let anyone see it, okay? It’s only for you.”

“What about Four and Six?” Five asks, aghast. They’re his bracket siblings, the ones on either side of his own number. They share everything. But even as he asks, he’s scooting off the bed to return the book (and the crayon) to their rightful places in the room.

The boy’s lips quirk up into something almost like a smile, or Five thinks it might have become one if the boy didn’t also look so terribly sad. “You can’t tell anyone about any of this. You can’t tell them you met me, you can’t tell anyone I even existed, okay?”

“Why not?” Five demands to know.

“You’ll get in trouble.” The boy whispers, looking terribly serious. “More trouble that you’ve ever been in before. Worse than when you drew on the wall. You can’t tell anyone, you understand?”

Five doesn’t understand at all. But the boy looks very serious.

“Promise me.” The boy says fiercely, “You promise me you won’t tell anyone about tonight.”

Five considers this for a moment before tentatively sticking out a pinky. That’s how people make promises in his books at least, though Five has never made a big enough promise to necessitate it. This feels like an appropriate time though, and it makes the boy smile just a little more than before which is another win.

A finger much bigger than his own wraps around his and squeezes on just that side of too tight before being released. They nod at one another in confirmation of a deal made.

“Alright,” The boy wheezes, sitting up a little straighter and looking a little more pale as he does so. “Now here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to go to one of the others’ rooms to sleep, okay? And in the morning, tell - tell Dad you were scared and left early. You didn’t see or hear anything strange last night. You weren’t in your room. You didn’t meet me, you didn’t hear a story, and you definitely don’t say anything about the book, okay?”

“But I’ll get in trouble.” Five protests, because Dad told them that sleeping together was for babies and that they weren’t supposed to do it anymore. Admittedly he also doesn’t want his siblings to call him a baby, either. But he gets a harsh look for his concerns.

“If Dad finds out we met, you’ll be in even more trouble.” The boy bares his teeth, and maybe Five should find it scary but he just feels a little bit sad.

He can’t help but ask - “What about you? Will you get in trouble?”

The boy wheezes out a quiet laugh, “No. I’ll just - disappear. I won’t get in trouble with Dad, I promise. But you probably won’t even see me again, okay?” The boy shakes his head at Five’s frown, “I’m not supposed to be here, anyway. It’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Off you go now, go to Be - go to Six’s room. He’s probably the one most likely to back you up without asking too many questions.”

Before he can go, FIve scrambles back up on the bed. The boy’s reaction is too delayed to stop him, and Five manages to clap both his hands against each of the boy’s cheeks to pull his head around to look him in the eye. “Don’t worry.” Five parrots, and then gives the boy a cheeky grin, “I’m gonna make things better, ‘kay? No ‘pocalypse.” And then, before he can think better of it, he leans forward and presses a kiss right between the boy’s eyebrows, the way the nannies do when one of them are terribly upset and beside themselves.

The boy brings up a trembling hand to pat at Five’s head, lopsided grin small but sincere. “I know. I believe in you, kid.”

And it’s on that note that Five creeps down off the bed and tiptoes out of the room, only pausing once to wave to the boy for the last time. He sneaks down the hallways, into Six’s room, and slides into a bed. Admittedly, it is very late and his eyes are heavy with sleep so it takes no time at all for Five to just… slip away.

He’s abruptly woken in the morning by being yanked out of bed. The grip on his arm is bruising and he cries out, tears springing up in his eyes. Distantly, he can hear Six starting to cry as well as he’s hauled to his feet and shaken a few times.

His father’s face looms before him, and Five tries to yank his arm away even knowing how futile it is.

“What are you doing in here, Number Five?” His father demands, and suddenly the last night comes rushing back to him in vivid technicolor. Suddenly the tears in his eyes aren’t due to the rough treatment.

But he remembers what the boy had said, about getting in trouble for sneaking out of his room versus the amount of trouble he’d get in if it was discovered he’d spoken to his future self. Admittedly, the boy had had some very colorful opinions about their father that he’d made clear during the story.

Five remembers the promise he made, and looks up at his dad as his tears overflow and drip down his cheeks. “It was - it was too quiet!” He sobs, and the fact that it was also the truth certainly helps. “I just - I’m sorry! I’ll sleep in my room from now on, I promise!”

His father pauses, face smoothing out just a little. His grip on Five’s arm hurts a little less.

(There will still be bruises though, stark against pale skin that he’ll examine later that night before pulling his pajama sleeve down before pretending it doesn’t bother him.)

“You were out of your room all night?” His father asks, voice even and calculating. Five knows what he’s really asking, he’s asking if Five was in the room when the boy appeared. If Five saw the boy.

And for the first time, Five looks his father in the eye and he lies. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles, and maybe a four-year-old shouldn’t be thinking quite so calculatingly, but Five could never be accused of being normal. “I just - It was so quiet an’ I couldn’t sleep an’ I’m sorry!”

“You didn’t wake up in the night?” His father continues to press, but he doesn’t look suspicious. In fact, he looks just a tiny bit relieved - though it’s difficult to tell behind the monocle and mustache. “Didn’t hear anything strange or see anything odd?”

“Uh uh!” Five denies, shaking his head with wide eyes, “Six was ‘sleep when I got in an’ he didn’t have an accident, promise!”

Six makes a protesting noise behind him, but considering that an unfortunate tentacle incident is part of the reason why they got split up into separate rooms in the first place. Five figures that if he really has no clue what had gone down last night, that’s what he’d assume his dad is asking about.

“This incident won’t be repeated.” Reginald demands imperiously before turning on his heel and walking out the door with nothing more that an irritated, “Report for breakfast immediately!”

That had both Five and Six scrambling to brush off their pajamas and out the door to head downstairs. Five was almost thankful - there wasn’t enough time for Six to interrogate him about anything or ask why he’d been a big baby by sneaking in to sleep or anything.

The day is almost distressingly normal, except for the fact that the Nannies bring down their clothes instead of having them all get dressed in their rooms today. All of them know better than to question Dad’s orders, but all but Five share puzzled looks between themselves regardless.

As soon as they find themselves released for the day, Five trots up the stairs and tries not to look too eager to return to his room. Thankfully, it’s not abnormal for Five to spend his free time absorbed in his books and begging the nannies to read to him, or else sounding out the words on his own.

He enters his room and the first thing he notices is that it’s spotless. The bed is made, the floor is clean, and there is a distinct lack of anyone else. It’s like last night was erased, like it never even happened.

Five could almost convince himself that it had been a weird dream, except for the fact that when he looks down there’s a tiny brown drop near his pant cuffs that he’s almost positive is dried blood. Though thankfully, Reginald had missed it. And when he crouched down where he knew the boy had appeared, he could smell chemicals.

He walks over to the bookcase with careful steps, pulling down a familiar book and flipping open the pages to gaze at the blue crayon words. He doesn’t understand a lot of them, and some were really long, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of book he could take to someone and ask about, either.

Five sits cross-legged on his floor, and decides to try anyway.

(Later that week, he watches his father install cameras all around the mansion, including in each child’s bedroom. Five’s is the first to have the camera installed, and he wonders.

A year later, he frowns down at blue crayon writing and traces his fingers over the fact that apparently his ordinary sister has powers. He is sure he would remember something like that, sure he would remember Vanya being as powerful as the words said. Surely Reginald would use Vanya if she was as powerful as this implied? His father was so scornful of them wasting their talents, after all. He traces his fingers over hurried letter and he doubts.

He watches Vanya take her pills, and he wonders. And maybe that attention makes him Vanya’s closest confidant, makes him pay her more attention than he would have otherwise. Makes him insist on her inclusion instead of just shrugging apologetically and leaving her behind.

He reads his book, with its hastily scribbled notes, and defends it valiantly even when Luther teases him about still having a baby book. After that, he carefully transcribes what is written in childish handwriting, including also every scrap of information he could remember from the boy’s story that night.

He jumps into Klaus’s room after training nights and presses his hand into his brother’s, rubbing gently to bring warmth back to cold fingers. He escalates into jumping into the mausoleum when he thinks he could get away with it, armed with a flashlight and playing cards and a determination to not let Klaus drown.

He sits at a table at thirteen-years-old, suddenly furious. He clenches his fists in his pants and tells himself to breathe through his fury.

He doesn’t expect, the next day, when the woman in blond with the bloody red smile shows up. He knows her, in the same way children know a comic book villain. He knows before she even opens her mouth who she is - the Handler. She asks him, all saccharine sweetness, if he’s a good little boy who obeys his father.

He knows what she’s doing, he knows she’s trying to goad him into disobeying his father. Probably so that he’ll try to time travel. He’s off schedule, after all.

He wonders if the changes he’s made will be enough. He wonders if maybe the Handler will leave his family alone if he doesn’t conform to her expectations. He wonders if he can afford to take that chance.

That night, he pulls out a new notebook and writes a new story. He writes about a child who, one night, has a boy fall into the middle of his room and tell him a story. He writes about mopped up blood and a disappeared body. He writes about the child’s sister, who has powers and doesn’t know it. He writes about a woman with red lipstick who won’t rest until she gets what she wants, won’t stop until the world has ended, and how she has her sights fixed on him. He writes about how scared he is, but that he’ll see his family again in seventeen years if all goes well.

He slips his notebook under Vanya’s pillow with a big don’t read until Reginald Hargreeves is dead on the cover. He trusts his sister, that she won’t look.

He writes another note to Ben, a piece of paper that only says the year that Ben is supposed to die. He begs his brother to live until he returns, begs his brother to just run away if nothing else can be done, and to look after Klaus in the meantime.

And then, and only then, does Five walk outside. The night air is cold - it’s November, after all. He stares at his reflection in a shop window, and sees the same face that showed up in his room all those years ago. That face had looked more pale, more tired, but Five figures he has time to get there.

He clenches his fists, and let’s blue wash over him and Five -

falls.)

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua fics #my writing #five hargreeves #number five #some time travel shenanigans #one more time with feeling #literally just an au with an alternate five who was advised by a dying version of canon!five #child abuse #reginald hargreeves a+ parenting

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coldflasher · 6 years ago

Text

STICKS AND STONES

(John Constantine/Gary Green)

"You're a bloody genius, Barry!" John says. Gary blinks, and just a little of the enthusiasm fades from his expression. "Gary," he says. "Right," says John, clapping him genially on the back. "Whatever."

He knows what Gary's name is. He just doesn't like the way it tastes on his tongue. This isn't the first time a man named Gary has looked at John with such trusting devotion, but he'll be damned if he lets this one turn out the same way.

Read on AO3 here.

(based on Legends 1x15 and Constantine 1x04 - spoilers for both. angst with a happy ending.)

It starts with a rooster.

On a point of accuracy, it probably started with him shagging Sara Lance’s brains out in a psychiatric hospital in the 1970s - but it makes for a far better story to say that the whole thing began with a Time Agent grabbing his cock.

~*~

He thought he’d seen the last of Sara; loved her and left her, no strings attached. Just the way he likes it.

He should’ve known better. Now she’s gone and got herself possessed by a totem-wielding death demon, and two of her mates have turned on his doorstep, begging him to sort it all out.

They’re not part of the Legends, these two. Time Agents, they call themselves, which sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘cops’. John never was too fond of those. One of them is a woman; blonde. Up her own arse. She doesn’t like him much and isn’t making much of an effort to hide it; probably because he shagged Sara first. He’d happily reassure her that it was a one-time offence, if he didn’t think she’d break his jaw before he even got the words out.

The other, though, is a geeky lad. Huge glasses, over enthusiastic. Fairly pretty, actually. Not John’s usual type, but that isn’t a bad thing.

Not that he’s looking, obviously. He’s busy sketching out a symbol on the grounce. He doesn’t hold out much hope of getting Sara back, but the least he can do is try to communicate with her. And when it all goes south, maybe the geeky lad will need a little bit of comforting. It’s not that he doesn’t feel bad about Captain Lance, but when opportunity comes knocking, he’s not about to say no… especially not when said opportunity has such a fantastic arse.

Eyes on the sigil, Constantine.

Geeky hovers over him, peering interestedly at the sigil. “You know, I’m actually a level nine warlock myself,” he says.

Blondie sneers. “Dungeons and Dragons doesn’t count.”

Geeky looks crestfallen, drooping like a flower in need of water. John gets to his feet and dusts chalk off his trousers. “Not to worry, love, I’m sure you’re powerful enough in your own right. ...What did you say your name was again?”

He brightens. “I’m Gary! Gary Green.”

John stills. He can feel the memories shifting around inside his head. His own personal demons… except there’s no way of exorcising those bastards. No way to forget the feel of a crushing grip on his, sweaty fingers squeezing his hand until it bruises. The sound of a man’s dying screams as he thrashes against his constraints, sweat sheeting down his scarred face... and John sitting beside him in silence, eyes fixed on the man’s tortured face, both of them waiting for him to die.

“Right,” he says quietly. “‘Course you are.”

“And this is Ava,” says Gary, not noticing anything amiss.

Unfortunately, Miss Ava is more perceptive. “You okay there, Constantine?” she says. “You look a little distracted.”

“I’m grand,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face. He claps his hands together and sits down in the centre of his sigil, next to a large candle. “Now. Who’s ready to see some magic?”

Gary, bless him, actually claps.

~*~

He thought he was supposed to be helping Sara and the Legends, not giving out relationship advice - and god knows John Constantine should not be giving anybody advice on a relationship, unless he’s telling them how to end it. But somehow, he’s ended up holding a dismembered foot and listening to Ava bemoan the sorry state of her love life.

Today is not exactly panning out the way he thought it would.

“She wouldn’t have called you her girlfriend unless she liked you, Pet,” he says. “If she’s made a claim to you, that suggests she thinks you’re worth holding onto.” He thumps the foot down on the table, eyeing the toes. “Last thing she said to me was ‘thanks for the shag.’”

“Ugh,” says Ava.

“Crude, but well-intended,” says Gary. “Manners cost nothing.”

“I will pay you to never mention you, Sara and sex again in the same sentence,” Ava tells John.

“Give us a hundred dollars and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Done,” she says, leaning back in her seat. “But first we have to find the Legends.”

“And how do we do that, then?”

“You’re the wizard,” she says. “You tell me.”

“I’m a warlock,” says John, banging the foot down on the table, “not a wizard. And I’m certainly not a bloody sat-nav. Funnily enough I don’t have a spell for locating a missing time-ship that’s floating mindlessly through the vast emptiness of the space-time continuum; that one’s never really come up. Though I do have one that’s very good for finding missing TV remotes.”

“This is a waste of time,” says Ava, glaring at the foot.

“This really reminds me of my D&D group,” Gary says thoughtfully.

“Point proven.”

“What exactly is this D&D malarkey?” asks John.

“Don’t get him started.”

“Well,” says Gary.

Ava grabs the foot and points it aggressively at him. “Keep it relevant,” she warns, “or else you don’t even wanna know where I’m going to stick this.”

“Kinky,” says John. “I know our Sara’s a bit of a wild gal, but I’d suggest you consider saving something like that at least for the second date.”

Ava glowers.

“This whole situation reminds me of a campaign my group ran last year,” Gary says, and he launches into a complicated tale of wizardry and woe.

John can’t completely follow the story, but the gist of it is that Gary is comparing every member of the Legends to the characters from this fantasy game he’s been playing. It’s all ‘Zanatar the Unburnt’ this, and ‘Swords of Sorrow’ that; riveting stuff, he’s sure, if only he could bloody well understand it.

He’s really beginning to doubt the relevance of the story by the time Gary gets to the part about the gnome, but once he reaches the part where everybody dies a terrible death at the hands of an undefeatable evil, he’s starting to see how the shoe fits.

Ava seems to disagree. “God damnit, Gary!”

“No, no, wait, I’m not done!” protests Gary. “Okay, so on this occasion things didn’t exactly turn out in our favour, but before we all went to our grisly doom, we did manage to track the mystical object that Zanatar was wielding.”

“The Sword of Bloody Sorrow!” John says triumphantly, and he grabs Gary's face and kisses him. Gary tastes clean, not like John with his cigarette and whisky rumble. When they part, John expects Gary to be confused, or at the very least a little embarrassed, but he looks delighted. He's looking at John the way so many others have looked at him; with shining eyes, all excited adoration and admiration.

So John, being John, has to go and ruin it. "You're a bloody genius, Barry!" he says.

Gary blinks, and just a little of the enthusiasm fades from his expression. "Gary," he says. "Right," says John, clapping him genially on the back. "Whatever."

Making a beeline for the table, he starts rooting through his phials, gathering ingredients. Gary hovers at his shoulder, beaming. Ava still looks confused.

“What exactly are we doing here?”

“We,” says John, “are not going to track the spaceship. We’re going to track the death totem.”

“But that’s genius!” says Ava.

“And it’s all down to our Barry,” says John.

He’s being an arse, and he knows it. But that is sort of the point. There is only one way to keep a good lad like Gary Green out of harm’s way, and that’s making sure that once this mess is over, the two of them lay eyes on each other again.

~*~

"So I was thinking," Gary says, as they walk through the winding corridors of the Waverider.

They’ve saved the day again. Sara’s back to her lovely self, not a pair of black eyes or contaminated veins in sight – and it’s all down to a combination of Gary’s geekiness and John’s magic. They make a good team, John thinks… but that is a dangerous line of thinking, and he quickly extinguishes it.

“John?”

“What?” he says. “Oh. Sorry. Carry on.”

“I was thinking,” Gary says again.

"Oh, you don't wanna do a thing like that, love,” says John. “I hear it rots your brain." "Right," says Gary. "Um. But I was wondering if, you know, maybe when this is all over, you and I could go for a drink some time."

John stops walking. A few seconds later, Gary stumbles to a stop, and they both stand in silence for a moment. Aside from the low hum of the Waverider’s engines and occasional hisses as air is released, nobody makes a sound. "That's not a good idea," says John.

"Why not?"

"You don't wanna get yourself mixed up with someone like me."

"Shouldn't it be my job to decide that?" Gary asks.

"That's the thing about informed consent," says John. "You kind of need to have all the facts. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"No," Gary says, "but I'd kind of like to find out." He closes his eyes. Thinks of an empty, rumpled sheets that reek of sweat and death. Blood spattering down his arm as he hacks into smooth, shiny cheeks with a weapon more suited to a display case than a ritual. Sees the blood mixing with agonised tears, shining in the eyes of a man who’d looked at him with all the sweet, dumb trust of an animal, and knelt in compliance as John tore him to shreds. "Trust me," says John. "You wouldn't."

~*~

He doesn't mean to make the call. It's just another addition to a long list of inadvisable decisions. It all happens on a cold night in October, when he swaggers in through the doorway of some shitty bar in Gotham, trying to run away from things he'd rather not think too much about. Really, he should know better by now. The things John Constantine tends to run from are not the kinds of things that ever stop chasing. This evening, the voices are louder than ever. Astra's pleas ring in his ears so loud that everything else is drowned out; she's soon joined by the cries of everybody else he's ever let down, and by God are there a lot of the poor buggers. Shame rises so thick in the back of his throat that he almost chokes on it, and so he walks into the bar looking for a pint and a fight, anything to act as a temporary reprieve from the constant torture of living inside his own head. A few hours later, he staggers out again, sans wallet and covered in blood, not all of it his. His knuckles look like a kiddie's finger-painting, all violent splashes of colour; he admires them as he lurches across the street, collapsing in the first empty doorway he encounters. He's screwed, he thinks, leaning against the wall. His wallet and ID are in the hands of some bastard in the bar he's just vacated, along with his trench coat and a whole lot of interesting witchy paraphernalia that was in the pockets. The only thing he has managed to hang onto is, typically, the one thing he wouldn't have been too fussed about losing: a mobile phone, of the cheap plastic pay-as-you-go variety. Gary had shoved it into his pocket the last time they met; said that it was Ava’s idea. That it was important for them to be able to reach him in a crisis. Judging by Gary’s expression, Ava had nothing to do with it, but John had kept the phone anyway, even after he turned the lad down about a date. He hadn't given much thought to it after that.

If there’s one thing this should teach him, he thinks as he digs the phone out of his pocket with clumsy fingers, it’s that he really should pay more attention to changing his clothes once in a while. Miraculously, the thing still has some charge. They're as persistent as the devil, these little Nokia things. There's only one number saved, and with few other options, John makes the call. After a few rings, the call connects, and a voice says groggily, "Hello?"

"Harry, love," John says. "I was wondering if you could do me a favour." A moment of silence, before Gary says brightly, "Sure. What's up?"

"I might have found myself in a spot of bother," John says lightly. "I paid a little visit to a charming establishment in Gotham, and I seem to have misplaced my wallet." He probes around his mouth with his tongue, and winces. "And maybe a few teeth."

"Teeth?!" Gary says, alarmed.

"Only the back ones, love, don't worry; I'm still as handsome as ever," he says. It’s almost definitely a lie. Covered in blood and reeking of cheap booze, he’s looked better - though it's safe to say that he's also looked worse. "Any chance of a lift, then?"

This is the point where most people would hang up. But Gary Green is not most people.

"Of course!" he says, and John hears rustling as he fights his way out of bed. "Where exactly are you?"

"Outside a delightful pub in Gotham called..." John squints at the battered sign. "The King's Table. Booze is shit; locals aren't much better, but the bogs are all right."

"Just give me a second," says Gary.

Less than a minute later, a portal opens across the street, like a square punched out of the fabric of reality. John blinks. He's seen some crazy shit in his lifetime, but never anything quite like that. By far the weirdest part is Gary himself. He’s dressed in literal blue and white striped pyjamas, and John half expects to see a daft bobble hat on his head, pom-pom swinging.

As he limps towards the portal, John asks, "And who are you supposed to be? Wee Willie Winky?"

"Huh?" says Gary, hovering on the threshold.

It's starting to drizzle, miserable rain clinging to John's hair and his clothes. "Never mind," he says. "Room in there for two?"

Gary holds out his hand, and John takes it.

The next thing he knows, he's being yanked across the threshold. The portal closes behind him, and he finds himself standing in a cosy living room, all lined with books and an assortment of nerdy nick-knacks.

"Better than Doctor Who's TARDIS, this, mate," says John, looking around. "Oh, I wish," says Gary. "It's just my apartment."

"You've got a magic door to your apartment?"

"Time courier," says Gary, holding up his wrist to show off a clunky device that looks a bit like a watch. "It'll take me just about anywhere."

"Now where can I get one of those?" asks John, eyeing it appreciatively.

"A minimum of three years intensive study, courtesy of the Time Beaureau," says Gary, removing the device and placing it reverently on his bedside table.

"So a little bit harder to get hold of than a drivers' license."

"Depends on your viewpoint. I failed my driving test six times. Got this baby on the first try." “Aren’t you a clever clogs?”

John decides to have a wander, because he’s a nosy bastard. Luckily Gary doesn’t seem to mind. He preens as John examines the books on his shelves; an eclectic mix of everything from comics to classics, though it’s mostly of the sci-fi/fantasy leanings. Then John makes his way through to the kitchen, which is like something out of a catalogue; all clean marble surfaces and built in appliances. Something tells him that Gary actually uses them, too, doesn’t live on microwave meals the way John does. When he gets access to a microwave, that is.

Speaking of microwaves… he gets a glimpse of his reflection in the black glass of the microwave door and pulls a face. He’s not a very pretty sight.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a bathroom I could use?”

“Oh, sure!” says Gary. “It’s just this way.”

The bathroom is as clean as the kitchen, the shower gleaming like something out of a five-star hotel - though the Darth Vader bath towel hanging on the rack does sort of ruin the effect. Gary whips out a first aid kit and a clean white towel, before making his exit so that John can clean himself up.

It doesn’t take long to make himself presentable - well, presentable-ish. He’s definitely got some teeth missing, but he has to grin like a maniac before it’s really noticeable. His eyes are also bloodshot and his skin is raw from scrubbing all the blood off, but he could probably get into hotel in this state. That is, if someone hadn’t stolen his wallet.

He emerges to find Gary waiting for him, holding what looks like a barcode scanner.

“I thought I could fix your teeth,” he says. “I mean, if you wanted.”

“No offence, squire, but you don’t look like much of a dentist.”

“Oh, it’s time agent technology,” says Gary. “Grows back anything from toenails to missing limbs. I’m sure we can rustle up a couple of molars. Say ‘ahh.’”

Obligingly, John opens his mouth. Gary aims the device, and John has to close his eyes, because he’s half expecting to end up with fangs growing out of his nostrils - but a few seconds later, there’s an unpleasant tingling sensation, and then a few rapid stabs of pain. He almost jerks back, but Gary grabs him by the waist, holding him still. The pain intensifies - and then Gary releases him and John shakes his head, feeling like he’s just been socked in the jaw.

“Better?” asks Gary.

Before he can say ‘Actually, it’s ten times bloody worse,’ he hesitates. Prods around his gums with his tongue. All the painful gaps in his mouth have been filled in again, better than before. There’s a clean edge on one tooth that used to be rough; he’d chipped it years ago in another bar fight. He’s nothing if not consistent.

“Good as new,” he says.

“Oh good. I’m so glad that worked. I’ve never tried re-growing teeth before,” Gary says cheerfully.

“Good of you to mention that after you stuck some mad futuristic dental device in my mouth.” He works his jaw for a couple of seconds, then says briskly, “Right. I’d best be off.”

“Off?”

“That’s right.”

“You can’t leave!” says Gary. “It’s late -”

“I’m used to things that go bump in the night.”

“And you’re drunk -”

“Drunk?” John says, outraged. “Tipsy at worst.”

Gary draws himself up to his full height. “You’re staying here tonight,” he says. “With me.”

John looks him up and down. He could force the issue, but Gary looks so earnest. And to be honest, John really is knackered.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll kip on the sofa.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve had a lot of movie marathons on that couch. It’s probably full of Dorito dust.”

“Right,” says John. “So I’ll sleep on the floor, then.”

“What? No, silly, you can sleep in my bed with me.”

Oh. So it’s like that, is it? With difficulty, John keeps the smirk off his face. He’d been planning to stay away from Gary Green, but perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to love him and leave him. Get these silly feelings out of his system and do a disappearing act in the morning. Those are kind of his specialty.

“Go on, then,” he says.

Turns out the joke’s on him: when Gary said sleep, he bloody meant it. By the time he’s found John a spare toothbrush and a pair of dorky pyjamas just like Gary’s, but with stripes in a charming shade of red, it’s become very apparent that there won’t be any hanky-panky going on tonight. John would be rolling his eyes about it, if Gary wasn’t such a sweetheart, making sure his pillows are plumped up and offering him cocoa before they turn in.

They slide in between the sheets together, and John lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Goodnight, John,” mumbles Gary, already drifting off.

“Night,” John says, and, closes his eyes.

~*~

He oversleeps.

He had every intention of waking up early, sneaking out before Gary has the chance to wake. He’s done it a million times before; he rarely sleeps well in strangers’ beds, almost always makes it out before the sun hits the sky. It must be something about Gary’s comfy bed or his comfy pyjamas, because by the time John finally wakes up, he’s the one lying in an empty bed.

Sitting up, he glances round. There’s a window he could climb out of, but no sign of his clothes. Crafty bastard must have moved them to stop him escaping. If he was really desperate, he could leave regardless, but he wouldn’t make it more than a few metres down the street in Gary’s goofy jim-jams without getting his arse kicked.

There’s only one solution. Grinding his teeth, he goes to look for Gary.

He finds him in the kitchen, scrambling eggs.

“Morning,” Gary says cheerfully.

“Someone’s nicked my clothes,” says John.

“Oh, they’re in the dryer. I figured now we’ve got you all cleaned up, you shouldn’t be walking around in clothes with blood on them.” He beams. “The eggs are almost ready; you want some?”

“I’m not really a breakfast kind of guy.”

“It’s the most important meal of the day,” Gary says sternly.

“Actually, love, that’s not quite what I meant.”

Gary turns off the burner, puts down his spatula and turns around, arms folded. “You’re giving off some pretty mixed signals here, you know that?”

“I know, I just - ”

“First, you kiss me. Then you basically tell me you’re not interested, which is fine, I guess - but then you call me in the middle of the night expecting me to scrape you off the pavement, you sleep in my bed, and yet you can’t bring yourself to stick around for breakfast? You – you can’t even say my name! I just don’t - ”

“I knew a lad named Gary, once,” John says.

There’s a long silence. Gary, who was standing on his toes – presumably to make himself more imposing – slowly lowers himself to the floor. Evidently this wasn’t quite the response he was expecting.

“Mate of mine,” John adds. “Bit of a screw-up, but he meant well.”

“Knew?”

“Yeah,” says John. “He’s dead.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. He can’t stand to leave it empty.

“Kicked the bucket. Pushing daisies. Shuffled off this mortal coil. Dead as a dodo.”

“Yeah, I think you made that clear,” Gary says quietly. He looks at the floor. “I didn’t know.”

“Course you didn’t. Wouldn’t expect you to. But perhaps now you understand why I’m not too keen to go shouting your name from the rooftops and taking you on cosy little dates, considering the last man with your name who came near me got so badly traumatised that he turned himself into a heroin addict.”

“He overdosed?” Gary says softly.

“If only,” says John. “That would’ve been a far better way to go.”

They both stand in silence with the smell of burning eggs wafting through the air. The tiles are cold beneath John’s toes. He can’t hear the dryer any more, which means he could go retrieve his clothes and leave right now… but he doesn’t want to break the quiet. There are too many memories hanging in the balance.

“If it makes you feel better,” says Gary, “you could call me something else.”

John cocks his head. “Like a nickname?”

“Sure. Gary’s a pretty short name already, but you could go the other way. Call me ‘Garold’. Or ‘Gartholomew.’ Ooh, how about ‘Gazza G?’”

He strikes an appalling pose, like a rapper – or a fifteen-year-old’s idea of one. John snorts.

“No offence,” he says, shaking his head. “but I think I’d rather stick my head in the oven.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Gary leans against the counter. “I don’t want to push you. And if you really wanna leave, I’m not going to stop you. But for the record, I like you a lot. And I’m also like, super afraid of injections, so I’m not going to get addicted to heroin any time soon.” He gives a shy smile. “I meant what I said back on the Waverider. I’d like to get to know you… if you’d let me.”

John can’t quite bear to look at him. “The people around me… they get hurt.”

“Good thing I’m first-aid trained.”

“Proper little boy-scout, aren’t you, Gary?”

It doesn’t hurt as badly as he thought it would, saying his name. After all, he rarely called his Gary by his full name; it was usually just ‘Gaz.’ Or, by towards the end, ‘that bloody idiot.’ And Gary Green is nothing like the Gary he used to know, with his rough Irish brogue and more money than sense; the constant sweaty fug of weed that used to hang about him before he moved onto the hard stuff, and after that, the sweaty forehead and hands shaking from withdrawal. There’s no comparison between them, really.

If he’d ever kissed Gaz - and you couldn’t have paid him to - he would have tasted sour. Like dirt from the grave John had put him in.

“I like you,” Gary whispers, like it’s a secret.

“I like you too,” John says. The name hangs between them like an incantation, a moment of magic he could easily breathe to life.

He lets it stay there. That name isn’t going to sit right on his tongue for some time yet. But maybe it will, eventually.

#constangreen #otp: dungeons and dragons #my fics

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preyed-llama · 6 years ago

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Death’s Angel

Chapter 8

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Summary: Superheroes weren’t rare, but they were uncommon, it’s not that much of a surprise when they end up at the same place at the same time. And it’s certainly not uncommon for them to team up.

The Trio were well known for their powers and were symbols of hope. Death’s Angel always refused to join them in the light in the past.

Ship: Future Analogical.

Warnings: mentions of death (tell me if I missed anything)

He groaned and opened his eyes. The ceiling seemed familiar… but not his own. He could hear movements outside of the door. He looked around the room. A clock sat on the wall staring at him 12:34. Whoever was outside probably didn’t appreciate him sleeping for 18 hours. The lack of restraints meant they didn’t mean harm, but even with the ability to move, he had pushed himself to the limit.

His neck was stiff as he looked around the room once more. A picture caught his eye. Remy was winking at the camera with a Starbucks drink in his hand. Virgil had taken it when they went to the festival two years ago. A wave of memories filled his head, demanding his attention. The alleyway. The call.

Oh god. This was Remy’s room. Remy knew. His armoured gloves were missing, as was his mask. He had a jumper over his costume, it was clinging to his skin uncomfortably. At least with that mystery out of the way he could be prepared.

The door seemed so far away. He made it half way across the room before his legs gave way. He let out a sigh, maybe it was a bad idea exerting so much power. He hadn’t even managed to keep Logan safe. Remy shoved open the door and let out a sigh when he saw Virgil on the floor. “Virgil.” His voice was uncharacteristically stern. Virgil had known him long enough to know when he was burying his pain. Remy opened his mouth before he snapped it shut and walked over to the dresser.

A fresh set of clothes was dropped in front of Virgil. He weakly picked it up before he smiled and tried to thank Remy. The other man was already walking out of the door. “You know where the shower is. Food will be ready when you get out.” Virgil felt guilt lapse over him as anxiety clawed at his insides. Remy definitely hated him. He was so distant and bitter. He had just ruined everything.

His legs were a little more stable as he held the clothes close to his chest. The trip to the shower required a few stops to lean on the wall. He made it and dropped the clothes into the corner before he quickly moved into the shower. The water was hot. Burning hot. But Virgil couldn’t bring himself to cool it down. His skin was turning red in some patches, but he felt like he was alive again, like he was warm and healthy.

It took awhile to get cleaned. His body seemed adamant to remain still. Exhaustion was still lingering in his bones. He turned off the water after awhile and got changed into the fresh clothes. It was a white shirt and blue jeans, more colour than Virgil had worn in years. Remy had been nice enough to leave him a black jacket though. He quickly pulled on the clothes and stumbled out of the room.

The exhaustion had been fought off by the shower for now and the smell of bacon and eggs made his mouth water. Remy tipped the bacon out of the pan and onto the two plates before he carried them over to the table. Virgil sat opposite to him, vey aware of the anger Remy was radiating. After two mouthfuls, Remy finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Virgil coughed and tried to dislodge the bacon that had slipped down his throat in his shock. He cleared his airways and stared at Remy whose face was a clear mixture of hurt and concern. “I didn’t…”

“You didn’t trust me.” Remy guessed. He maintained eye contact as he continued to eat. Virgil knew he was the superpowered one, but the fire and hurt in Remy’s eyes was enough to make him was to disappear. What could he say? There was no reason he should’ve kept it from Remy. No secret he needed to keep hidden. This wasn’t how he planned to tell him. He just needed a chance to think.

Virgil gazed at his plate as he played with the scrambled eggs and bacon. “It wasn’t like that, Remy.” Virgil mumbled weakly, because really, it was exactly like that. “How was I meant to tell you? I didn’t know how you would react. I thought you would hate me, I’ve killed so many people. Remy, you’re having breakfast with a murderer.”

“It’s lunch, Gurl. You slept for so long I thought I’d have to zap you awake.” Remy said, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. Virgil forced a smile. The atmosphere was still tense and miserable, but maybe if Remy was willing to put in the effort, he should too. “You’ve saved lives, Vee. I wouldn’t have been mad at you.”

The bacon seemed to be the most interesting thing. Funny how mundane things become interesting in circumstances like this. “You’re mad because I lied to you.” Virgil sighed out. He quickly stuffed eggs and bacon into his mouth. The food seemed to have transformed from heaven to dust. Remy nodded and opened his mouth to respond. Virgil cut him off. “Remy think about this. Would you have told me if you were… me?”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Remy frowned and let out frustrated groan as he dropped the fork to the table. “Vee! I’ve known you for 8 years! Of course, I would’ve told you! You would’ve been the first person I told. You promised me we wouldn’t have secrets between us after we came out to each other. When it was us against those… those unsweetened, bitter…” He let out a sigh. “When the world was against us, you promised me there would be no secrets. Now, not only have you kept a secret, but the world is against you again.”

They stared at each other for awhile before Remy picked up his half-eaten plate and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll drop you home once you finish eating, your gear is on the table and where you left it.” Remy started to clean up the kitchen as Virgil stared at him numbly. He slowly ate the rest of his food, a question playing in the back of his mind.

He set the plate next to Remy and awkwardly stepped back slightly. “Why did you bring me to your apartment?”

Remy let out a soft laugh and turned around with that cheeky smile. It was obviously faked, but it was so clear that he was as sick of the tension as Virgil was. “It’s easier to carry you up two flights of stairs than up 16. You’re surprisingly light, especially for a superhero.”

Virgil smiled slightly. Remy seemed to hesitate slightly before he pulled Virgil into a hug. He hesitated for a second before he wrapped his arm around Remy. “You stopped responding, and there were police sirens. I had to enter the alley from the other side. The police had blocked it up. I was so scared. You weren’t waking up and you had blood on you. I thought I’d lost you.” Virgil could feel the tears sinking through his clothes as Remy hugged him tighter.

He backed away and wiped his eyes. “Come on, Gurl. Go grab your things. Unlike you I have things to do today.”

The atmosphere shifted to comfortable teasing as Virgil walked over to the table and grabbed his mask, gloves, and phone. “You got a date?” He asked as he sunk into the bathroom to grab his costume. It was tough and gross from the blood and sweat. Maybe no one would notice if he just threw it into the washing machine. He didn’t trust himself to use his power.

Remy’s voice had its natural cockiness again. “Naturally, gurl! The hottie I met at the concert last month is taking me to a movie this afternoon.”

Virgil smiled and walked out of the bathroom to where Remy was leaning against the kitchen counter. “Oh? The dude with the dark red hair?”

“It was deep brown.”

He smiled and walked towards the door as Remy grabbed his keys. “Sure.” He teased. “His name was October, right?”

Remy nodded and followed Virgil out of the door. He started to talk about the man. Apparently, he had already had the date planned. Virgil felt his thoughts drift as his best friend continued to talk about how he was messaging October frequently. He started to think of Logan, worry moved through him as he thought about the other man’s injury. In his panic earlier, he had forgotten about the injured people.

His phone was in his hand before he had even realised what had happened. He quickly typed out a message to Logan as Remy looked down at him in confusion. “A friend?” Remy asked. A blush burned across Virgil making Remy smile more. “Oh gurl! Congrats! I was wondering when you’d find someone. Maybe we could do a double date.”

Virgil shook his head and walked ahead of Remy. “We’re just friends, Rem.” He said dryly.

Remy shook his head and smile. “Maybe you could change that, gurl. He’d sweep you off your feet and whisk you into a quick kiss.” The blush deepened against Virgil’s attempts to stop it the lack of foundation left him defenceless. Remy was enjoying teasing him far too much. “He’d whisper about how he loved you and the two of you would race back into his quiet apartment.” Remy murmured as he walked closer to Virgil. “He’d lead you into his clean bedroom and push you onto his bed…”

The blush made his face feel like it was on fire as Virgil ducked his head and groaned. “Can you please do me a favour and shut up!” Virgil muttered, he could feel the blush down his neck. Remy laughed loudly as he poked Virgil in the side. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, V.”

The drive back to Virgil’s apartment was slow and quiet. His phone had gone off with a message from Logan. Remy hadn’t made another comment on it. The streets were crowded, and the web was talking about Death’s Angel’s appearance. Virgil hated seeing all the articles. It felt like everyone knew. There was no escape. People would start to theorise now that they had pictures. What if someone worked it out?

Remy pulled up outside the apartment complex and waved goodbye as Virgil raced up the stairs to his apartment. The walk had tired him out halfway up the second flight of stairs. He slumped against the wall. Bricks pushed roughly against his arm. His breathe came out in pants as he looked up the stairs. It was empty, thankfully.

He slowly continued up the stairs, it took about an hour to make it up all the stairs. His legs almost gave way as he walked through the door. His roommate was nowhere to be seen, presumably at their partners place. The room felt dreary with the blinds closed and the doors all closed. Virgil dropped his clothes into his room and collapsed onto the bed.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reluctantly pulled it out and stared at the blurry screen. The pillow seemed so perfect and soft and maybe he could just rest his head. Sleep was tugging at his mind. Removing his senses and distracting him. He huffed and pushed the pillow against the bed head before he sat against it and turned his phone on again. There were two missed messages from Logan.

Logan: I did get the wound ‘looked at’ and got it mended. The doctors said it was healthy, keep it immobile for a few days and it should heal fully. All your worrying was pointless.

Logan: The two victims have been announced, Keith will make a full recovery, but Christine is still in intensive care. There is still a chance that she will recover. Statistically, it seems likely.

Virgil curled in on himself. If he had had handled the situation better, she would be fine now. What if she had a family? Well of course she had a family. What if she had kids? What if she never woke up? If he had had arrived later maybe those two wouldn’t have been hit. Maybe everyone would be okay.

He looked at some news sources, most had covered the subject, but only some focused on the attackers rather than Death’s Angel. He quickly skimmed the reports. Several had died, the man he had shot in the head, the man who had been hit in the back of the head with the pistol, and one of the men he strangled died from the bruising and swelling. He continued to read, there were a few more dead people, head injuries and broken bones. He felt nausea churn in his stomach.

Of course, you’d get injured in a fight, Virgil had been shot in the back when he had first started (he had a scar from that event, there were more scars, it took him awhile to work out how to use his powers). But it still felt sickening to hear that someone had died or was severely injured. It was all his fault. No amount of saying ‘it was him or me’ managed to get rid of the guilt. It sunk through his bones until it became an unshakable part of him that haunted his dreams.

The others had been doing it for longer. He remembered when he was 15 he had heard about Empathy doing something actually dangerous for the first time, he had watched the tv as they reported it, clinging to his brother in fear. Empathy had looked about seventeen when he took down a group of armed robbers, but he was doing small things a year before he actually fought crime. He would hide people and calm down people who were terrified when he was sixteen. Virgil adored watching the superhero sections, and he always knew that Empathy would be there with a large smile and some kid in his arms.

The Prince of the Skies (that brat) had started fighting when he was probably only sixteen. He’d joined a few months after Empathy had taken down the robbers. Reporters had been following his process as he acted like a prince. He would protect the kids first and would charm any girl who got caught in the crossfire. It caused a huge stir when he hit on a teenage boy who was terrified. Virgil couldn’t help but feel bad, he had watched countless news stories that ended with him getting badly beaten and left on the side of the street. He always got up and would keep pushing himself until he couldn’t move. As much as his obnoxious personality got on Virgil’s nerves, he was stubborn and strong. Like a real prince. Yeah, a royal pain in the ass. Maybe that was why Virgil was so invested in him and actually got excited when he managed to take down several attackers, shame idols rarely live up to expectation.

Logan probably didn’t have as much guilt as the other two. He would always rewind time when someone was injured or if there was too much property damage. Virgil could recall having the tv on as background noise when he heard there was a new superhero. He was 19 at the time and finally living on his own. Logan had lifted a car off someone without touching it and videos had flooded the internet. He was probably only close to twenty at the time. It made Virgil smile as he walked over and looked at the tv, he never would’ve guessed that some months later he’d be joining them.

The guilt for him was almost overpowering some days. How could he claim to be a hero when he was just as bad as those who he killed? The others managed to get out of bed every day. They managed to live life and not let the guilt weigh them down. He let out a sigh and rolled over. Sleep claimed his mind as the cold air gripped his skin and guilt churned his stomach.

Taglist: (feel free to ask to be added or removed)

@paradoxicalpatton @ab-artist @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @its-myst @capripian-light-of-my-derse @ravenclawunicorn1 @confinesofpersonalknowledge @panic-wizard-sex-walrus @princeanxious @fricksonsticks @equipodeleo @virgilmydarkstrangeson @jayzwonderland @fullmetallovr21 @cornthathasbeenpopped @ocotopushugs @jadekitten1 @scorching-scotch @lesliealiceinwonderland @hajimelime @sassysoysauce @depressed-alone @ticklemeem0 @alix-the-skeleton @nienna14 @phlying-squirrel @mockingjaysinger @queerly-anxious @isle-of-flightless-assbutts @virgilscat @fantazyiskey @magnificentme513 @hissesssss @ccecode @deverick-racoma @a-pastel-pan @magpie1230 @buckydeangirl91 @1m4l0st8oy @virgilantanon

#Analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Death's Angel

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fostertoforever · 8 years ago

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Infertility.

This one goes out to all the ladies struggling out there… The women who desperately want to be a mother. Who physically ache in defeat month after month after month. The ones who pay thousands of dollars to get poked, prodded, and pumped full of hormones in hopes of a miracle. Who take their temperatures and pee on sticks and hang upside down in hopes of creating life. The ones who lose faith in their bodies….faith in their God as time goes on and failures continue. As your biological clock continues to tick on and every pregnancy announcement you see gets more and more devastating- not because you’re not profoundly happy for them, but because there are no words to describe the sadness you feel for YOU. There is a unique pain that comes from loving a child that might never exist. It’s extremely hard to wait for something that may never happen, but harder to let go when it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. You fall apart, then start again, fall apart, start again, fall apart, start again. You hear other mothers complaining about their kids, about their pregnancies and you think, “God, what I would give to have one day of your life! Don’t you understand how lucky you are, you twit?!?!” You get told, “Ugh! You can have my kid! He’s driving me crazy!” (Oh yeah, because that’s a big consolation prize for my infertility, thanks). You find out that so and so is pregnant AGAIN when she doesn’t even take care of the ones she has! She said she’s too selfish to have a baby, that she hates kids, and my personal favorite, “a baby is the worst STD you can get,” but there they are. Pregnant. Again and again. Weekend flings gone wrong. Drug addicted women having sex to score drugs are giving birth but you can’t. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. But you keep trying and trying, don’t you? Because medicine is not an exact science and you convince yourself there’s hope- there’s always hope, right? This time it’ll be different. Doctors scratch their heads and say, “Let’s try this” month after month and you follow the rules to a tee! You take your vitamins, you don’t drink caffeine or alcohol, you exercise, you journal, and you pray. You are strong. You are made for this. “It’ll happen, I just know it!” you tell yourself…And then you walk by the baby section at Walmart, and you die inside. And suddenly you’re the crazy lady in aisle 12 sobbing over burp cloths. Because it’s too difficult to think that everything you’re doing won’t work. That this is all for nothing. I remember through my fertility treatments, my doctor recommended I talk to a therapist about my issues, my feelings of inadequacy for not being able to get pregnant. I think she was getting nervous because of my hysterical sobbing (and sometimes angry outbursts) at every appointment when they’d tell me I didn’t ovulate again that month. So, I went. I sat in this guy’s office and poured my heart and soul out and all he could say was, “I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than a pregnant woman. I hope it works out.” Seriously. I came unglued. Yes, pregnant women are beautiful. You know what else is beautiful, dufus? STRONG women. Women who have tried, who’ve failed, and who’ve pulled themselves up, put their big girl panties back on, and tried again. Should’ve known better than to pour my infertile heart out to someone with a penis. Let’s be honest here. (I apologize to any of my readers who are reading this and who have a penis. No offense, but this post is mostly for the ladies.) It’s been over 4 years since I went through this, and let me tell you, it STILL hurts. I STILL ache and I STILL grieve for that baby I’ll never have. It sounds stupid, right? Get over it, Jess. I have a son after all. I’ve had him since birth. He calls me Mommy. I have no reason to have those feelings, right? Wrong. It never goes away for me. I am profoundly sad I’ll never feel the kick of life in my belly. That my body will never be able to make a life, grow a life, and bring life of another human being into this world. I frequently feel like less of a woman. I do. And it hurts like hell. Still. And I admit that I am sooo bitter and soooo angry when I hear of abuse, neglect, drugs, etc. towards children, which is an occupational hazard in my line of work. Women that don’t deserve to be mothers- who clearly do not understand the miracle that is motherhood- getting knocked up all over the place. Sigh. So, when did I give up hope? When did I finally accept my infertile fate? It was shortly after the final phone call on October 29, 2012 when my doctor called and said, “We overlooked a test result. This one little hormone shows that you don’t have a lot of eggs and unless you do IVF, which will be a stretch, it’s going to be very difficult for you to conceive. And even then, with your other issues, you may not be able to carry a baby to term. Maybe you should consider surrogacy.” My world stopped. Maybe I had known this in my head for awhile, but I had never accepted it in my heart. I was always so sure it was going to work out- that I was meant to be pregnant. For a brief moment, I considered begging my family for their life savings. I considered quitting my job and moving to Syracuse, New York, to be near a good IVF clinic. I thought of what friend I could ask to be my oven and have a baby for me. Seriously. But after about 5 minutes of these crazy thoughts (which were done hugging my toilet on the floor of my bathroom- because I wanted to puke after I got off the phone), I knew my journey was over. This was the end of the road. (And yes, I’m totally singing Boyz to Men now). So, my husband and I decided to do foster care. We gave up on the dream of pregnancy, but we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Four years later, we are getting ready to celebrate our son’s 4th birthday. We have a little baby girl in our home, who I thank God every single day is with us. I wake up every morning and look at her sweet, chubby face and am so grateful for another day with her. When times are tough and I’m uncertain of the future or I play the “what if” game, I’m reminded of what I just wrote- we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Motherhood came to me in a way I had never dreamed of, but it was no less of a miracle. Maybe I’ll never get to grow a baby in my belly, but I’ve got two growing in my heart and that’s an amazing blessing. And just because I still think of the baby I never got to create, doesn’t mean I don’t love the two precious angels that were chosen for me any less. I have friends going through the long struggle of fertility treatments right now- wonderful women who would be amazing mommies. And I can see it in their faces. I know their pain and I know their heartbreak. They smile and go on with their days and pretend it’s all ok. Believe me when I tell you it’s not an easy dream to give up on. The pain will always be there. BUT the hole in your heart can be filled. It seems impossible, I know you don’t believe me, I know you think pregnancy is the only option, but it’s true. There are little people out there who need you, who are just waiting on you. After I laid eyes on my Baby P for the first time, I knew why the fertility treatments never worked. He was MY baby. And yes, the journey to forever sucked. I’m not going to sugar coat it. But he is mine and I am his and we get to live happily ever after…at least until his teenage years. Ha. Foster care isn’t for everyone. I know this better than anyone. And this isn’t some sales pitch for DHHR to get you to sign up. But I KNOW there is a need. I KNOW lots of babies need homes. When I tell people I’m a foster mother, I still get the “Oh my gosh, I could NEVER do that!” But, you’d be surprised what you’re capable of when given the opportunity. The system sucks at times. Those workers are overworked and underpaid. The goal of foster care is reunification with their family. Blood is thicker than any love and security my husband and I can provide for these kids- a fact that I sincerely struggle with, but fully accept. It’s not easy. But it’s what we signed up for. I could have either spent my life savings and my family’s life savings to try IVF and/or surrogacy OR I could’ve opened my home and my heart to children in need with the knowledge I may have to give them back. Double edged sword. What’s worse? It was a gamble we took and we won with P, but it was a hard game to play. Will we get lucky with Baby C? Time will tell. We never gave up on the dream to become parents. Bio, Foster, Adoptive, Step…..it truly doesn’t matter what comes before the word “parent.” What does matter is the love you give. We wanted to be parents. I always thought I was born to be a mother. I THOUGHT that would happen through pregnancy. Turns out, I WAS meant to be a mother, just in a different way. It doesn’t make the role any less important, especially in the eyes of my babies. My husband and I weren’t meant to create a life, but we were meant to change one (or two or three or four). We have the power to say “Nope. I am not going to let their lives be this way” and work every day to provide a safe, healthy, home full of love and laughter so these kiddos can thrive- whether they are with us forever or not. It’s pretty simple. Heart wrenching, yes, but simple. And so I truly encourage those families out there who are struggling with infertility and the immense pain and sadness that can go with it to consider opening their hearts and home to these babies in need. It’s not easy, but clearly, neither is infertility. So, to my fellow infertile sisters out there…please don’t let your hurt and your wounds stop you from becoming a mother. Don’t let defeat after defeat turn you into something you’re not. You are strong, you are valuable and you matter whether your stupid uterus is cooperating or not. And I am here to share my story and commiserate with you any hour of any day. Until next time, Mama Jess

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whimsicalwriterwrites-blog · 6 years ago

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The Feeling I Drowned In

Trigger Warning: Suicide, abusive boyfriend, death.

Dear whoever found this letter, October 24, 2018

The feeling I feel now is the very same feeling that ruined my life 2 years ago. I can’t live with it. So I tried to stop it in the only way that I thought I could. I tried to kill myself. But I, unfortunately, forgot to lock the door. My mom walked right in on a sight that still haunts her to this day; me in a bathtub, fully clothed. My long black hair soaked, and my soft violet eyes nearly blank. The water was becoming redder with the blood spilling out of my wrists. She, as a sensible human being, called an ambulance. That was November 14th, 2016. Today is October 24, 2018. Most people are happy at this time of year, with Halloween right around the corner. But I forgot what happy felt like years ago.

Hi. My name is Adelia Marcie Sullivan. Never heard of me? Me neither. I’ve lived in Chicago, Illinois my entire life. I’m 17 and currently being homeschooled. I do hope that when I graduate I can go somewhere far away and die peacefully. And if you're reading this, that means I already have. I doubt I made it to graduation. I’m not sorry, so don’t expect a sappy I just couldn’t go on because that isn’t my case. I hate the world. My old friends turned out to be backstabbing jerks, which was just great. My boyfriend hit me, my brother is in Europe and refuses to talk to us, and my dad thinks I’m worthless. On my fourteenth birthday, my dad left me a card saying he met a girl in Las Vegas and that they were going to have a kid. He wrote that he would be staying there with her. In the same envelope were divorce papers for my mom. That was the day I first started to contemplate suicide. If you're reading this, I was finally successful.

If you ever saw me smile or if you ever thought I’d been happy you’d be right. There were good days and bad days. I remember once in the summer of fourth grade my parents took my brother and me to a carnival. That was one of the best days I can remember. We had cotton candy, went to a petting zoo, and dad won me a big unicorn. Things were so simple then. I would do anything to get back to those days of bliss and happiness. Anything.

As I said, there were bad days. My boyfriend, Jake Stevens, and I had been dating for 4 months when he first hit me. It continued for months. He threatened my family and friends so I couldn’t have broken up with him. He had threatened to harm all of my loved ones. His dad was in a position of high power, so I knew that he could hurt them. His dad owned a million dollar company. We had been ‘dating’ for 9 months total when he broke up with me. That day was one of the good ones. But, the threats still stood so I couldn’t tell anyone. I kept that secret for a stupidly long time. Most of my secrets I will, literally, take to the grave.

My life wasn’t all bad. I had my mom, who supported and loved me. At the same time, she wasn’t around much. She worked two jobs just to keep our makeshift family afloat.

If I find a way to haunt people, I don’t think I will. This is my way of moving on. I feel like I’ve been stuck at the bottom of a hole for the last few years and my head is about to explode from trying to think of ways to escape. Instead of ideas, my head is full of a bunch of out of control emotions and thoughts. I can’t take it anymore. All the torment and hate do get to me and I have to make it stop. No one has given me any other ways out. Signing away my life here. Goodbye.

Honestly, not sorry,

Adelia💔

Oh god. My baby sister is dead. And by her own hand! I should’ve been here for her, instead of ignoring her in Europe. She had called me, too. What if that was right before she did it? What if she was calling for help? These thoughts and others flooded my mind. I had declined that call and never called back. At the time I had known she had been struggling with demons like I’d never seen. I’m the reason. I could’ve saved her. The blame is on me.

I looked around the room. The dark blue walls were seemingly closing in on me and the Polaroid pictures of her that were on them. In each photo, she was with a different person. I didn’t recognize any of the faces of the boys and girls in the pictures. There was only one picture that was just her. In that picture her eyes were piercing my soul, guilting me for the end I caused her. Her slim frame looked like it could shatter at any moment. Her long black hair cascaded down her body. I sat down in her vanity and looked in the mirror. I could see her dark gray bedspread the posters on the walls. The posters were from rock concerts that we had gone to as a family. I noticed the Kings of Leon poster and memories entered my mind. We had so much fun that night. I had promised her I would be there for her then, too. I had said that she’d never have to use a random person for support because she would always have me. That was before dad left and before mom got two jobs. It was before I went to Europe. I went to Europe to leave all of my family issues behind. I started ignoring calls, emails, and letters. I broke my promise.

I ran out of her dark and empty room with tears clouding my eyesight. I ran onto the street and feel to my knees. It was a dark and cold night. I felt every droplet of rain landing on my body and each time it dropped on me I mistook it for her touch. I got up from my spot in the middle of the road. I started spinning in circles, looking at my surroundings. My family had lived here in the suburbs for as long as I could remember. The aged brick homes seemed to be closing in on me. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“ADELIA,” My tears were now flowing freely. I didn’t know she was suicidal. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

I fell to my knees once again. I was trembling. There were chills going down my spine. She died in October. It’s December 14th. My pale hands were squeezing my head, trying to control myself. I heard a loud sound nearby but I disregarded it. No no no. I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. But it was, and it was eating me up inside. I heard the noise again, louder this time. I looked up just in time to see a truck. I knew in that second that I would see my sister again. I would see her sooner than I had originally thought, too.

The truck hit me full force. The bumper collided directly with my jaw. I heard a bone break. Pain overtook my mind. I closed my eyes in acceptance. And then I, Malcolm Randall Sullivan, died.

#Suicidestories Depressed

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