#he is unable to be in the boiler room and slam doors in the boiler room

[pochapal]

this specific statement of "no one could have been in the boiler room" being written in italics for emphasis is. it's making me Think Things

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

(ii)

FRRRGH!

*Abruptly, Kanade flings her hatchet skyward and hoists it there while removing the chainsaw guitar from her back and turning it on. Hibiki abruptly leaps in the way as she brings it down on Setsuka, pushing the weapon back as it is inches from her face.

...! HRRGH!

*SSHSHUCCCKSUCSKSCUK!*

Ah! AH! AYAYAYAYAYAAGH!?

HRUAGH!

*WHACK!*

Doh! FUCK ME!

*BANG!* *THUD!*

*Hibiki and Setsuka work together to drive the saw's revolving blade into Kanade's shoulder as he tries to escape their combined hold. Although Kanade avoids significant injury after getting razed, it leaves her vulnerable to a punch to the face from Setsuka. She staggers backward through two doors and hits the floor.

Haah...Rgh...

*CLAP!*

Wh-Where did she-!?

*After Kanade gets flung through the doors, they start to swing in pendellum. To the understandable concern of Setsuka and Hibiki, when they close together and open again, Kanade has vanished.

I told you to stay put!

Sorry...But I'm not gonna watch as you get mutilated again.

...

*Setsuka suddenly notices Kanade's dagger on the floor. She reaches down and swiftly picks it up.

Stay here. Scream if she comes out.

...I got it, ok?

*Holding the blade, Setsuka cautiously enters through the doors. She makes note of her surroundings, finding herself in a boiler room with hot, active machines scattered around the place. It's almost pitch black, limiting her movement.

...I'm not in the mood to play hide and seek with you Kanade...

Kanade: Oh, trust me Setsuka...I'm the one counting...

...

*Kanade's voice echoes throughout the room as Setsuka skulks through it; she is unable to tell its point of origin.

Kanade: 10...9...8...7...

...

Kanade: 6...5...

4321!

*WHOOOM!*

!!??

*CHUNK!*

HAAGH!

*SMASH!*

UHUHAGH! RGH!

*After Setsuka barely avoids her hatchet flying into the room, Kanade abruptly ambushes her from around a corner, skipping several steps in her countdown. As Kanade tries to bring the axe down on her, Setsuka parries the attack and kicks her forward toward a boiler despite the jumpscare. Raising her hand, Kanade calls her hatchet back to her.

Huh!

RAGH! HUURGH!

*WHACK!*

HEH!

HRGH! NGH!

Yeah, you THOUGHT! UAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

*After exchanging several blows, Setsuka is almost carved in the face by Kanade, but the billiards player just manages to catch the handle with her arm and try to push it away. Unfortunately, she begins to feel overwhelmed by the weapon's electromagnetic properties. Its push is more powerful, and before long she's on her knees.

HMPH!

*CHUUNK!*

HAAH!

*SMACK!* *ZZRRT!*

AAAHAGH!?

*Just as the hatchet's blade is about to slam into the steel floor beneath her, Setsuka manages to sidestep it and slams Kanade's face into an electricity box!

HNGH!

GEGH!? Rrrrrggh!

*WHOOM!* *SLASH!*

BAGH!

*Setsuka cuts Kanade's cheek with the knife as she thrusts it forward, but just as Setsuka believes she has her where she wants her, Kanade recalls the hatchet and it flies back to cut Setsuka's thigh!

Not like this...: Part 1

This isn't gonna go as easy as you think it will, Kanade!

Well, fortunately for me, I'm not the cocky sort!

And UNfortunately for you...I don't comply to any Batman code of honor!

Stay where you are Hibiki.

...

...!

*SMACK!*

!!?

*CH-CHAK!* *BAAANNG!*

HNGH!

*Setsuka takes her coat off to retrieve a pistol, but before she can aim, Kanade throws her hatchet and moves it to knock it out of her hand. Setsuka ducks as Kanade catches the hatchet, reloads its shotgun end, and fires.

Hrgh!

*BANG!*

NGH!

*CHOW!* *CH-CHAK!*

Hrugh!

*BAAANNG!*

Tch-!

*SMACK!*

*BANG!*

Feh!

*As Setsuka dives to avoid her, she grabs the gun she dropped and tries to shoot Kanade, but her shot is blocked again. When Kanade tries to fire the shotgun once more, Setsuka leaps forward, seizes the hatchet, and points it upward. After punching the former Ultimate Billiards Player's hand away, Kanade deflects one gunshot and breaks Setsuka's hold on her.

*WHACK!*

PEH!

*SCHWING!*

NGH! Hah-!

*SMACK!*

RRGGH!

WAAGH-!?

*WHAM!*

*Setsuka tries to punch again, but Kanade catches it with her hand. Setsuka then ducks down in time, just in time as Kanade grabs her dagger and try to sever her face. After that, Setsuka manages to disarm her by grasping the dagger, but Kanade charges through and knocks her to the ground after flinging her over her shoulder.

She's...surprisingly...strong! For someone so...little! Ugh...

Note: Adult Kanade Otononokoji is 150 cm tall. That's the same height as Himiko Yumeno. By comparison, Setsuka is a solid 20 centimeters, or 7 inches taller. So yeah, picture that hilarious little scene in your head.

...Hehehehe...

HRGH!

*WHACK!*

*BANG!*

GRGH!

*When Setsuka attempts to fire again, Kanade sidesteps her arm with a kick.

*WHOOOSH!*

Huh!?

*BRRRUMMMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUMRUM!*

HAHAHAHAHAHAAAH!

TCH!

*SMACK!*

!!?

!!?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Soaking Wet." Human! Freddy Krueger X Trans Masc! Reader.

Another day another commission done! This is for the fucking wonderful and amazing @pyr0sadist, Leo is fucking rad as hell, I appericate them commissioning me so much, this was great to write out with a stellar prompt honestly! I hope you all love reading it as much as I loved writing it! Lets get into it!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.1K. Freddy Krueger X Trans Masc! Reader. He/Him Pronouns. Warnings: Mentions Of Murder. Gore. Chase. Fear Play. Predator/Prey. Chase. Knife Play. Blood Play. Dirty Talk. Praise. Anal Fingering. Blow Job. Oral Sex. Rough Sex. Vaginal And Anal Sex. Rimming. Denial. Multiple Orgasms. Forced Orgasms.

---

You missed him. You wanted to see him tonight, called him up sometime after lunch, excited with the prospect of seeing him, but he told you in that deliciously gruff tone that he was busy and he couldn’t tonight. Hearing that made your smile fall from your face and your fingers twist around the coiled phone cord, disappointment taking hold that you wouldn’t be able to do what you were hoping that night. 

“What are you gonna be doing?” You inquired and he told you, “Working late.” 

Ugh damn it. The call was cut short after that, the phone hung up and you tried to distract yourself but the feeling, the itch still sat heavy on your mind of wanting to pay him a visit. It was probably a bad idea. But you still had the urge. You figured if you brought him something and sweet talked him he would be happy to see you. He worked hard, the first thing you thought of was food, grabbing one of his favourites on your way. 

It started raining on the drive. 

You didn’t bring an umbrella but you did have on a jacket that you had slipped over your shoulders on your way out the door, it wasn’t explicitly waterproof but if you held it over your head it might help keep you a little dry on your way inside. You rolled to where you knew he would be, you weren’t sure why he continued to work here. The power plant wasn’t even running anymore, but he would spend a lot of time doing work in the boiler room here. You didn’t know why, not really but you didn’t question it much either because one, it didn’t feel like it was your business and two, you were usually busy with things other than talking when together. 

You took a deep breath as you turned off your car, ready to face the cold rain and hopefully find him with relative ease. You snatched up the bagged box of food off your passenger seat, you opened the door and slammed it behind you. The hand that wasn’t holding the bag reached back, tugged the collar of your jacket up over your head, holding it there to keep some of the worst of the rain off you. 

Quick strides carried you forward and into the building ahead, determined. The building is nearly falling apart. You didn’t know it was in such awful condition, it was concerning to say the very least but you were not shaken. You let your jacket slip back into it’s normal position now that you were inside. You figured that the boiler room would be the lowest part right? So you started heading down, rusted metal stairs that made you a tad nervous to climb down. 

You reached the bottom of the stairs and began to hear sounds, something told you that you were on the right track with that so you pressed forward. As the sounds got louder you knew you were sure you’d found him, you sped up and you crossed into the doorways threshold and what you saw made you retreat immediately. 

You partially hid, fingers gripping the door frame as you peered into the room. You see him. His back is turned to you, his silhouette is clear and defined because of the blazing fire he is in front of. You notice a few other things. Blood. So much blood. Thick and sticky coating a good portion of the floor and what you think used to be a person, a dead human body on the ground and not whole. No it was in pieces and you watched, terrified, unable to look away as he bent at the waist and picked up an arm, he stood back up and threw it into the flames and didn’t even flinch. 

The brutality on display, it was shocking, stomach turning, especially because it was him. You never would have expected. You watch as he picks up a leg cut off at the knee and tosses it in and you can’t stop the sound that escaped you. It made him stop and stand up straight and your heart was pounding, your mind oddly clear as you watched him, hoping he would continue his terrifying task and not notice you.

No such luck.

He turned and spotted you and when your eyes met his you gasped and after a minute, seeing his expression shift, anger and something else harsh and worse twisting his features, an expression previously unseen on his face by you and you bolt. 

This was the worst thing that could have happened tonight. He moved, one hand snatching up his jacket, swinging it around his shoulders and slipping it on quickly, his feet already moving, picking up his glove and setting after you. This was terrible, the last thing he wanted to happen tonight but he couldn’t undo it, he had to deal with it but there was one bright spot, he had the upper hand. This was his territory, he knew the layout perfectly and you definitely did not. 

This place is a wreck, a confusing mess of cracked concrete and rusted metal, twisting hallways, broken stairs and catwalks, billowing steam making navigating even harder still. You had no way of knowing where to go and it was terrifying. Hearing him call after you made you run faster, legs and arms pump harder as he pursued.

That laugh you normally loved to pull from him, adored the way he would smile, the small shake of his head, sounded different now. It sounded rough and wrong and fucking scary. He called and taunted, “You can’t get away! I’ll getcha-” 

You believed him. 

“Can’t run forever!” He was right again, you can’t, you were already getting tired.

You think you recognized where you were, you think these are the stairs you came down earlier to get here, you take the stairs and midway up you hear and feel him. You feel his boots thundering up the stairs and you feel the vibrations of the force of the chase he gave through the grated metal. As soon as you reach the top you knew you had been right, this was the right direction, you see the expanse of what used to be the main work floor of the plant, similar to a warehouse. The floor was wet, holes in the roof letting the rain spill in and down creating the massive puddles you were now running by and through trying not to skid and slip in the process. If you fall he would get you and who knows what he would do.

Your mind flashed back to that expression upon you discovering him and you shook your head to will it away and that thought, it was too much, it did distract you and you slipped. Sneaks caught the edge of a puddle wrong and your feet slipped out from under you and you felt it, firm hand on your wrist and he pulled, you fell and fell hard.

Your shoulder took the brunt of the hit and it hurt, partially knocked the breath out of you. A pained groan of discomfort left you as you had fallen right into a puddle, the cold water began to soak into your clothing but you couldn’t focus on that because he was on you. 

He stood over you, body almost straddling you and then he was leaning down onto one knee, clearly not caring that he was getting wet, water drizzling down from the hole in the roof above onto you and him. You held your shoulder, looking up at him, trying to get your breath back and he leaned down closer, “I told you I’d get you.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say, you didn’t have anything to say, you nodded once. “I told you I was fuckin’ busy tonight, that I was working.” His hand closed around your throat and you gasped. 

“Now tell me. What exactly are you doing here? Why didn’t you listen to me?” His grip tightened by a hair and your eyes squeezed tighter, vision blurring as you choked out, “I-I just wanted to see you-I’m, fuck, I’m sorry-”

“I dunno if I can forgive you. Or let you go. Not after what you saw.” He hummed and your head fell back, a small splash as it did so, shaking your head back and forth as you said, “I won’t talk, I won’t tell anyone what I saw you do, I promise, I swear-”

He leaned down closer, “Damn right you won’t. See I really fucking like you so I am just gonna have to do something to make sure you don’t talk.” 

His lips brushed against yours and he said, “Make sure you can’t talk.” 

Now how would he do that? You were sure he had a few ideas. 

“Really you need to learn to fucking listen to me, you know that? When I say something you need to take heed. Do you not take me seriously?” He spat and you started to respond when you hear the sound of metal on metal and more, you feel something. 

Your eyes dart down, head moving as much as he would allow and you see it. In the low light you see flashes of silver, metal and definitely sharp, dragging through the water of the puddle you were half lying in. He moves it slowly, bringing it up closer and you could see it better. He is wearing a glove with blades on his fingers? You think back to the sight in the main room, the slashes on the body, it was from this. 

Your eyes met his again and you knew that yes, you should take him very seriously. 

“I’ll be good. I’ll listen.” 

You weren’t even aware you were saying it until it spilled from your lips. 

“Pretty words from a prettier mouth but I need more convincing.” He breathed and the blade of his index finger touched your bottom lip. He tapped gently and you noticed the remaining gore on it, tacky and clotted blood painting the sides and edges. He pressed and you winced as it broke the skin. Warm blood trickled out and ran down your chin and neck as he prompted. “Beg.” 

The ‘for your life’ part didn’t need to be said. 

“I-I’m so-so fucking sorry, I can listen! I can be good! I can do wha-whatever you want, whatever you need to convince you that I can be what you need, I can, I can be good-” You rambled on as he watched, his gloved hand moved, brought it up and licked your blood that he had spilled. 

You couldn’t help it. You enjoyed the view of that.

His pink tongue licking up what is arguably the most intimate bodily fluid there is, the one that literally makes you live and his reaction to tasting that, to tasting the essence of you. The shift was clear in his eyes, hazy, the hum of satisfaction. Fuck, you felt yourself throb at it. 

You didn’t want to think about what that said about you. Instead you say, “I’ve been good for you before, right?” You arched your hips, ground on him and felt he was already hard. “Remember Fred? I can be good again. So good.”

His eyes darken further and he moves his hips, grinding his clothed erection against you, non-gloved hand slides off your throat, moving down the length of your body. "Oh you fucking slut." 

You hum, grinding against him again. "Should be terrified, begging for your life and instead you're what? Begging for me to fuck you?" 

His non-gloved hand on your hip, tilting you so you can feel him more, it makes the friction better. “What a filthy whore.”

You weren’t sure if he was going to do it, even with his currently rock hard dick grinding between your legs but his non-gloved hand moved and opened your pants with ease. “Gonna let me fuck you dumb so you can’t talk to anybody about this shit. Make you totally, hopelessly addicted to this, wouldn’t think about betraying me.” 

You thought you were already at that point but as he yanked your pants and underwear down in one surprisingly fluid motion, considering how wet your clothing was anyway, you think there might be room for more persuasion. 

You’ve been in a similar position many a time. This wasn’t the first time you’d done this with him, not by a long shot, and soon enough you feel his tongue lick up your neck and his non gloved hand slide under the layers of your clothing. 

You should be doing something other than your eyes closing and arching your hips into his touch as his fingers slide down over you, providing perfect pressure while his teeth graze your pulse point and you whimper. He laughs at that and you throb against his fingers before he begins to truly tease, purposefully dipping his fingers in before starting to rub, focusing on where he knows makes your legs tense and a gasp be ripped from your chest. Your hands reach out and curl into the leather of his jacket. He hadn’t been wearing it to start, you love the long leather coat encompassing his form, makes you much weaker for him unable to resist and in a few short minutes it begins to get hazy for you. 

More dirty talk slips from between his lips before he is saying, “I think I should fill your mouth, let you practice how you are going to keep quiet about all this.” 

And that is how it went, your head turned with his gloved hand firmly as he fished out his hard cock, your mouth fell open and he pushed inside all at once, another laugh as you gagged on him. 

A quick and rough pace was set, using your mouth, gloved hand on your cheek as he rocked in and out. You did your best to please him, not just for the sake of your life but because fucked up as you were you wanted to do your best for him. You sucked indulgently, trying to stop how hard you were gagging and balance breathing as you took him in and out over and over. “Fuck, see? You got much better uses for this moan than-ugh-than talkin’.”

You hummed in agreement, head felt heavy, much too turned on to question or care beyond satisfying the ache that had been steadily building inside. He took notice of course, could see how you were squirming and he pulled out, wiped his spit slick shaft on your face, spreading the mess and you let him. “You need some more, don’t you?”

“Ye-yes, please?” You ask and he is stroking his dick with his non-gloved hand right in front of your face. “Mmm I know you can beg better than that but luck for you I am dying to fuck you already.” 

He moves you. Forces you into face down ass up, not caring for how rough he was being, or the way his glove nics your exposed skin in the process. If anything the winces and groans of pain fuel him, makes him harder. 

The water is cool. Not just the water you are half lying in but the water that is raining down on the pair of you, the coolness is welcome with how hot you were feeling inside. You expect to feel him splitting you open but instead you feel his hands on your ass, spreading you and then his tongue is licking up. Passing up, dipping into both holes and you moan, loudly and helplessly as his mouth works, tasting you, a moan of his own accompanied by him saying, “Fuck, you always taste too good.”

You thought he was in a rush but it was like as soon as he started to taste you he couldn’t stop easily. He kept going until you were panting, crying out for him and shivering both from the cold and the pleasure, on the very edge of bliss when he pulled back. You sob, “No! Wa-wait, I-I was so close-”

His gloved hand comes down, smacks you on the ass and you yelp as he says coos, “Shh, can’t you be patient like the good boy I know you are?”

And then you feel him. Poised and still slick and right there and he slides in, slow and firm and as you inhale sharply at the shock of pleasure to your system he exhales out, “Fuck, so tight.” 

He didn’t waste time now that he was finally balls deep inside you. He ground hard before starting to move, fucking in and out of you, moaning and he grits out, “Jerk yourself off, wanna feel you cum on me, c’mon.”

You complied, hand flying between your legs where you needed it, fingers make quick work and from how close you were before it didn’t take long until you were cumming for the first time around him. 

“Ohhh, shit, yes! There you go, good job.” He praised as he fucked into you harder, drawing out even more sensation, pleasure spikes harder, he doesn’t relent even as you come down he keeps going. 

He keeps going until he did just as he said he would. Fucking you long and hard, rough, groping your body, tugging on your clothing that was still on to use as leverage, impaling you over and over again on his dick. He kept going until you were a trembling mess, several orgasms deep, ripped out of you with shocking precision and skill until he was ready to finish. 

He sucked on two fingers, slicked them up and placed said two fingers against your ass and you pushed back into him and took them with ease. His hips slammed forward as his fingers pulled out and the mix of the burning stretch from one hole and the brain melting pleasure from the other was doing you in. He didn’t take as much care as usual, some rough fingering, only letting you just start to loosen up and get a feel before he pulled them out unceremoniously. He pulled out and lined up, sinking halfway into your ass before the groan of your name bled into a curse and he spilled into you, cum burning hot but it makes you shiver with a weak moan. 

He stays in you for a while before pulling out and allowing you to fall onto your side, heavy breathing, totally spent and he waved his gloved hand in front of your face, a few snaps from his non-gloved hand that you didn’t really respond to. “Ahhh, nice and brainless. Perfect. Just how I like em.”

Yeah there was no way you had the energy to walk out of here let alone talk to anyone about anything.

[boymeetsweevil]

SS5 - MYG, NSFW, 3237w

TW: Explicit content, talk about human sacrifice, kinda crack-y

“I don’t get it,” you panted after finally getting the rusty boiler room door shut. “Why were they still following us?”

“Dunno.”

Your classmate, Yoongi, huffs beside you to catch his breath. After running through the environmental science department’s small observation forest, it was abundantly clear that neither of you were the athletic type.

“Don’t you think it’s weird? I thought for sure that the purity potion we put in that Taehyung guy’s backpack would be good enough bait for the warlocks.”

Yoongi remains silent. So you continue to suck in gulps of air nervously while peering through the frosted glass window on the door. It’s not as if you can actually see the people who have been tailing a group of innocent freshmen for sacrifice. And you and your friend, funnily enough.

You turn to him then to watch him take his glasses off and polish them on his hoodie. It’s a strangely casual gesture and the fact that he’s trying to polish the glasses despite the fact that the lenses are cracked from falling in the forest makes you think something’s up.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that we had two groups of bait—one full of actual virgin freshmen and one with a guy holding what’s essentially virginity in a bottle—and there’s still warlocks tailing us?”

“What do you want me to say?” He almost shouts before shoving his glasses back onto his face.

“Something that lets me know you think this is fucked. Because it is fucked up.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your eyes narrow and make your way back over to him. When you get close enough, he scowls at the ground and turns away from you but he’s got nowhere to hide.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. There’s a bunch of crazy evil wizards out there sacrificing virgins and I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of it.” 

“It’s none of your business. Let it go.”

“I could die here, how the hell is it not my business?”

“It’s just not.”

“What are you hiding?!”

“I’m a virgin,” he shouts. “There! Are you happy?”

“...Oh,” you say, unable to hide your surprise as your eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He rakes a hand up through the dark bangs that cover his forehead. The sigh he breathes out is shaky, probably partially from annoyance and partially from still recovering from running for his life.

“It’s just embarrassing. Didn’t want to change how you saw me.”

There’s a tenderness in the way he admits it as he stares down at his feet. Shame blooms softly on his pale cheeks and the image makes your heart clench a little. You take a breath to calm your heartbeat and take in the dry damp smell of the boiler room. Now is not the time to be dwelling on a petty crush, you’re reminded.

“Well, we have to figure something out. I didn’t think to take any kind of weapon because I thought the freshmen would need them all.”

“It should be fine. I think that one of them said there was a book in the classics library that might actually have the banishing spell in it. We just have to wait it out.”

You nod. “I guess you’re right. Maybe—”

A loud metallic bang shatters the quiet atmosphere. It’s all too familiar since you heard the sound almost 15 minutes prior when you both ran to an abandoned math building in search of a hideout. It’s the sound that the chains blocking the ground floor entrance made when you tried breaking in.

“Maybe it’s the others,” you let out a tiny nervous chuckle. “They could be trying to find us. To let us know the banishing spell worked.”

“They said they’d call first.” Yoongi’s words are tight and low. You don’t like how much resignation leaks into his voice.

“I’ll check my phone. Maybe I missed their call or they left a voicemail.” Of course your phone only displays a low battery warning, no calls or texts of success in sight.

“Shit.”

You look up from your phone to find Yoongi cupping his face in his hands and sliding down the brick wall to squat above the ground. Instantly you crouch down too, wanting to comfort your friend.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is. I mean it, Yoongi. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“Well, you can definitely find a way out of this.”

“I’m not leaving you. You’re getting out of this alive too.” 

He laughs, empty and dark. “Please, the only way I’m getting out of this is if...” he trails off.

You tilt your head. “What? Do you have an idea?”

Suddenly he looks nervous, eyes darting from your face to different spots around the room, to your face again.

“I—yeah, but...It’s crazy.”

“Just tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll help.” You pat his arm for emphasis and he shifts away minutely.

“You’re not gonna want this, though.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m doing it anyway. You know, to keep you alive? Just spit it out?”

His mouth opens and closes and he brings a hand to smooth down his face like he’s exhausted at just thinking up the idea. Finally, he looks to you.

“We could...have sex.”

“Uh, what,” you laugh because you really weren’t expecting such an answer.

“I’m not trying to be a creep or funny,” he holds up his hands. “It’s just that...that’s the reason why they’re chasing me—why they’re chasing any of us.”

“No, I get it. But, um, how is this gonna work?”

“It could honestly just be a couple seconds, right? Just long enough for me to technically have been inside someone. And then we can stop. Magic is pretty literal, right?”

“I guess?”

“God, I’m sorry. This is so weird.” His voice comes out sounding pained, and you snap out of your own awkwardness.

“No, it’s fine. This is probably the best option anyway.”

Just as you solidify the idea in your head, another boom echoes through the building followed by the sound of footsteps and the scrape of chairs. From the sound of it, the warlocks had found their way into the building and were ransacking the classrooms lining the floor above.

“Okay, let’s try it,” you nod resolutely to yourself.

You stand up to let Yoongi stiltedly unbutton his pants and push them down his thighs. In the back of your mind, you’re mildly surprised to find that he wears boxer briefs. There’s no time to unpack the thought, but you promise yourself that if you get out alive, you’ll do whatever you want with that information. Instead you reach under the skirt you wore that day to wriggle your panties down to your ankles.

While your hands play with the hem of your skirt, you approach Yoongi. Slowly you lower crouch until you’re hovering above his lap, a few inches away from straddling him.

“There’s a problem,” he hedges before you can fully sit.

“What?”

“I just, uh, I’m not exactly ready yet.”

“Huh?”

You look down confused because you don’t see anything wrong. And then you realize you really don’t see anything at all and therein lies the problem. He’s not hard.

“I don’t normally have an issue with this,” he stutters while blushing anew. “But I guess the fact that I can hear the evil wizards right outside who are determined to kill me is messing with the atmosphere a little. Sorry.”

“No worries. I mean, mood is definitely important. I’m not really that ready either.”

The sounds of chair scraping and classroom doors getting slammed grow subtly louder, reminding you that time is precious right now.

"Yoongi,” your voice comes out softer than you planned. “Do what you need to. To get ready.”

He gives the smallest look toward the door before fixing his eyes back on you. Then, his eyes grow wide. You’re unbuttoning your shirt in front of him, to speed things along you say to yourself. Jitters in your fingers make you clumsy but they’re obviously not the usual pre-hookup jitters. There’s no warm excitement spreading with each button undone. It feels fairly perfunctory in fact, almost as if you were doing the buttons up instead of down. You get the first undone after what feels like too long, just enough to show off the peaks of your breasts.

Yoongi’s hand migrates down to his lap while you continue, heel of his palm pressing into his groin. He lets out a small breath while taking in the plush roundness of your cleavage. Thoughts of how long it’s been since he’s been this close to another person buzz around in his head like annoying pests, but he tamps down on them. Instead he focuses on the way your breasts rise and fall with each breath you take. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine the backdrop of the boiler room melting away and fading into your dorm, where he’s spent many a night working on music theory homework with you. It helps and he pulses a little under his own touch.

He watches the buttons of your shirt fall away one by one, revealing an extra inch of skin each time in a methodic rhythm that’s tantalizing in its own right. Your bra is simple, he realizes as time passes. The cups look soft from wear with the gentle way you almost spill from them. He gets the urge to bite the smooth skin out of nowhere and squeezes himself harder. The material looks black in the little amount of moonlight that’s filtered through the dirty boiler room windows, and he can just barely make out some lace through the cracked lenses of his glasses. In another version of this moment, he’d take the frames off and lean closer to you. Pull you in under the guise of seeing better, but also so he could feel you. 

With a small huff, he sticks his hand unceremoniously down his briefs to work himself up faster. Judging by the way he gnaws at his lip, it’s not fast enough. Feeling emboldened, you lower yourself so that you can rest in the seat made by his lap and bent legs. Carefully, you press both hands to his chest. The movement stops him in his tracks and he looks up at you abruptly.

Having his attention on you makes you hyperaware of yourself at first, but you continue and peel off your top fully from where it hung limp around your shoulders. The straps of your bra slide off on their own, laying delicately below your shoulders. The consequence is an instant acceleration of the motions of his wrist. It doesn’t take long for him to be at full mast after that. Nor does it take long for you to begin to feel the weight of arousal in the pit of your stomach when you concentrate on the small noises he makes in front of you instead of the noises of incoming danger outside. Your mind doesn’t let you fully pull away from the present, though. 

The footsteps echo in the hall in the same moment that Yoongi gives a grunted, ‘Okay’. The steps grow louder still and transition into the sound of quick strides as he pulls himself from his briefs. You grab him at the base, ignoring the way he hisses, and the steps get replaced with bangs against the boiler room door. The blows to the door reach their peak volume when you finally slam your hips down.

You and Yoongi let out twin gasps at the movement, but you quickl clamp a hand over his mouth. For a moment, stars twinkle at the corners of your vision, but you blink them away and listen. A few seconds pass, each one punctuated by the rush of your pulse in your own ears. 

There’s a sudden snarl, a flash of light under the crack of the door, and then...silence.

“I think,” you breathe, “They’re gone.”

Both of you wait a few seconds more, unwilling to move from your spots, limbs locked in wishful thinking. When no one comes bursting through the door, the victory finally sinks in.

"It worked!”

You lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck in a hug, chest pressing against his, and Yoongi lets out a mangled whine.

“Are you okay?” You pull back to look at him. Maybe you leaned on an injury he got while running through the woods.

There’s no cuts or bruises visible, but his jaw is clenched and his hands fist at your sides. It’s then that you remember your semi-bare state and your embarrassment surges forth. You move to leave his lap but he hisses again and bucks his hips up hard. It knocks the breath out of you and you unconsciously steady yourself with both hands on his shoulders.

“Yoongi, what—”

His hips twitch again though he manages to tamp down on most of the force. But not without you getting bounced lightly in his lap. With your adrenaline fading, you’re becoming more aware that you’re connected. A shiver spreads up your spine after a small delay.

“Oh,” you moan before you can stop yourself. “Yoongi, w-we should stop.”

“Yeah. That is what we said,” he grits out.

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes then. His gaze is aimed at you but there’s a far-away, dreamy quality to it. The sweat that was beginning to prick at his hairline when you first sat on his lap is now rolling in a single errant bead. You follow its journey down the length of his neck.

“We should stop,” you say again after letting your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth. “Right?”

“Listen,” he has to choke the syllables out. “I don’t think I—”

"Yoongi.”

“You’re too warm and soft...and wet. Fuck.” 

His hips snap again and this time all you can do is tighten around him. It eggs him on and as soon as he feels your grip on him increase, his hands unclench over your hips. Using your waist as an anchor, he blindly grinds you down his length. The pressure feels amazing on your clit and you can’t help but wind your arms around his broad shoulders so you can get closer for leverage. 

You let his name slip from your mouth in a groan at the way he fills you up. The sound is melodic and your new embrace gives him the chance to feel your breasts up against him. If he concentrates, he can feel your nipples drag against his shirt. In hindsight he wishes he’d taken it off.

Using the muscles in your thighs, you draw up from his lap until he nearly slides out from the silky glide. You look down and your mouth drops open. While you were vaguely aware of him when he was fully inside, you’re still surprised to see how thick he is. The stretch you felt at the beginning you attributed to the simple fact that there was no foreplay before you took all of him in one go, but now you realize it was also just him. Slowly, you slide back down his fat length. The sound the follows is lewd and makes your cheeks warm.

With his fucked-out expression as your motivation, you lean forward to brace yourself on his chest and slam your hips back down to take as much of him in one go as you can. He lets out a breathy whine and his head falls back against the wall. The sound of his moans are so nice that you do it again. And again. Until you have a rough rhythm that he meets you with halfway. The smack of his hips against your ass is loud in the small room, verging on filthy. 

Though he can barely keep his eyes open, he manages to keep them open enough so he can admire the way you bounce on him. Each time you spring up, your breasts bob with you. The itch he had earlier to put his mouth on them rears its head once more. This time, he entertains the urge. He leaves one large hand on your hip while the other one snakes up your body. The warmth of his palm leaves an incendiary wake and when he finally cups your breast, his name is tumbling ceaselessly from your lips. He leans forward and rests a cheek on the softness for a moment before doing his best to mouth at it all.

A feedback loop builds. The wet feeling of his tongue on your chest has you clenching your core. The wet cushion of your walls around him makes it easier for you to feel him pulse inside you. Each new trickle of arousal from between your thighs soaks his lap. The motions become slicker and slicker until he’s almost slipping out with each thrust. The pleasure is so acute that his nose begins to wrinkle adorably. You can’t help but lean forward to kiss him. His soft lips part for you at once, lending a new soft sensation to you. It’s sweet enough to have you slowing down your movements to fully seat yourself in his lap and taste him, to grind your clit into his lap and tighten on him gradually until he was bucking clumsily up into you.

When your tongue brushes against his, he jolts twice before spending inside of you with no warning. The release is almost hot and you continue to move to milk him through it, glad for having enough foresight to have taken your birth control already. You pull away from the kiss only for him to chase your lips as his eyes flutter open. He doesn’t remember closing them.

“Did you?” Yoongi sighs against your chin.

“No, but that’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He mutters to himself before reaching down between you. 

His fingers lack elegance as they bump against you initially, but once he figures out the angle, he rubs you with ease. The glide is slippery and dirty as he parts your folds and circles the bundle of nerves at the apex of your core. But it’s enough to have you swiveling into his touch. His fingers, now free as you bump your clit against the palm of his hand, find your entrance. You’ve always liked Yoongi’s hands and even admired them from afar before this fateful night. You like them so much more than now that they stretch you so good and reach places you can’t on your own. Your orgasm is like smoke and follows the rise of heat that starts at your core and melts into your extremities.

You lay boneless in Yoongi’s arms for a few long moments. There’s some rustling as he shifts under you.

“Hey,” he strokes his palm down your side to wake you from a shallow slumber.

“What’s going on?”

“Look.”

You peer down at his hand where his phone shines a pale blue. There’s a text open from an unfamiliar number that reads simply ‘the spell worked’.

“Oh, finally!”

“Yeah. We should celebrate.”

His gaze wanders over the curves of your body and a moment later, you feel a telltale pulse between your legs.

“We should,” you hum against his neck, hips starting up again in a sensual circle. “Congratulations.”

huge thank you to @bangtancentricsblog​ for talking this through with me <3

[flowercrown-bucky]

That Old Black Magic

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Modern!Loki x Reader, Modern!Thor x Reader, Loki x Wanda

Series Warnings: Cheating, affairs, swearing, legal alcohol consumption, smut later on, mention of smoking

Summary: What do you do when you fall in love? Embark on a clandestine affair with their brother, of course.

Authors’ Note: This is very dialogue heavy towards the end. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Oh, and hold tight, it’s a long one.

I was supposed to post this yesterday but forgot oops

Start At The Beginning | Series Masterlist

Chapter Five - Regarding long dismissed feelings that must, as ever, be addressed.

TAG LIST: OPEN (PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED!)

“Y/N?” He muttered into your hair.

You murmured in response.

"I love you."

"What?" A spluttered, incredulous laugh left your lips. "Sorry, Loki, for a moment, I thought you said you loved me."

This was it, Loki thought. This was his do or die moment.

"I did." He mumbled. "I do."

Your whole body froze. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. His words echoed in your ears.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I. Love. You.

It wasn't possible. Loki didn't love you. Loki couldn't love you.

You'd played this game since the very first time you'd met. Dancing around each other, skirting around your feelings. Secret, exciting, harmless. You were drawn to him and he you, there was no denying that. Since you'd first met, you'd been drawn together, as if dictated by the will of some cosmic force.

But it was never anything serious. Never anything real. You'd had your moments, quiet and tender and clandestine, hidden away from prying eyes. Moments where you'd wondered how things would pan out if circumstances were different. If - and it was a big if - you weren't engaged to his brother.

As you closed your eyes, hundreds of Lokis' filled your mind.

Loki at the garden party. Loki half-smiling at a joke you'd told. Loki laughing so hard he spat beer out his nose. Loki sleeping on his brother. Loki in the sea under the moonlight. Loki gently embracing Wanda. Loki gently embracing you. Loki that night on the roof, mere steps away from pouring his heart out to you. You looked at the Loki before you. His bottom lip trembled slightly, his eyes glassy.

"Wanda..."  Your voice trembled as you spoke. "Thor."

He stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around you, cradling your body.

"It doesn't matter about them." He murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It doesn't matter about anyone. All that matters is me and you. So long as I love you and you love me, everything will be ok."

You said nothing, trying very hard to disguise how every muscle in your body was tensing under his touch. You weren't fooling anyone.

"You do love me, don't you?" He stepped away, trying to meet your gaze. "You love me too, right? Y/N?"

You turned your head as shame filled your body. Tears filled your eyes, and you worried that if you looked at him you might start bawling uncontrollably.

"Y/N." His voice was low. "Do you love me?"

Your silence said it all.

"I'm sorry, Loki." A tear escaped your eyes, rolling down your cheek.

"You do, Y/N." His voice was almost pleading, his hands catching your biceps. "You do love me, I know you do. Everything that's happened, everything between us, I know you do. Say you love me."

You had been right. The sight of him had, in fact, caused you to sob uncontrollably, your body trembling under his firm grasp.

"Say it, please." He begged you, tears rolling down his face. "Please, tell me you love me. Tell me the truth. Please."

"I'm sorry, Loki." You repeated.

"You do, you do." It seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "I know you do."

"Loki, stop." You pushed him away from you. "I'm sorry, Loki, but I don't love you."

Loki felt like he'd been stabbed, your words like a knife driving straight through his heart. His breaths escaped him, as if he'd taken a heavy fall, his lungs suddenly feeling as if they'd been shattered. He'd never felt this way before, he felt almost as if his heart was about to quite literally break into two pieces, taking out most of his vital organs in the process. How had he been so wrong? Could he have really misjudged everything that had happened so badly? He thought back to the first time he'd met you, the way you'd looked at him then.

He thought about the way you were looking at him now.

"You don't.... Love me?" He whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.

You wiped the teardrops from your eyes uncomfortably. You weren't sure what to say.

"I should.. I should probably go." He rubbed at his eyes, turning and all but running for the door. "Just, don't tell my brother, okay?"

Your heart lurched in your chest. Could you let him go that easily?

"Loki!" You called after him. "Loki, wait!"

You were met with nothing but the slamming of the door.

Loki slammed the door of his flat with force it had never known before. Was he angry? Was he sad? He wasn't entirely sure.

He'd headed for the Kraken when he entered his kitchen, his fingers unscrewing the bottle as if it was of their own accord, pouring himself a more than healthy portion of rum. He sat himself down on the balcony, his fingers trembling as he attempted to light his cigarette. It took five tries but eventually, the zippo gave in and his Marlboro Lite was smoking .

After three drags of his cigarette and two sips of his rum did he eventually allow himself to cry. Tears rolled down his face, his nose filling with snot. Every contraction of his throat and chest felt like it might be his last. It felt as if every single sob might shatter his rib cage. How could he have been so wrong?

Thor had found you curled in a ball, crying, and more than slightly tipsy.

"I'm sorry, my love." Was all he'd said, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You'd been scooped up gently, and placed in your bed, the duvet tucked around you.

"Loki didn't come round, did he?" He asked, climbing into the bed next to you. "I forgot I'd invited him."

You shook your head violently.

"Look, I'm really sorry." He reached over to you, wrapping you into his chest. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too." Your voice came out in a whisper, unable to look him in the eyes.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

Meanwhile, Loki had been living the endlessly grey shades of life. It wasn't as if anything had changed. Anything but, really. His life had remained exactly the same.

He woke up every day at 6:05 and went for his daily jog. Monday through Friday, his breakfast would be a largely uninspiring bowl of porridge, following a shower that had, for a week, been cold due to his boiler's diverter valve sticking. He'd arrive at his office between 8:35 and 8:50 AM (Traffic-dependent), which gave him precisely enough time to make himself a large coffee - black, with one sugar - and read through his case notes before his first client meeting of the day. His working day would often overrun by an hour or so, which he didn't mind on days he was on his own (The exceptions to this being Thursdays and Fridays, Fridays being date night). Honestly? He happily stayed at the office until 7PM, giving him just enough time after he'd cooked and eaten to wallow in misery and self-pity, followed by an hour of half-hearted chatter with Wanda on the phone before he decided bed was the wisest option.

On Thursdays, he stayed at Wanda's. This typically meant he had to leave the office before 5:30, else she'd worry. They'd have a perfectly pleasant meal and a few glasses of wine before settling on the sofa to stream Netflix shows, before retreating to her room to fuck before going to sleep. The sex, as the chatter, had also become half-hearted, and this, he could tell, was something Wanda was becoming increasingly suspicious of.

It was a Thursday such as this that Loki had bailed on. He wasn't feeling well, he'd told his girlfriend. It wasn't entirely untrue.

You had hurt him unbearably, and that, was not a well feeling.

Not to mention that the pretence was killing him. Pretending you were in love with one woman when you were truly in love with another was no easy feat (Not to mention you'd soon be his sister in law, which would make his feelings a little too Game of Thrones for his liking), nor was pretending to be insanely busy so as to avoid both aforementioned women and the latter's fiancee.

Not to mention how you'd crushed his heart under your proverbial heel, leaving the proverbial shatters in the proverbial dust.

He'd wondered briefly on his drive home if he'd ever catch a break.

So, he lay sprawled on his sofa, a large wine in his hand, trying to ignore the phone lying next to him that was constantly notifying him of his girlfriend's concern for his welfare, and trying not to dwell on the fact that he could not dispel the image of your face from his mind every time he fucked said girlfriend.

So, naturally, the knocking on the door had really pissed him off.

He stormed over to the door, internally condemning whoever it was who'd decided to come visit him. What was so important they couldn't have just texted? If it was a door-to-door salesman or an evangelical believer, he would have to utilise extreme restraint in order to not knock them out. He flung the door open, ready to snap at whoever it was.

He was not expecting it to be you.

"Hey, can we talk?" You turned to face him. The smile on your face was small, shy, reassuring, but it still dazzled him.

He wasn't sure what to say. In all truth, he was completely dumbfounded.

"No." Was all his mouth could conjure up.

He'd been dreaming of this for weeks, of you rushing into his arms and declaring your undying love for him, but now that you were here, all he felt was anger. Anger for how you'd humiliated him, anger for how you'd hurt him. As if his body knew better what was good for him than his brain did, his arms reached out by themselves and slammed the door.

If Loki thought you'd leave him alone at that, he was very much mistaken. You clenched your hands into little fists, banging on the door with each alternately. You'd come to talk, and you were not someone who would leave things lying down. You were a fighter, and you'd be damned if one man thought he was going to change that.

His confession had deeply unsettled you. Panicked you, even.

You knew he felt for you. After all, he’d made no real attempt to hide it. Regardless of your own feelings, pushing him away, you knew, was the best thing to do for everyone. You loved Thor, and Loki would get over it. In time, he would come to see that you’d made the right choice.

You did not like the little voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that it was him clouding your thoughts as you drifted off to sleep in his brother’s arms.

"Loki!" You yelled. "I know you can hear me."

Your banging on the door continued for another minute until you heard shuffling from the other side.

"Will you shut up?" He grumbled. "I have neighbours, you know."

"Then let me in." You argued.

The sigh that came from the other side of the door came from a man who sounded like he was really, really done. The door swung open, revealing a man who looked as exhausted as he sounded.

"You have five minutes." He told you, his arms crossed over his chest.

Loki was not sure why exactly he had let you into his flat, but there you were, sat on his sofa opposite him.

"I'm sorry, Loki." You said, looking up at him.

"So you've said before." He but his lip, staring down at his shoes.

"I humiliated you." You said.

"Yeah, you did." A bitter laugh left his mouth.

"I hurt you." You continued.

"That too." He brought his hand up to his throat, undoing his top bottom.

"Can you just stop, and listen, just for a second?" You asked. "Yes, I hurt you, yes, I humiliated you, and a whole lot more, too, I would imagine. But I want to move on from this! I want us to be the way we were! Is that too much to ask?"

"Y/N, you didn't just hurt me." His voice was low, quiet. Calm, even. "I held my heart out to you, and you trod it into the dirt. I told you I love you, and you didn't love me back. That, I can live with. But now, you say you want back in on my life? To what, to laugh at me? Why the fuck are you even here, Y/N?"

You bit your lip, trying very hard not to cry. It wasn't working.

"Say something." Loki rose to his feet, standing roughly half a foot from you. "Fucking say something! Why the fuck are you here, Y/N? To throw it in my fucking face?"

"Because I do." You whispered, covering your face with your hands.

"What?" He asked, stopping in his tracks.

"I fucking love you, Loki!" You shouted, suddenly finding your voice, and in the more literal sense, your feet. "I fucking love you and I'm engaged to your fucking brother, and that's so many kinds of fucked up I don't even know where to begin."

To say Loki was stunned did not even scratch the surface.

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. For so long, he’d ached to hear those words, but now you’d actually said them, he wished you hadn’t. He almost wished there was some way he could push them back into your mouth, make them unsaid.

“You do?” Was all his brain could think to say.

You nodded, suddenly bashful, unable to look into his eyes. You stood, awkwardly facing each other. Your heavy breathing was the only noise in the room, sneaking glances at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking, to see if they were looking at you. Who would be the one to break the silence? He reached for you, tugging you into his arms. Your head fell against his shoulder, your body contained in his arms as they wrapped around you. In spite of yourself, you let out a heavy sigh.

‘Push him away, it’s for the best of everyone’, the voice in the back of your mind chided. Bang goes that theory.

You opted to ignore it.

“Hey now, stop with those tears.” His tone had become soft, a world apart from the anger from just moments ago. “You’re much too beautiful to cry.” His hand came down to cradle your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes with his thumb.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whispered.

“I know.” He replied.

“It’s wrong.” You continued.

“I know.” He repeated.

You nuzzled your head into his chest, relaxing under his touch as your arms wound around his neck.

“Loki.” You whispered, your voice hoarse. “Loki, I want you to kiss me. Please.”

He blinked at you in disbelief. He’d waited a year and a half to kiss you, and now you were actually asking, his body seemed to be betraying him.

You looked up at him, one eyebrow slightly quirked.

All he could think was how pretty your eyes were.

“Well?” You asked.

Chapter Six - I Put A Spell On You

—

[Also, little known fact about me - I’m a professional copywriter. I wrote this in between some other pieces and I can hear my professional voice coming through in this where I’m usually able to separate the two, but I sort of roll with it here. So you know, like, soz. I guess. #sorrynotsorry. Also, while I’m here, don’t cheat on your partners kids.]

—

SERIES TAGS:

@jessiejunebug @sherlockfan4life @soapbox-moments @amour-delicate @milea @writingforthelonelysoul @justyourneighbourhoodretard @chxrryycola @erinlaufeyson @marvelousell @rogerrhqpsody

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 3 - Demonic

(Warnings for: non-consensual blood drinking)

The situation could have been worse. He could have had to defuse a bomb in less than ten seconds as in one of these action films, or even prevent a tsunami from destroying the continent. Really, Dean had something to be happy about, it was a Sunday afternoon like any other in the Winchester’s life. Here, it was simply a matter of escaping his little brother who wanted to kill him.

"Dean! Stop running like that, I just want to talk." Sam’s dangerously cold voice rose in the corridors of the bunker. "For now."

Dean took a sharp turn behind the engine room and arrived in the boiler room. He closed the door as quietly as possible and locked a chair under the handle as a thin bulwark against his psycho baby brother.

The hardest part to process in this strange situation was probably that Dean definitely didn’t know why he was facing it in the first place. Just yesterday, he was drinking beers with Sam in front of a classic Indiana Jones and now, his brother was addicted again to demon blood and trying to kill him. He had no rational explanation for all this except that he may have ended up going nuts. Was it a nightmare? He did not remember falling asleep. A hallucination in this case? But why now, in the safety of their home?

Unless all this comes down to Chuck still trying to mess with them, pushing all their buttons with sordid visions of each other one after another. Dean, however, did not want to believe that all this was real. Sam was all he had lately. He was still on bad terms with Castiel, his stubbornness being the death of him someday, and the grief that weighed on his shoulders threatening to crush him at every moment.

"Dean!" 

Poundings on the door. Clenching his jaw, Dean glanced around him hastily before he focused his attention on the air vents. So the situation was as desperate as it seemed. Sam had blocked the main entrance, Dean knew that for trying to escape a first time and almost died. In a desperate rush to escape his brother’s death trap, he had had to jump from the balcony of the war room, explaining why he was now limping towards the air vents.

He couldn’t stay here, he had no plan and certainly no desire to hurt Sam, no matter what his brother’s intentions were toward him. Dean had to take a step back, lock his younger one in the bunker and think of a concrete strategy to save him. Maybe he could ask the girls for help? Apologize to Castiel? A violent blow to the door took him out of his thoughts and, after an anguished look at the wooden partition, Dean began to stack a few pieces of furniture to access the overhead ventilation.

The next impact was followed by a sinister snap of wood and Dean turned his head towards the door. At the center of it was now a large crack that revealed Sam’s twisted face. Dean was convinced that this expression would add to his many nightmares, although he was still not sure if he was in the middle of one of them now. Sam’s smile is widening.

"Ring a bell?" He teased before moving away to rip the door open a bit more.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he thought back to that damned time when he had been the one destroying a door with a hammer while Sam tried to escape him, black eyes on his face. But, like his brother at that time, he could not bring himself to face Sam and risk engaging in a mortal struggle with him. With his heart pounding down his throat, Dean stacked another chair on a desk before starting to climb his wobbly construction.

As he tried not to fall, he still heard Sam slamming against that door by the sheer force of his fists and feet. Once at the top, Dean began to dismantle the grid and the idle fan, cursing against the stubbornness of the screws. A flash of relief surpassed that of adrenaline when he managed to clear the air passage, but his victory was short-lived. There was no more noise behind him.

With a knot in his stomach, Dean turned to realize that Sam had entered the room, his eyes fixed on him.

- "Dammit!" Dean shouted before trying to rush into the ventilation, head first.

He was half-engulfed in the opening, his dislocated hip giving him a hard time, when he felt a powerful hand gripping his ankle. The grip was so strong that Dean was convinced it would leave a mark. Suddenly and despite his kicks, he felt himself being violently pulled back. With no grip inside the vent, Dean slipped once, twice before Sam grabbed him by the belt and pulled him out of that metal tunnel.

Thrown on the ground at least three meters below, Dean let out a yelp of pain as he felt his wounded hip dislocating further. Nevertheless, he did not have time to feel sorry for himself, feeling his brother’s hands come back on him to keep him on the ground. In an annoying grunt, Dean tried to flip-flop and punched his brother in the jaw. Sam simply smiled, taking it and barely moving. Dean opened wide helpless eyes.

"We both know how things are going to end, but I appreciate the effort Dean." Sam smirked.

"No!" Dean cried out in a hoarse voice. "It’s not real Sammy, you have to resist, you have to-"

Suddenly, Sam grabbed Dean by the neck and stuck his nails into his skin, strong enough to draw blood. Dean stopped talking, swallowing a complaint of pain.

"You see, it is real! Spare me your great martyr speeches this time, Dean, I don’t want your ‘I’m your big brother and I love you’ remake." Sam’s voice was filled with venom. "The sooner you stop fighting what’s bound to happen, the better for everyone."

The first punch came out of nowhere, colliding with Dean’s cheekbone and sending pain waves into his face. At the third, Dean seemed to come out of his drowsiness and tried to reverse the situation around, but it was clear that Sam was more than determined to dominate the fight. The beatings kept coming, so Dean had stopped counting, while his brother kept spitting unbearable truth in his face.

"So pathetic!" Sam shouted, raising him by the neck to the nearest wall, Dean collapsing into his grip. "Fight, strike back!"

Dean shook his head through the pain, unable to beat Sam as he was going through it himself. He had often wondered how he would die and, although the ideal scheme would be to leave a gun in the hand, the possibility of dying from his younger brother whom he had raised and protected all his life was the most unbearable.

"N-no…" Dean struggled to articulate, his face already swollen with blood.

Sam replied with another scream of rage and Dean couldn’t recognize the being in front of him. Sam was usually so different, so… composed and honest. He was loyal to his own principles, always here to help and share his pragmatic spirit. Sam was also, deep down, that person broken by life who was startled at the slightest too loud sound, that force of nature that never stopped seeing the good in people, even when it was not obvious. He was his little brother, his reason to fight, and he would never accept that Sam Winchester had now become a violent and sadistic demon. Dean shook his head again.

Annoyed by Dean’s passive behavior, Sam tightened his grip on him and, after a brief silence, had a rictus.

"All right… I guess I’ll have to show you why fighting is useless by myself."

Dean barely reacted, presumably having accepted his fate. If Sam was gone, there was no reason for him to remain a hero on this earth. With a sharp movement, Sam’s eyes fixed on Dean’s, he released him with one hand to search the inside of his jacket. Quickly, a pocket knife came out and he smiled again.

"Take one to know one…" He whispered.

Suddenly, the younger released his second hand by putting Dean on the wall with his forearm. Sam dangerously close to his face, Dean did not lose a thing when his brother cut the inside of his hand. A glance at Sam confirmed Dean’s fears and his confused expression gave way to fear. No.

"Sam-

"You chose this, Dean. Everything that leads us here, it’s your fault." Sam replied.

Immediately, Sam pressed his bloody hand against Dean’s mouth, forcing him to keep his jaw open. Dean repelled to the taste of warm blood coming to soak his lips and pour in his mouth, uttering a groan of frustration and anguish. No matter how hard he tried not to swallow, Sam kept filling his mouth with this infamous liquid that turned his stomach.

Could he end up like Sam if he swallowed that blood? Another Azazel protégé? Or maybe he was just going to die, sent back to Hell while he let the world perish. What the hell could he do about that anyway?

Worn out, Dean swallowed and closed his eyes.

"DEAN!"

He reopened his eyelids in a start, feeling the sweat on his back. A panicked look around him informed him that he was now in the library, sitting at a table. Sam was on his right, with a hand on his shoulder and a worried face. Dean looked into his brother’s sweet, frantic gaze.

"Dude, I don’t know what you were dreaming of…" Sam smiled gently. " But… you drooled on the table."

Dean frowned before looking at the wood, a small glistening puddle of saliva on the surface. With a quick gesture, he wiped the corner of his mouth, his fingers brushing the place covered with blood a few moments earlier.

Sam wasn’t fooled, and Dean knew his brother realized he was having a nightmare. The joke was only there to defuse the situation, Dean visibly still tense and confused, but Sam was kind enough not to ask. Dean could still feel the metallic taste of blood in his throat…

"… Do you want a mop?" Sam asked while pressing a little harder on his older brother’s shoulder, a discreet but necessary support.

"Shuddup." He groaned, leaning back in his chair, sighing slightly.

Dean turned his attention to Sam again, chasing the ghosts out of his nightmare, and when his brother let out a small innocuous laugh, Dean was able to imitate him. They were there for each other. * * * @winchester-reload Day 3 and a bit of brotherly love hehe. I can’t wait to work on day 4 already so see you tomorrow!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ This is an old tag list from Suptober 2019, PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor@iamcharliebradburylevelperfect@ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37@destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee@dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas@castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624@thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace​

[outbreak-by-daybreak-archive]

Safety Blanket chapter 6: Dangerous encounter Leon Kennedy x Fem!reader

chapter 1,chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 

read on a03 

well howdy hey its been awhile (haha most of this was on my old Leon Stan account/old resident side blog rip) but here ya go..

warnings:canon typical violence 

word count:2,555

You and Leon walked down the steps into a small room filled with books and other strange art pieces, Leon did tell you the station used to be an art museum. You looked over at Leon who still did look a little sad.

“Hey are you ok?”, you asked him hoping he wouldn’t just ignore you, he was picking up supplies spread all around the room.

“Yeah I just”, he stood there for a second clenching his fists, “I just wish I could have helped him”, you could hear the sorrow in his voice.

“You can’t save everyone, no matter how much you wish you could, trust me I know that one all too well”, you said looking down and rubbing your shoulder.

“Does it get easier?”, he asked looking at you, you couldn’t describe what the expression on his face was, a sense of uneasiness, hope, it was hard to tell.

“I uhhh”, you stood shocked at his sudden asking of it, you wanted to choose your words carefully. You’d only been through all this in a week, yet you were hardened by it.

“It’s fine you don’t have to answer”, he said, turning away from you.

“No wait!”, your body just moved on its own and you grabbed his hand. You looked up at him seeing his blue eyes again with his blonde hair, you remembered how you were when he found you scared and panicked, when you freaked out about Maria he was there for you, he hadn’t left you behind. You remembered his calming heartbeat, his smile and overall kindness. Unlike everything that had happened to you Leon was pretty much the only good thing about this hellhole, and you weren’t about to leave him in the dust.

“No it doesn't”, you said looking deep into his eyes, he saw how misty your eyes were, “you just get better at hiding your emotions sometimes”

He looked back at you, you had a soft smile on your face, he didn’t notice how pretty you were with your (H/C) hair and your (E/C) eyes, was this an awkward time, yes, yes it was, but it wasn’t just your looks but the way you held yourself, after everything you’ve been through both physically and mentally, you still kept your head up high.

“And I’m not about to lose anyone else”, you said pushing a piece of hair out your face, “and that’s a promise”, you said looking up at him smiling.

“(Y/N) I-”, Leon looked at you shocked at your words, maybe you were stronger than he thought you were. People who knew you well always said you were loyal no matter what, even to the very end.

“Come on let’s get going”, you said excitedly giving Leon a nice bubbly smile, he walked over still shocked by the sudden switch in personality.

You wanted things to go back to normal desperately. You missed the old you, the one that was happy and cheerful no matter what, but that wasn’t going to happen until you got out. So why not try and be happy just for a little while. Leon got hints of what you were truly like. Maybe you did over do it a bit but it was something you were going to have to get used to. Leon smiled at you and followed you towards the doorway that led to an elevator. You two shuffled inside of it.

Leon took a deep breath and pulled out his gun, motioning you to do the same thing, “we don’t know what’s down there”. You nodded at him pulling out your shotgun. Leon then pressed the button and the doors shut and down you two went.

The door opened and Leon told you to wait as he cautiously stepped outside. He looked around for a moment before signaling you to follow him.

You stepped out and were surprised and confused to where you were, obviously underground but something about it was strange. You followed Leon down a few stairs until you got to a place that looked like a boiler room. That’s when you heard someone or something walking around. You quickly held onto Leon’s arm, anxious at the sound.

“What the hell was that?”, you whispered

“I don’t know, stay close”, he said towards you and you nodded back. You followed him further inside, still very confused at where you were at. You followed Leon until you two were blocked by a locker. You stepped back and allowed Leon to see if he can push it out of the way. Leon was able to move it out of the way, which surprised you slightly but something surprised both of you.

A man, no monster, you couldn’t tell, jumped from the ceiling startling both you and Leon. Leon just stood there shocked however as you shrieked out of fear. You both just stood there for a moment before it slammed and grabbed Leon while it pushed you to the ground. You were dazed for a second before realizing Leon was being slammed against the floor over and over again. You quickly stumbled to your feet. About to ready your shotgun when the monster broke through the floor causing both it and Leon to fall through.

“Leon!”, you quickly yelled about to jump down when a quick jolt of pain from your ankle caused you to fall backwards. You looked down to see Leon trying to evade the monster as it chased him. Leon tried shooting at it but realized it wasn’t doing much. You wanted to jump down and help but that fall might definitely hurt your ankle if you weren’t careful. You knew you had to help Leon but how was going to be tricky, you didn’t have a lot of time. You noticed it’s eye on its arm.

“Leon, Shoot the eye on its arm”, you screamed at him still trying to find a way down there. You kept walking towards the hole that the monster left but immediately turned back around. You were basically pacing. You heard Leon groan in pain for a second. Your face went pale and your heart raced. You quickly looked back at the hole.

“This is stupid and it’s gonna hurt”, you said to yourself preparing to jump down, last time it was a bigger drop so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad. You took a deep breath and jumped down trying your best to land on your left ankle first opposed to the right one. You were sort of sort of successful but the force that went on your right ankle was still enough to cause a quick bit of pain from it, you flinched for a moment before getting up to find Leon. You quickly found him and noticed he was cornered by the monster.

“Hey you!”, you shouted at it, and in which it immediately turned around to face you. Leon looked at you and panicked at whatever you were about to do. You just stood there as it walked over to you slowly. Your breath hitched for a moment, as you hoped maybe Leon could get a good shot on it.

You were about to grab your shotgun when it suddenly grabbed you by the head lifting you up. Panic spread throughout your body, the monster proceeding to crush your skull. You screamed out in pain trying to reach for the shotgun but were unable to. You felt it grip your head tighter and tighter, your breathing becoming very ragged and shallow. You started screaming even louder tears were streaming down your face. Your face is turning red. You wiggled around trying to get out of its grasp causing the syringe in your pocket to fall to the ground.

It felt like forever as you just were in the air with your skull being crushed. You suddenly fell to the ground, very hard. You grabbed your head and curled yourself into a ball. It felt like your head was going to explode and your body felt like a noodle. You could barely move. You saw the syringe in front of you and slowly grabbed it, putting it back in your pocket. You heard many gunshots and curses from Leon.

You laid down for a while, breathing in and out trying to regain your composure. You looked over to where Leon was and saw the monster start stumbling backwards and falling into the abyss. You tried getting up but quickly fell back down.

“Hey take it easy”, he said to you, “are you ok?”, he looked at you worriedly. You tried to smile at him but ended up crashing into him. You fell right into his lips, causing Leon to take a step back. It was a very awkward kiss. Leon forgot that physics still exists and watched you headbutt him.

Well one thing Leon learned is that you had a very durable skull. He placed your head back against the railing so your head could be supported. Leon went out to look for more supplies while you dozed off and unconsciously remembered something.

You looked at the other kids playing on the playground. Laughing and screaming just having a very fun time. You wished you could do the same. You were shy, a little too shy, it had been about a month since you moved to a new school and were having no luck finding any friends. Most of the other kids ignored you when you tried talking to them. You just sat at the swing set alone, sadly swinging by yourself.

“Hey are you ok?” you jumped up startled at the voice, you looked over to see a girl with black hair and green eyes.

“Umm I uh”, you didn’t know what to say or who this girl was, she looked about a year older than you.

“Well I’m Maria, Maria Cortez”, she said at you with a smile, “and this is Frank”, she then pointed at a boy behind her and he shyly smiled at you.

“Hi”, he said with a shy wave

“What’s your name?”, Maria asked looking at you”

“(Y/N)”, you said very quietly.

“Well it’s nice to meet you..hmmm how about we play tag together...all three of us”

You then realized she was talking to you as well and awkwardly pointed at yourself to confirm she was talking to you.

“Yep, how would you like to be friends with us?”, she asked you with a smile, you immediately jumped up excitedly and joined them walking towards the playground. That was the day you met Maria, your childhood best friend and her friend Frank.

“(Y/N), hey can you hear me?”, your eyes fluttered open when you heard Leon’s voice. Your head still hurt like hell but besides that you were pretty ok.

“Yeah”, you groaned out, “my head still hurts like hell though”, you said bringing a hand to your forehead.

“Please don’t do that ever again”, he said and you quickly noticed the blush on his face.

“What are you blushing for?”, you asked more grumpily than you meant it to be.

“It’s just uhh you uhh”, he said awkwardly pointing at his lips.

“I have a cut?”, you questioned very naively tilting your head to the side slightly.

“No”, Leon gulped out, still pointing at his lips, he then started to make kissing noises and you immediately caught on. Leon did this so childishly it made you laugh for a minute then your face turned red.

“W-When”, you stuttered out, “h-how”

“Well you sort of just fell into my lips and it happened, if it makes you feel better you did accidentally headbutt me”

You still were embarrassed about the whole thing but you did laugh after the head butt comment.

“Can you get up?”he asked, offering a hand.

“Yeah”, you said, taking his hand getting up slowly.

“I think someone is watching us”, he said pointing to a ladder. Leon went first to check out the area above

“It’s safe, come on up”, he said as you climbed up the ladder very hastily. Leon helped pull you up. You looked around and noticed you were in a parking garage of sorts. You looked and saw the gate that led outside. Next the gate was a kiosk. Leon looked around to see if any doors were unlocked, sadly all of the doors were locked. You both walked over to the kiosk realizing it needs a key card.

“Damn we need a key card”, Leon said just then you two heard growling, you and Leon slowly turned around. Seeing a zombie dog.

“You gotta be kidding me”, Leon said as the dog came rushing towards you two, Leon quickly shoved you out of the way as you slammed against the floor. The dog then pounced on Leon attacking him. You quickly got up looking at Leon who was now being attacked by the dog, he tried reaching for his gun but was unsuccessful. You were about to grab his gun when a bullet went through the dog's neck.

“Hey”, you heard a woman say, you and Leon both turned towards the voice and saw a shadowy figure.

“Who is that?”, Leon asked her. While you stayed silent

“Stay sharp”, she said, just then the dog tried getting back up but Leon quickly reached for his gun and shot it again.

You instinctively put your hands in the air while Leon sat up and drew his gun.

“Lower it”, she said to Leon before pulling something out of her coat, “FBI”, she then flashed a badge in both of your faces.

Leon quickly put his gun down, “sorry...thank you”, he was cut off by the dog slowly getting up again, the woman shot it, finally killing it this time.

“For the help..”, Leon countunied.

“Surprised you two made it this far”, she said to the both of you, she looked at you, you still had your hands in the air, “you can put your arms down now”

“Sorry”, you said quietly and you quickly put your back at your sides. The woman began to walk away from the two of you. Leon quickly got up weakling towards her.

“FBI, huh, what’s going on here?”, he said to her

“Sorry that information is classified”, she said behind her towards Leon, you caught up to the two of them.

“Where are you going?”, Leon asked the woman. She slowly turned back towards Leon.

“Do yourselves a favor; stop asking questions and get the hell out of here”, she said at him she then walked away.

“Hey where are you going?”, he yelled at her as she went through a door. You grabbed his hand, stopping him for a second. He looked at you confused.

“We don’t know who she is”,you whispered. You didn’t really trust her. Leon just turned back towards where she left. He sighed before walking around the garage seeing if anything was left there. You just followed him. You saw him digging through the trunk of a car. He stopped for a minute.

“(Y/N) can I ask you something?”, you just looked at him curiously.

“Y-yeah”, you gulped, you saw him hesitate for a second. He was trying his best to phrase his words.

‘“Why do you have a syringe in your pocket?”

[chouetteffraie]

Silent Scream [Dazatsu Halloween Week, Day 5]

Warning (I remembered this time!!): blood, major character death, slasher film tropes. I didn’t go into details but if you’re kinda squicky about that be careful!

Day 5 - Horror Movie / "You can smell it, too. Death. Dying. Decay. The sky is falling, the sky is dying, the sky is dead." —Bird Box, by Josh Malerman

The sense of dread boring a pit into Atsushi’s stomach should’ve been enough. He had scarily accurate intuition - maybe a transferred skill from his tiger instincts, though it didn’t matter much. His solid footsteps echoed in the narrow pathways of the basement, faint humming of running boilers and furnaces numbing his ears. The panic threatened to build up in his throat until he had to push it out, and he fought the urge to cover his mouth and hunch over.

They were running out of time. The killer terrorizing the city was getting smarter and the detectives, all of which were put on this case the longer the killer ran around the town, weren’t able to catch up. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to his reign of terror- teens, the elderly, and everyone in between wound up missing or dead, gruesome details put in every morning paper. It had been going on for so long, the city was beginning to give up on following the mandated safety precautions, choosing to live their lives while they still had them. That only made the detective’s work harder, unable to distinguish any killer from the citizens milling around despite the city’s orders.

His partner had called him a few hours earlier, talking aimlessly about the beautiful nurses and all the unattended needles and drugs he suddenly had access to. “Without my wonderful boyfriend here, who’s going to stop me?”

“Osamu,” Atsushi whined over the phone, putting his free hand on his hip as if Dazai was standing in front of him. “I need to go over these witness reports so we can try to figure things out. You’re doing a lot of good being over there, talking to that girl. She may be the key we’re missing.”

“Why let some maniac decide how I go out?” Dazai asked, ignoring Atsushi’s praise. Leaning against the receptionist’s desk, he picked a pen out of the holder and fiddled with it. “I’ve told you over and over, I want to be the one who decided how I go out.”

“Now isn’t exactly the time for that talk,” Atsushi reminded, flipping through a page on his desk. His tone was light, cheery- he knew Dazai’s words were a lot emptier than they used to be. “You’ve been doing great.”

Dazai was silent for a moment before stretching, letting out his groan directly next to the phone and nearly rendering Atsushi death. “Thank you, thank you. I expect this kind of treatment when I come back to the office. You’ve been too serious recently.”

Atsushi merely hummed, flipping through the files some more and scribbling something on his notebook. It all felt like he was fulfilling a role- he wasn’t making any progress and barely knew what he was reading anymore. Realizing Dazai had gone silent and was waiting on a response, he snapped out of his trance and said, “O-oh! Uh, be careful out there. And try to get home at a decent time so you can eat tonight.”

Dazai laughed, and for a moment Atsushi was able to forget about the murderer running around on the streets. “Will do, Atsushi-kun.” Then he hung up.

A few hours later, Atsushi got a call from the hospital. The girl Dazai was supposed to be interviewing was dead, and Dazai was unreachable.

Atsushi wasn’t sure why he was running through the basement, searching every room for a split second before running deeper. He had no backup- not that there was any to spare had he asked- but he needed to search to ease his own mind. There were no mantras running through his head- though he wanted to be wishful and say he was just preoccupied, Atsushi worried any comfort would just be a lie.

With his chest heaving, Atsushi pushed on a door that seemed to weigh more than he did, having to back up and ram his shoulder against it more than once just to get it to budge. Finally ti moved after several tries, dragging open as if something were blocking it from moving. Breath coming out in short, frantic puffs, Atsushi stepped in the room and let the darkness swallow him whole as the door slammed shut.

Fumbling, Atsushi reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, heart sinking when he saw there were no messages. His flashlight illuminated the room a moment later, dust particles dancing in the single beam of silver light. Slowly, he turned the beam, freezing when he saw a pool of blood, dark and dry. Behind him, something shuffled, and before he had a chance to turn around, an arm wrapped around his chest, hand covering his mouth, and something cool and sharp was held against his throat.

Atsushi felt warm breath puff over his ear as he dug his nails into the arm caging him in, struggling and trying to kick at his attacker. His phone clattered to the floor as he shut his eyes, focusing on finding any weakness to force the person behind him to let go. After a deep and sinister chuckle passed by his ear, the hand over his mouth suddenly gripped hard. It guided his head downward, and instinctively Atsushi opened his eyes, wondering what he was being forced to see.

The light from his flashlight nearly blinded him, and he wished that it had succeeded. 

Before he could scream or call out his tiger, the blade held against his thin sliced him cleanly. The muffled sounds of his struggle came out in choking noises as Atsushi slumped to his knees before falling to the hard concrete. His vision was fading fast, the cold stone beneath him seeming to seep into his body as the blood flowed steadfastly. Footsteps retreated from behind him as the door opened and a shrouded figure retreated. The light streaming in from the thin crack illuminated that devastating image, Dazai’s lifeless body still and peaceful next to him.

The door shut, releasing the killer back into the city. Atsushi vaguely mused how the city was doomed with a murderer cunning enough to defeat Dazai, but the thought left as quickly as it had come. By the time the mysterious figure left the building, Atsushi was gone.

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 20

Chapter Summary - The surprise visitor has a lasting impression on Lily.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

Request if you wish to be tagged

Tom knew that when Diana would see Lily, she would not be able to stay away from the little girl, and sure enough, as she drank her tea, she had Lily on her lap, talking to the little girl as though she was her own biological granddaughter. Lily, who had never had a grandmother present in her life, seemed adamant to make up for her lack of such beforehand by effectively stealing Diana for herself. Knowing it would probably seal his mother stealing Lily, Tom grinned. ‘Do you know what her middle name is?’ Diana looked at her son, ‘Diana.’ Diana looked to Alexianna for confirmation, Alexianna just looked at her hands. ‘Who do you think Lexi was thinking of when she gave her that name?’

Diana’s eyes welled up with tears. Looking to Alexianna, she put Lily down on the seat for a moment before going over to the woman. ‘You poor pet, I don’t know what exactly has been going on with you, but I never stopped worrying about you.’ She hugged her tightly. ‘We’ve missed you.’

Alexianna began to cry quietly against the older woman. ‘Not half as much as I’ve missed you all.’

‘We’ll look after you now, you’ll have us now, all of us, not just Tom.’

‘I don’t want to be a bother.’

Diana pulled back and cupped Alexianna’s face in her hands, ‘Listen to me Lexi Hughes, you have never been a bother. Do you hear me?’ she nodded. ‘You have a beautiful little girl that needs her mum, and her mum needs others because no one can do it alone, do you think I could have raised these three if it was just me? I had my sisters and brother and it was still hard. Speaking of which, how is Daniel?’

‘He’s good, he is in the North Sea at the moment.’

‘What did he do in the end?’

‘Engineering.’

‘How did she take it?’ There was no pretending who Diana was talking about.

‘He never told her what it was that he was studying, she thought she was paying for him to study medicine in Scotland, he went and got his degree, when he got the degree, she was livid. She stopped talking to him that day, she only spoke to him again when he kicked her out of his place when I came home with Lily from the hospital.’ Alexianna had been too busy being elated to see Diana that she forgot for a moment the day she came to Daniel’s, sore from the surgery, broken from Jonathan’s cruelty and generally upset from the slump in her hormones from the pregnancy, only to be met by her mother, berating her before she had stepped in the door about how much of a slut and a disgrace she was. Daniel immediately escorted his mother out of his home and slammed the door in her face without a word, she on the other hand, proceeded to call him a bastard and a thief for not doing what she had wanted. ‘Sorry.’

‘Never apologise for your feelings, love.’ Diana smiled. She looked sadly at Alexianna. ‘Whatever was done to you, you cannot let it define you.’ Alexianna nodded. ‘Does his side have anything to do with her?’ Alexianna shook her head. ‘Well, then, she needs her Nana Diana, doesn’t she? Come on my little Lily, you and I are going to do some baking while your mother finishes her work, alright?’Alexianna bit her lips together and quickly cleared the tears from her face as Diana took her now elated daughter away.

‘Lexi?’ Tom looked over at her.

‘She always wanted a Nana, she never was bothered about a father, but a nana, she always wanted one.’ she wiped another tear. ‘Sorry.’

‘Stop apologising.’ Tom warned. ‘You have about two hours at least of quiet to get some work done. Mum has to go to the shop as well as bake the food, so come on, get back to work. Though perhaps a cup of tea while we’re at it.’ Tom smiled, throwing on the kettle.

Alexianna stepped out of the living room two and a half hours later, expecting to see Lily, but as she walked through the lower floor of the house, she realised she was nowhere to be seen. Immediately, she rushed upstairs to Tom’s study and knocked on the door, after a second time knocking with no answer, she opened it and looked it. There were different books around the room as well as paper everywhere in neat piles, but no Tom. She went through the different rooms upstairs, still not seeing a sign of anyone anywhere. When she descended the stairs once more, she was close to hyperventilating, she stopped at the bottom, her hands behind her head as she tried to think.

‘Lexi?’ she swung around to see Tom looking at her. ‘Lexi, what’s wrong?’

‘Where’s Lily?’

‘In the back garden.’ he pointed behind him. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Where is she?’

‘Lexi, Lexi listen to me, she is with mum in the garden, it is alright, she is perfectly safe.’ he repeated calmly. ‘Come on, you can go out and see her right now.’ he led her gently to the kitchen window and pointed out; there she was, in the garden, tending to some weeds with Diana, Lily was sitting, talking animatedly to her. ‘See, she is fine.’

‘I thought they were going baking.’

‘They did.’ he pointed behind them to the cooling trays that were filled with different buns. ‘Are you in such a tizzy that you never noticed?’

‘I…’

‘Lexi, she is safe, mum would never allow any harm come to her, neither will I, alright?’

‘It was just us for so long.’

‘I know.’ Tom pulled her to him. ‘But as mum said already, you have us now. We all adored you anyway, we always have, but Lily, she has captured everyone’s heart.’ He smiled lovingly as he looked out at Lily, who was yabbering away, her eyes bright and filled with love and joy. ‘She is incredible.’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on, I think you need to hold her.’ Tom pulled her out to the garden. ‘Lil, look who it is, Darling.’

‘Mummy.’ Lily ran into her mum’s arms, Alexianna holding her close. ‘Nana and I were having a great time.’

‘Did you?’ She smiled back, ‘Have you been good?’

‘Yes Mummy, I need to go wash my hands.’ she declared showing her mother her hands, before walking into the house to the small toilet in the back kitchen to do just that.

‘Lexi, you have raised one incredible little girl.’ Alexianna gave her a small smile. ‘You are a wonderful mother.’ Diana commended.

‘I am just trying my best. I always hoped to be half the mother you were to Emma, Tom and Sarah.’

‘I had three little terrors.’

‘Sarah was well behaved.’ Alexianna was all too aware of what mischief Emma and Tom had caused.

‘Sarah was smoking something that wasn’t a cigarette one night and laughed the whole way through my giving out to her.’

‘For a teenager, that’s actually okay.’

‘Will I quote you on that in fourteen years?’ Diana asked.

‘No, then it’s completely different because she is my daughter.’

Diana laughed. ‘I have missed you, Emma missed you. She found an old photo of the two of you just before the wedding, she was very upset thinking back over the good times you had had together and for you to have drifted apart.’

‘I missed her too, I often thought of her too, and you, of course.’

Lily came back out to the garden, smiling happily. ‘Nana, are you staying here tonight?’

‘I am.’

Woohoo.’

‘Lily, we are outside, be quiet and think of the neighbours.’ Her mother scolded.

‘Where will you sleep?’ Lily acted as though her mother had not spoken.

‘In the spare room.’ Diana smiled.

Lily’s face dropped, ‘But we are in the spare room.’ Diana frowned slightly and looked at Alexianna who was about to explain their boiler and water issues when Lily piped up again. ‘Or we did, but last night it was only me, Mommy slept somewhere else. Where did you sleep Mommy?’ Alexianna and Tom, who had just returned from stealing a bun when no one was looking, looked away slightly embarrassed and Diana forced herself to not laugh.

‘We have no boiler working at ours and the water is turned off at the mains, and with the Bank Holiday, Tom suggested we stay here.’ Alexianna explained quickly.

‘It’s always the long weekends that those things happen.’ Diana shook her head.

‘Where did you sleep?’ Lily repeated, looking to her mother for an explanation.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Why don’t we go in and try some of those buns?’ Tom suggested, hoping to sidetrack Lily.

Alexianna was usually less than pleased to allow Lily have junk food before dinner, but given the uniqueness of the weekend and the situation she was attempting to get her daughter to cease talking of, she permitted it and said nothing. ‘Thank you.’ Was all she said as she passed Tom.

‘It is half my fault.’ he commented in responded. ‘You don’t regret it, do you?’

‘No, of course not.’ She smiled.

‘Just be glad she didn’t walk in on you, Sarah did that once, I honestly think it is part of the reason there is so long between Tom and Emma, it is very off-putting.’ Tom looked to his mother, unable to disguise his revulsion at what she had just said. ‘Do you think you and your sisters just landed on the doorstep?’

‘Mum, please stop.’ Tom begged.

‘I am sorry, which one of us started this conversation?’

‘We didn’t.’ Tom pointed towards the kitchen. ‘Lily did.’ Diana just laughed at her flustered son.

*

Alexianna stood next to Diana as she stirred the contents of the pot another time. ‘Another ten?’

Diana smiled fondly. ‘You remember?’

‘I never forgot.’

‘Are we having Lancashire HotPot?’ Lily asked excitedly.

Diana smiled at the child. ‘Yes, love.’

‘Woohoo, Mommy, Nana is making Hot Pot.’

Alexianna looked at Diana apologetically. Diana instructed for Lily to go wash her hands so that she could get ready to eat. ‘You can stop that face right now, I said she could call me that, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, but I just...if this all falls apart…’

‘We are still here for you both.’ Diana informed her. ‘Tom is insane about that little girl, she is something he seems to have never realised he needed. You both are.’

‘Some of his fans don’t seem to agree.’

‘What are the little brats saying now? Honestly, he has lovely fans, but some of them...’

‘I am using him, he is using us, that Lily is his and we’ve been hiding this.’ Alexianna rambled off.

‘To be expected,’ Diana dismissed. ‘If they see him with you and Lily, if they see his happiness with you both and call foul and say negative things, they are not fans, they never truly appreciated my son and his work. They will have theories because they will want to understand what they are seeing, that is, of course, natural, but you cannot let it get to you. You know different, he knows different, we know different. Nothing you say or do will make some people see the truth, they are convinced otherwise.’

‘I know.’

‘Good.’ she nodded. ‘Now, where is my little girl?’

*

Alexianna felt incredibly awkward being in Tom’s home when his mother was there, not because of Diana, but the fact that she knew exactly what had happened the night before, and with the night coming and them needing to figure out where everyone was to sleep when the house only had two bedrooms, the third, Tom had turned into his study. When she politely broached the subject, she was startled with the suggestion she was met with.

‘It’s not too mad,’ Tom commented. ‘They don’t seem to mind. I have a little bed that folds out for when Sophie comes here with her parents.’

‘But…’ Alexianna did not know what to think. It was not overly mad, or it would not be, if Lily knew Diana more than twelve hours or if they were actually biologically related. ‘Lexi?’

‘But we…’

‘What about us, Mum isn’t stupid, Lily already told her we slept together last night.’

‘We are not doing any of that tonight,’ Alexianna stated immediately.

‘I would never force you to,’ Tom stated.

‘Wait, you would, with your mother here?’

‘She wouldn’t hear anything.’ He shrugged.

‘You’re insane!’ she shook her head. Tom chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. ‘No.’

‘I am not doing anything only giving my lovely girlfriend a hug, nothing more.’

‘That is all you are getting.’

‘Would you be happy if I apologised?’

‘What would you be apologising for?’

‘My mother invading.’

‘That is not something to apologise for though, is it? She came to see you, you're her son, I feel like we are imposing.’ Alexianna admitted.

‘You are doing nothing of the sort.’ Tom informed her.

‘It feels like it.’

‘Well, you’re not, so stop it.’

‘Do you not have rehearsal?’

‘It is the Bank Holiday weekend, back in on Tuesday.’ He smiled, ‘And opening night, later this week.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

Tom wrapped his arms around her, kissing her chastely. ‘Ready.’

‘You’ll be great.’

‘So, definitely no fun?’

‘Tom.’ he kissed her neck and along her jawline, ‘You’re making this very hard.’

‘You are making me very hard.’ Tom retorted his lips against her skin. ‘You are very enticing.’

‘You don’t have to…’ Tom kissed her, pressing against her so she could feel him against her leg.

‘Does this feel like I am just trying to make you feel good?’

‘Well, that’s what it did last night.’ she bit her lips together and looked at him cheekily.

Licking his teeth, Tom chuckled. ‘Oh, you and I are going up that stairs right now.’

‘Your mum?’

‘Went to bed twenty minutes ago.’

‘Lily is going to never want her to leave.’

‘What a coincidence, my mother does not want to leave her.’ Tom grinned. ‘Now, bed. You need some rest.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to wear you out.’

‘Your mother…’

‘Won’t hear.’

[raywritesthings]

Weasley & Black: Dark Object Removal

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Ginny Weasley, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Molly Weasley Summary: Ginny can't explain why she gets the same feeling around that old locket that she did around the diary, but one night she enlists Sirius' help in figuring it out. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Ginny didn’t know why the drawing room tended to give her more shivers than the rest of Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t as if any other part of the house looked more welcoming than in here. Maybe it was the curtains drawn over every window, the drawers containing who knew how many objects of varying danger or toxicity, the writing desk that rattled any time someone drew near.

She had to wonder what it would be like growing up in a house with a bunch of objects with dark magic lying about where anyone could find them. The twins would’ve gotten into everything and probably tried to use some on Percy, she thought. Her amusement faded when she thought about herself growing up and finding a dark object lying about in her cauldron for her to find. No, this wasn’t a funny house at all. She didn’t mind her mum’s fanatical drive to remove the whole lot of it so much once that thought entered her mind.

After they cleared the drawing room of everything that was old, broken or dangerous, it was as if a weighted blanket lifted off her, one she’d been unknowingly wearing every time she stepped into the room. Ginny told herself it was one of the objects, probably that music box that had nearly sent them all to sleep. It was normal to feel that way around stuff like that.

But why was she the only one who had seemed to? Why did it feel so similar to the creeping dread she had felt more and more with every time she’d opened that damned diary?

It was hard, sometimes, pretending that year had had no effect on her. She’d thought she’d gotten pretty good at maintaining the ruse, even with herself. But this house with its snake motifs everywhere and the dark mutterings of the House Elf who dwelled in it was just getting to her.

She tried to pass the time on other things. Playing with Crookshanks or bothering the twins. Her brothers had charmed their door shut for the afternoon, probably working on something they didn’t want their mum happening across, and Crookshanks was curled up on Hermione’s lap while she forced Harry and Ron to finish their homework. She likely thought it would help take Harry’s mind off his upcoming hearing, though Ginny doubted that very much.

Ginny was already done with her own summer work, having less than the incoming fifth years, so she’d wandered down into the kitchen for a snack, finding Sirius there spinning a bottle cap on the table like it was a top.

“Any left?” She asked upon noticing the Butterbeer label on the cap. 

He nodded to the cold cupboard. “You’ve earned it. Reckon that was pretty smart slamming the lid on that music box.”

She shrugged. “You saved Harry from those creepy tweezers or whatever they were.“

“That’s my job,” he said simply, though he sat up a little straighter with pride. He liked being complimented for things regarding Harry, Ginny had noticed. A part of her wished she didn’t relate to that so strongly.

“Then we ought to go into business. Fred and George are already starting young, so I’ve got to keep up.” Ginny popped the cap off her bottle and took a swig.

“Weasley and Black, Dark Object Removal,” Sirius said with a grin. “Best to keep my name off it, of course.”

“You’ll be my silent partner.”

Before Sirius could reply, her mother bustled into the room with a number of bags floating ahead of her. “Ginny, can you take these down to the pantry? I won’t need them until tomorrow,” she said, passing her some of the shopping.

“Sure, mum.” Ginny set her Butterbeer down and went into the pantry. And as she passed by a dingy-looking door, it happened again. That sense of dread was back.

Ginny froze. She’d been in the pantry countless times before this since they’d arrived at Grimmauld Place. Why was this happening now?

“You get lost in here or something?”

Ginny jumped and spun around to face Sirius, who had apparently been tasked with bags of his own to deliver. “Oh, no. Just thought… never mind.” She hurried out of the pantry and took another gulp of her drink sitting on the kitchen table, letting the warmth of the Butterbeer chase the chill that seemed to cling to her.

Ginny did her best to push it out of her mind. She was just being paranoid. Surely there wasn’t anything dangerous about the pantry; the Blacks would have had to have been mad to put potentially deadly things in there. Then again, as she passed by Mrs. Black’s sleeping portrait, maybe they were that mad.

She successfully forgot about it until after Harry’s hearing. While she would have been quite happy to continue celebrating with the twins, her mother sent her to fetch sauce from the pantry for dinner.

The feeling returned. “Hell,” Ginny muttered. What was wrong with her? She knew the diary was gone, and the idea that there could be anything else out there like it was too terrible to consider. What were the chances that she of all people would come across it again?

Maybe it was something wrong with her. Maybe she was drawn to this sort of thing.

Or maybe, Ginny told herself, there’s something evil here because this is the Black family home and Lucius Malfoy married directly into it.

That seemed far more likely to her.

“Ginny!” Her mum shouted from the kitchen, startling her.

“Coming,” she called back, tearing her eyes away from the door on the far side of the pantry and grabbing up the sauce.

She didn’t get the chance to go back to the pantry that evening; Kingsley had stopped by for dinner, and that apparently meant an impromptu meeting with the Order members present. Ginny was sent sulking up to her room along with the rest of the students. Hermione stayed up for another hour reading, but long after she had blown out the candle and Ginny’s parents’ footsteps had been heard going up the stairs, Ginny found herself unable to sleep.

She needed to know what was causing this sense within her. She couldn’t live in this house a minute longer with goose flesh crawling up her arms and chills running down her spine. And the best thing to do was confront it before it moved location again.

Decided, Ginny rolled out of bed and found her slippers with her feet in the dark. She crept downstairs into the dimly-lit kitchen.

Only a single occupant remained. Sirius, seated at the table and reading what Ginny recognized as a copy of The Quibbler. Luna would be chuffed, probably.

“Stubby Boardman,” she heard him mutter with a chuckle.

“Er, hey.” She knew she couldn’t exactly get past to the pantry without his notice, so Ginny thought it best not to startle him. Sirius looked round, seeming surprised by her presence. “I just needed something.”

When she went past the cupboards and to the pantry door, however, he got up and followed her. “Needed what, exactly?”

Ginny hesitated. “What’s behind that door?”

“Kreacher’s quarters. Why?”

She blinked. Why would she suddenly have a bad feeling about Kreacher — worse than what she’d already had, at any rate. “I dunno. I just… this is going to sound a bit mad.”

“Well, they say Azkaban turns you mad, so I’ve probably heard them all. Go on.”

“Right.” It felt strange having to explain this to somebody. She was used to the people in her life knowing and simply ignoring or skirting around it. “Well, in my first year, Lucius Malfoy slipped a cursed diary into my school things, and it… it was evil. Really evil. I didn’t realize until it was too late, until it had a hold on me, and I’ll always remember the sort of danger it gave off.”

“You’re attuned to it.”

“I guess. It’s probably in my head.”

He shook his head. “The real trouble with Dark Magic is that it leaves traces. It never quite goes away.”

Ginny stared into his shadowed eyes and faint face and gulped. He really would know better than most, wouldn’t he?

“Right. Well, I noticed I was getting that same feeling here, in the drawing room until we cleaned it out. But now, it’s more coming from over there.”

He followed her pointed finger to the door, scowling. “Kreacher must have salvaged whatever was up there causin it. We’ll see if we can figure out which it is and give it to Mad Eye to have him deal with.”

Ginny approached as he yanked open the door.

The tiny room was mostly taken up by a large boiler, but in the corner there was what she supposed could be called a den. Kreacher lay in a ball on a pile of fabric scraps, curled around a golden locket Ginny recognized. They’d cleared it out of the drawing room, one of the easiest items to move. It always was the most innocuous looking things, wasn’t it?

“Kreacher will keep it safe, Master Regulus,” the House Elf murmured reverently. “Safe until Kreacher can follow Master’s commands.”

“Follow this command,” Sirius snarled. “Let go of that locket, Kreacher.”

Kreacher’s eyes bulged as he was compelled to, and the Elf gave a pitiable wail when Sirius snatched it up by the fine gold chain. “But Master Regulus—”

“Isn’t here anymore. Now stay in your room for the rest of the night.”

He slammed the door on Kreacher’s face and led her back into the kitchen where they wouldn’t have to listen to the cries and curses coming from the den.

“If this was Regulus’ then it’s definitely cursed. He was a Death Eater, died during the last war.”

“So he could’ve gotten it from, er, his leader?” Ginny looked down, slightly ashamed of herself. She knew Sirius proudly said the name, but it had just been such an ingrained part of her life growing up.

“He could have. Why do you think that in particular?”

“Because the diary Lucius Malfoy slipped in my things belonged to, to Tom Riddle. That was his real name when he attended school.”

“Voldemort’s?”

She nodded. “He was still in the diary. Or a ghost of him or part of him or something. I don’t know what it was exactly. He was using my life force to try and resurrect himself, and if Harry hadn’t stopped him,” Ginny said all in a great rush. She still felt so stupid and silly just thinking about it.

“Ginny, hang on,” Sirius said gently. “You’re saying that this locket might be Voldemort’s, and it might possess someone like the diary did to you?”

“I don’t know if it will. But it’s got his symbol, doesn’t it?” She pointed at the S inlaid on the lid, the design clearly meant to invoke a snake. “The Heir of Slytherin.”

Sirius regarded it darkly. “Then we can’t wait for Mad Eye.” He set the locket on the stone floor, and together they backed up a few feet. “Reducto!”

Nothing happened. Sirius frowned and tried again, then with a series of spells more and more complicated and powerful. Some Ginny had heard of, some she had not. The locket remained unchanged.

“It must have protections against spell damage,” he decided.

“When I had the diary, it couldn’t be damaged either, by spells or trying to rip it. I flushed it down a toilet one time, and it still came back up.” Even though Sirius’ lips twitched at the imagery, he didn’t laugh at her, which she was grateful for. “Harry was able to destroy it with a Basilisk fang.”

“That would probably be the venom more than the fang. Basilisk venom is supposed to be very potent, and rare. But hang on a minute.” His eyes seemed to cloud over as he grew lost in thought. Then his limbs were seized in animation. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

But Sirius was already running out of the pantry and to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He surprised her with the energy he had even at this time of night.

It was all Ginny could do to keep up, staggering into his back when he suddenly stopped in the middle of a hall.

“A warning might have been nice.”

“Sorry,” he said in an offhand way, not really meaning it. That might have rankled, but it had been a minor offense. She watched him run his hands over the ceiling, fingertips just able to reach.

He found the catch he’d apparently been looking for and pulled down a section of the ceiling to reveal a step ladder that had seen better days.

“Will it hold?”

Sirius took out his wand and performed a couple different charms. “Now it should. Up we go. Or just me, if you like.”

Ginny shook her head. “I have to see this through.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sirius grinned at her. “Good.”

He led the way up to an attic dustier than the rest of the house had already been. It took them a few minutes to find a lamp they could light to see by. Ginny ducked under cobwebs to get over to a chest of drawers Sirius seemed particularly interested in.

“What are we looking for?”

“A jewelry box. A specific one, mind. My Aunt Lucretia’s.” He began pulling out drawers and looking at the jewelry boxes stored inside. Some were embossed with initials, others had different symbols. “Before she married, her father gifted her a ring that supposedly held a bit of basilisk venom.”

Ginny looked up at his face in shock. “What in Merlin’s twisted undershirt would he do that for?”

“To protect her, supposedly, by warding off any particularly pushy suitors who weren’t her betrothed. She never used it, of course.”

“She’d have gone to Azkaban for murder if she had,” Ginny said.

He nodded. “Right. And she would’ve fit right in. The point being, if the ring is here and still works, all we have to do is open it up and get the venom on the locket.” He seized a box done in a very dark wood. “Here!”

Ginny watched as he sorted through the bits and pieces of jewelry inside, at last producing a ring with what looked to be a green stone overtop. She supposed it was really just a sort of cap. Ginny thought she could see the liquid inside; it made the colors in the stone seem to shift around.

He held the ring out to her. “You’ll have to put this on.”

“Why me?”

“Because it won’t work unless it’s worn, and my fingers are too big.” Sirius reached out and clasped her shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’re pureblood. And you’ve got Black on both sides.”

Ginny stared at the ring, then looked back up at him. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I remember Aunt Lucretia bragging about this old thing as if it were yesterday, she did it so often.”

Ginny took a breath. “Okay.” She took the ring and slid it onto her finger, relieved when nothing happened. Sirius set the locket on a cedar chest and she held her hand over it palm up so that the stone was pointing down towards it.

“How does it open?”

“You’ll have to speak the family motto.”

“What is it again?”

Sirius’ mouth twisted in a frown as he recited, “Toujours Pur.”

“Toujours Pur,” Ginny repeated. The hatch on the ring popped open, and as the stone lifted away a deep green liquid poured out, hitting the locket.

Immediately, it became clear it had had some effect. Where the venom made contact it began to bubble and hiss, the metal of the locket seeming to melt away under it to reveal the inside. Ginny thought they caught sight of a single red eye with black slits instead of pupils before there was a terrible, unearthly shriek and a cloud of black mist rose from it before dissipating.

Ginny wrenched the ring off her finger and dropped it on the chest as she backed away, meeting Sirius’ wide eyes.

“That was him,” she said in a whisper. She was sure of it.

“You were right,” Sirius breathed. He moved around the chest to grip her shoulders, and Ginny didn’t realize until then that she had been shaking. “You were right, Ginny. And you did something about it. You beat him.”

“I did.” A smile rose tentatively to her face, one echoed by Sirius. “I finally did.”

Shouts from down below and footsteps registered. Apparently they’d woken the whole house.

“Harry, careful!” Her mum called out over the creaking of the ladder.

Harry’s head cleared the entrance to the attic, his glasses slightly askew as though he’d jammed them on and run headlong into danger. “Sirius! Ginny?” He clambered the rest of the way up. “What’s going on?”

“Er…” She didn’t even know how to start explaining. Would he think it strange that she’d happened upon two of Voldemort’s cursed possessions? Wasn’t it strange that Voldemort had two cursed possessions holding some impression of his very self? What even were they?

Sirius squeezed her shoulder. “Just Weasley and Black, Dark Object Removal. Afraid the business hours are a bit unusual.” He threw a wink her way, then conjured up a glove to safely pluck the ring off the cedar chest. Then he headed to the ladder. “All fine up here. Sorry to wake you.”

“Is that that locket none of us could open?” Harry asked her quietly, frowning down at it.

“It is. But don’t worry, Harry,” Ginny told him. “It’s only a memory now.”

He looked up sharply, seeming to catch her meaning, but Ginny went to the step ladder. She’d be happy to explain and to wonder about just what the diary and the locket had been later; right now, she just wanted her bed.

She thought she might finally have a truly restful sleep.

[thecomicsnexus]

THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN #196-200 SEPTEMBER 1979 - JANUARY 1980 BY MARV WOLFMAN, STAN LEE, AL MILGROM, JIM MOONEY, FRANK GIACOIA, BOB SHAREN, KEITH POLLARD, BEN SEAN, SAL BUSCEMA, GLYNIS WEIN AND GEORGE ROUSSOS

SYNOPSIS (FROM MARVEL DATABASE)

Peter Parker has received a telegram from the Restwell Retirement home informing him that his Aunt May had passed away. Racing there as Spider-Man and changing back into Peter, Parker confronts the administrator Dr. Reinhardt thinking it is all a mistake. Peter's heart sinks when he finds out there was no mistake at all when Reinhardt shows Peter a casket with a seemingly dead Aunt May inside. Leaving and walking the streets of New York, Peter thinks back to all the tragedy that has struck his loved ones, and how many have died since he became Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, at the Daily Bugle, the increasingly irrational J. Jonah Jameson listens to a story about how Spider-Man ignored a mugger and intends to print it. Fed up with Jonah's constant biased journalism about Spider-Man, he quits his job at the Bugle and walks out on a shocked Jonah. In Westchester, the secret new employer of Boris Korpse and Bruno Grainger demands that the two use their skills to bring Spider-Man to him.

The next day at Empire State University, Peter is confronted by Flash, Sha-Shan and Harry Osborn about his current attitudes. Peter tells them that his Aunt May just died and then goes to tell Debra Whitman to excuse him from classes. After a brief visit with Anna Watson of Aunt May's body, Peter finds it suspicious that Dr. Reinhardt sets off his Spider-Sense.

Later, Peter goes to the docks to reflect on things and is surprised to find Joe Robertson there as well. Joe tells Peter about his own personal grief and how his first born son had died as a young boy, and how he learned to move on with his life by remembering the good times. Peter takes this advice to heart, and decides to go check out his old home in Forest Hills where he grew up under the care of Aunt May and Uncle Ben. To his horror he finds that the entire home had been trashed from the inside like someone was looking for something. Furious, Spider-Man finally puts together where he heard the name Reindhardt before and realizes that the man is one of his old foes.

Changing into Spider-Man, Peter tries to make it to the Restwell Funeral home, however he is captured and subdued by Kropse and Boris and taken to their employer: The Kingpin.

The Kingpin tells Spider-Man how he survived his plunge into the river after their previous battle. Spider-Man did not find him in the murky water, because the Kingpin swam to a drainage pipe, hauled himself out of the water, and collapsed. When he awoke and crawled out of the pipe to the surface, his memory was gone.

For months he wandered the streets not knowing who he was, but then Sllvermane learned what had happened to him. Silvermane sent a hired killer to try to run him down with a car. But when the car slammed head-on into the Kingpin, his muscular, bulky frame survived the impact. The assassin died in the collision.

Hospitalized for many more months, the Kingpin regained his memory, and a mere 18 hours ago he returned home to his beloved wife, Vanessa. When he told her his plan to gain revenge on Silvermane, she told him he had 24 hours to finish his criminal career or she would leave him. After divesting himself of his criminal empire, he found he had six hours left. He intends to use those six hours to finally get rid of Spider-Man.

Spider-Man suddenly leaps from the floor and slams into the master criminal. He lands several blows before the Kingpin pulls the rug out from under him. Spider-Man is hampered considerably by his broken arm, but he still manages to hold his own. The combatants pummel each other and smash one another into walls as the battle drifts into the Kingpin's private gym. The Kingpin tries to strike Spider-Man with a barbell weighing several hundred pounds, but Spider-Man easily evades the barbell and smashes the Kingpin into a shelf of gym equipment. Then he bounds out of the gym.

Meanwhile, at the Restwell Nursing Home, Ludwig Rinehart tells the burglar that Peter Parker will not be bothering them again. Now, continues Rinehart, the burglar can tell him what he was looking for in the Parker house. The burglar replies that since he plans soon to dispose of Rinehart, he will tell him. But Rinehart has plans of his own for the burglar.

Momentarily stunned after being smashed into the shelf, the Kingpin comes to before Spider-Man can find an exit from the mansion. The Kingpin pushes a button to electrify the ceiling Spider-Man is clinging to, and when Spider-Man drops to the floor, the Kingpin overtakes him and presses his attack.

At the same time, at the Daily Bugle, the door to J. Jonah Jameson's office opens and Joe Robertson strides out, briefcase in hand, wearing his hat and coat. Jameson appears totally dejected as his city editor bids him farewell. He has chased Robertson away for good, he says to himself, just as he had lost his wife, his son, and everyone else close to him. He has built a wall around himself, he continues, and he cannot bring himself to tear it down.

The Kingpin pursues Spider-Man through his mansion. Spider-Man hides in a room, and then he finds an electrified lance that is disguised as a pole lamp. Suddenly attacking the Kingpin with it, he briefly knocks him unconscious. But before Spider-Man can leave the room, the Kingpin starts to shoot at him with his obliterator cane. Spider-Man snatches the cane with his webbing and the combatants pummel each other, exchanging blow after blow.

At last, the Kingpin has Spider-Man by the throat. Groggy from the punishment, Spider-Man manages, with his webbing, to pull a shelf down onto the Kingpin's head. Then the master criminal throws the shelf at Spider-Man, breaking a hole in the floor. Spider-Man exits through it. Spider-Man finds himself in the basement of the mansion, but before he can discover a way out, the relentless master criminal is hot on his trail. Spider-Man hides in the darkness, but the Kingpin slams a support beam with all his might, which collapses part of the building onto Spider-Man and leaves him helpless. The pain from his broken arm renders Spider-Man unable to move. The Kingpin declares himself the winner of their battle and drags Spider-Man upstairs. As the Kingpin gloats, Spider-Man tries to gather what remains of his strength. The Kingpin aims his obliterator cane directly at Spider-Man, who desperately tries to keep the Kingpin boasting to give himself time to recover. Suddenly, the clock strikes twelve, and Vanessa enters. The Kingpin tells her that he needs just a moment more, but she tells him that he must decide now between continuing his life of crime or leaving it forever and starting a new life with her.

After an agonized minute, the Kingpin decides that he loves his wife more than he enjoys his success at crime and more than he hates Spider-Man. He puts his arms around her, and they walk together out of the room, leaving Spider-Man on the floor, defeated.

Spider-Man has just been senselessly beaten by the Kingpin, who has left Spider-Man to his fate, having given up his life of crime for his wife Vanessa. The police find Spider-Man and bring him to a hospital, where a doctor treats him and makes sure that nobody unmasks the wall-crawler.

While at the Restwell Retirement home, Dr. Reinhardt reveals himself as the original Mysterio and reveals to the Burglar that he faked his own death to operate in more subtle fraudulent ways, and that his role as administrator of Restwell allowed him to swindle the elderly that he cared for out of their valuables. Hoping to get this treasure the Burglar has been trying to find, Mystery turns his illusion casting powers on the man, knocking him out and tying him up in the boiler room of the retirement home.

While back at the hospital, Spider-Man revives and leaves in spite of the doctor's orders to stay and get more treatment for his now-broken arm he speeds off for the Restwell Retirement Home, and soon finds himself victim to Mysterio's illusions which now appear more elaborate than ever. While at the Daily Bugle, J. Jonah Jameson has become even more irrational. When Marla Madison tries to talk sense into Jonah. Jameson then enters the boardroom where an investors meeting is happening. When the other shareholders of the Bugle question Jameson's recent decisions as editor, Jameson loses his temper and his fury causes a total nervous breakdown and he faints to the floor.

Back at the Restwell Retirement Home, Spider-Man finally tackles Mysterio one-on-one, however, he finds that his foe's new hypnosis based illusions and is easily knocked out by his longtime foe. Reviving, Spider-Man has found that Mysterio has chained him to the bottom of the facilities wading pool. Mysterio then begins to fill the pool with water, gloating over how his old nemesis will helplessly drown.

Spider-Man has uncovered Mysterio's operation running out of the same nursing home where his Aunt May had supposedly died. After a battle against his old foe, Spider-Man is left to drown in a massive in-ground pool. Leaving Spider-Man to his fate, Mysterio then ventures to the basement of the Restwell facility where he has a man tied up. This man is the same Burglar who shot Uncle Ben years earlier and sought to learn of some secret treasure that was hidden in the old Parker house from Aunt May. Mysterio informs the Burglar that he no longer needs him to learn the secret and leaves him tied up in the basement. The Burglar swears that when he gets free, he will find the illusionist and kill him. Looking around the room, he spots a mirror close enough to kick and begins dragging a broken piece close enough so he can cut loose his bonds.

Meanwhile, the pool appears to be filled with water, but Spider-Man has bought himself some time by spinning an air bubble around his head. However, no matter how hard he strains to break free, he cannot bust the chains that keep him locked down. Soon, the web sack bursts and Spider-Man is about to give up all hope of escape when he spies a drain plug not far from him. Using his web shooter and all of his strength, he manages to pull the plug, draining the pool and saving himself from drowning. After resting for a moment, the wall-crawler realizes that he is completely dry and realizes that he fell for another one of Mysterio's illusions. With the illusion shattered, Spider-Man breaks free from his bonds and rushes away to get some rest. After sleeping for a full day, Peter wakes up in his apartment feeling refreshed. The sleep was all he needed for his enhanced healing to fix his broken arm and so he breaks the cast on his right arm.

Preparing himself a meal, Peter is suddenly intruded upon by his friends Flash Thompson, Sha Shan, Harry Osborn and Liz Allan. Realizing that he is still wearing part of his costume and the rest out in the open, Peter has to be incredibly sneaky to hide them from plain view. They have come to express their condolences for Peter over the loss of his Aunt, as well as find out why he snapped at Betty Brant. Peter tells them that he only did it to try and get her and her husband, Ned Leeds, to sort out their marital problems. Liz informs him that Betty has moved in with Liz until she sorts out what she wants to do with her marriage. With everyone caught up to date, Peter ushers them out, telling them that he needs time alone to process everything that has happened recently. With his friends gone, Peter changes back into Spider-Man and heads for his Aunt May's old home, the only clue he has to find out what Mysterio was trying to uncover.

Arriving in Forest Hills, Spider-Man searches the house again but finds nothing. It's then that he is attacked by Mysterio and his illusions once more. Spider-Man fights off these illusions, forcing Mysterio to flee back to the Restwell Nursing Home with Spider-Man in hot pursuit. When, Spider-Man comes crashing in, he is shot with a powerful tranquilizer that Mysterio believes is strong enough to kill Spider-Man. The wall-crawler still tries to stop his foe even though his strength is ebbing. Despite his best efforts, Spider-Man eventually slumps to the floor, leading Mysterio to believe that his old foe is finally dead.

Spider-Man has been injected with a large dose of anti-depressants and left to die by Mysterio. Spider-Man survives the injection however it has left him without his spider-powers. In spite of this, Spider-Man is determined to learn why Mysterio rigged his Aunt May's death and returns home, once more lamenting his lot in life since becoming the Amazing Spider-Man. Unknown to Spidey, the Burglar who shot his Uncle Ben manages to free himself in from the boiler room in the Restwell Retirement home and decides that maybe May Parker's nephew will know the secret of the hidden loot.

Meanwhile, Peter has begun trying to track down who it was that rented and trashed his Aunt May's old home in Forrest Hills. After meeting with Anna Watson and the rental company that rented out his aunts home, Peter is shocked to learn that it was rented by the man who shot and killed his Uncle Ben. Returning to his apartment and changing back into Spider-Man, Peter vows to track the Burglar down and stop him once and for all, considering even killing the man responsible for his uncle's death.

Peter decides to do some more research on the man who killed Uncle Ben when he finds a lead to follow by checking the Daily Globe's morgue files, he decides to check the video archives of a television station that ran news stories about the case. When Peter Parker is denied admittance because he has no appointment, he risks his life climbing a web-line into the building as Spider-Man despite the fact that he has no spider-powers. Inside, he finds the tape he is looking for and reviews it. On his way out he hears a commotion and sees a security guard chasing a man. Unlike the first time he found himself in such a situation, Peter stops the man being chased and realizes that ironically enough the security guard he just helped was the same man who he refused to help all those years ago when he first became Spider-Man.

After Peter returns to his apartment to find that Burglar is there waiting for him, Peter instantly pounces on the man and the two are locked in a brutal fight. During the scuffle, the Burglar drops his gun, but recovers it in the struggle and strikes Peter on the head with its butt, knocking him out. When Peter revives, he finds himself in the very warehouse that the Burglar holed up after he shot Uncle Ben. The Burglar then starts grilling Peter about hidden loot and explains that Aunt May's house used to be owned by a Prohibition-era crime boss named Dutch Mallone. He explains that Mallone -- among other criminal enterprises -- had a successful bootlegging operation during the 30's until he was busted by Elliot Ness for tax evasion. It was being incarcerated with Mallone that the Burglar learned that he had a large sum of money stashed in the home that would eventually be bought and owned by Ben and May Parker. He explains that's why he went to the Parker home that fateful night. When Peter refuses to tell the Burglar anything because he killed Aunt May, the crook reveals that anything that happened to his dear aunt was all the doings of Mysterio. Getting a moment of inspiration, the Burglar decides to leave Peter to do one last thing and will come back to kill Parker later.

The whole time trying to break free, Peter finally manages to bust loose and decides to go after the Burglar not as Peter Parker, but as Spider-Man. Secretly following the Burglar, Spider-Man is led right back to the Restwell Retirement home. When the Burglar goes into the basement, Spider-Man attempts to confront him there and is shot and left for dead. The Burglar returns to the warehouse shortly thereafter to shock Peter Parker by showing him his Aunt May alive and well. Apparently, Mysterio had faked her death to get Mallone's loot for himself and the Burglar would hope that threatening Parker's aunt in front of him would loosen the boy's tongue.

Realizing Peter isn't there, the Burglar is shocked when Spider-Man -- only winged by the bullets and is alive and well -- is waiting there for him. Spidey attacks the Burglar head-on attacking him with an unbridled fury. When Spider-Man proves to be too much for the Burglar to handle, he tries to flee. However, Spider-Man continues to chase after him, using his spider-signal to intimidate and further strike fear into the Burglar. When Spider-Man finally has him cornered, the frightened Burglar suffers a heart attack and dies of fright. Spider-Man then sets off a fire alarm to get the authorities to show up and convinces Aunt May that he came to her rescue for her nephew Peter.

Later, with Aunt May once more in the hospital, Peter goes to visit her and she tells her nephew that she no longer thinks of Spider-Man as a menace. She also ends up solving the mystery of what happened to Mallone's loot: When she and Ben had first moved into the home and did renovations they found a box inside one of the walls. Inside they found the remains of Mallone's money all right, however, it had long since been destroyed by silverfish. Later, after the anti-depressants that Mysterio injected him with have been flushed out of his system, Peter changes into Spider-Man and finds that his powers have returned to full strength and decides that after this whole experience he will continue being Spider-Man.

REVIEW

I’ll be blunt... this story is too complicated, and sometimes too convenient. However...

The character moments are spot on and in the end, everything that happens is true to the character and his world.

Issue 200 in particular is the best one. The Kingpin fight was just too long (and inconsequential, as he would soon appear in Daredevil). The Mysterio thing went nowhere. But the burglar story is the one that counts.

The moment Peter took off his mask, I realized the burglar was going to die (I am not sure how obvious this would have been in 1979, but by now, we all know that whenever an antagonist discovers the hero’s secret identity, he has to die, unless that antagonist is Kinpin).

And I think the finest moment in this story is when all is over and Peter asks for the “treasure box”. Sure, it would have been nice if all of a sudden, May and Peter become rich. But that wouldn’t be the May and Peter we know, they are hard working middle class people, that manage to move on with love, no matter what life has in store for them.

So as usual with anniversary issues, we got a retelling of Spidey’s origin and re-evaluated his principles and motivations. This time, however, it was really effective.

The art gets pretty good on issue 200 as well. With the Kinpin issues being the less interesting ones (couldn’t engage much with the action).

I give this story a score of 7

[therestisconfettii]

My first fanfic in YEARSSSS

The dirty red and green sweater was there again that night - as soon as Alison had closed her eyes she had known that she was no longer alone. With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she prayed to herself, pleading for it to be just a dream – a dream she would wake from, could wake from, able to laugh at herself for being so naively and unnecessarily petrified. But she knew, she knew that it was not a dream and no matter how desperately she tried to disguise her fear, her trembling body betrayed her façade.

With a deep breath, Alison opened her eyes. She was back in the boiler room, a place she had come to know so very well. A thick wave of steam filled the air causing Alison’s eyes to burn and her chest to tighten, she spluttered uncontrollably.

With her view mired by the thick fog, Alison trepidly shuffled forward, her bare feet burning on the hot metal below her. Her long white nightgown caressed the curves of her slender figure and softly trailed the floor, fraying around the edges with each step she took. The pipes around her whistled and hummed with every step – each sound causing her skin to prickle and her heart to beat harder, faster.

Alison could remember the first time she had seen Freddy’s face - the hideous scars that rippled his skin like the scales of a creature, his worn fedora that hung slightly forward shielding his eyes from view and the vicious smell that clawed at her nostrils from his decaying teeth as he smiled menacingly and whispered “I’m the man of your dreams sweetheart”.

The dreams had started to happen a month or so back, her friends had shared an online forum with her full of crazy people discussing a man name Freddy Krueger, a child molester burnt to death by the angry parents of the children he had abused. The forum was filled with theories and stories about how Freddy’s spirit had lived on and he was killing people in the confines of their imaginations. Alison had thought the thread was nothing but nonsense and distortion, but the dreams she had been having were leading her to believe that perhaps some truth lay behind the claims.

The first nightmare came the night her friends had introduced her to the idea of Freddy. She had been lay on her couch drifting peacefully in and out of sleep when two pairs of arms shot out of the sofa, grabbing her and locking her into position. Alison had screamed in pure terror and wrestled against the mysterious arms to no avail, they pinned her down spreading her legs. A bladed hand began to rise out of the couch between her legs, swiping ferociously, catching her inner thigh.

Alison had awoken screaming and fallen from the couch in a panic, her body soaked with sweat, her breathing heavy. Only after she had calmed herself down did she notice the blood seeping through her clothes. Alison had been unable to sleep since – with every loss of consciousness came the man with the dirty red and green sweater.

Alison knew that this night would be no different, but after 3 consecutive nights of no sleep she was beginning to falter. She could barely keep her eyes open in class and her mind had begun playing tricks on her, every person she laid eyes on would morph into Freddy.

With sleep beckoning, she had decided to give in to her temptation – setting an alarm for fifteen minutes time, hoping this would rouse her from her sleep unscathed.

The loud clanging of metal made her stomach somersault as she rounded the corner in the boiler room, the sound of metal scarping metal made her hairs stand on end. ‘you’re going to make it, you’re going to make it’ she whispered to herself over and over.

Alison began to regret her decision to sleep, becoming angry at herself for being weak and giving in. Suddenly, a tall shadowy figure began to rise from the ground in front of her, a small yelp escaped her lips before she had time to catch it.

She stood agonizingly still as she watched the figure grow taller and taller, so impossibly tall it seemed as though the room around them was shrinking. Before she could say or do anything the figure lunged at her causing her to scream so loudly she could feel the room begin to shake. Unexpectedly, the figure dissipated into a thick black fog as it slammed into her tensed body. Alison silently fought the urge the throw up and as tears cascaded down her cheeks she prayed to wake up.

Pushing forwards, her entire body trembled with fear. She wanted desperately to use the pipes as a guide but, as she had learned from another nightmare, they were excruciatingly hot to touch – so hot, she had awoken to blistering burns across her palms.

She reached another corner and urged her body to keep going, but the sound of faint tapping filled her with dread. As she rounded the corner she came face to face with 3 three young girls, playing with a jump rope. Two were swinging the rope and the third was jumping – all singing the same song. A song she had heard before. It meant that he was close.

One, two, Freddy’s coming for you the girl’s voices echoed, sending a chill down Alison’s spine, she turned to run back. Three, four, better lock your door, five, six, grab your crucifix, seven, eight, better stay up late’ abruptly the voices disappeared, leaving Alison alone with the whispering of the pipes.

Alison’s mind was running in circles, her pulse thudding piercingly in her ears, “why hadn’t they finished the song?”. Panic beginning to take over, her vision began to spin.

‘Nine, Ten, never sleep again’ a deep voice whispered into her ear.

A pair of hands shot around Alison and squeezed her tight. She tried to scream and fight but all that could escape her mouth was the air being squeezed from her lungs by the strong grip. She was running out of time. Desperately, Alison threw her head back expecting to feel a painful collision of heads, but she was greeted by nothing but air. She fell to the floor, gasping for air. Where had he gone?

Alison looked to her watch, ‘ten minutes, just another ten minutes’ she whispered.

She stood, regaining her balance and panned the room for an exit. There was a narrow corridor to her left that she had not seen before – deciding to pursue this, she ran as fast her legs would carry her, not stopping for breath for fear of Freddy being on her trail.

Her run slowed to a halt as she came to the end of the corridor. Thick white plastic sheets hung like curtains in her way preventing her from seeing any further down her chosen path. An unexpected draft caused the sheets to writhe. Freddy’s laugh echoed down the corridor, snapping Alison from her daze and spurring her into action. She quickly grabbed the plastic sheets and whipped them aside.

Alison gasped as she stepped forward. As the sheets receded, an old derelict house came into view. The house appeared abandoned and was secluded, standing alone on the unkempt land. Panic stricken, Alison turned back to re-enter the boiler room, but it was no longer there. As she turned, she came face to face with overgrown land that went on for what appeared to be miles.

The wind began to whip Alison’s night gown and stung at her skin. Deciding it was her only option, she headed for the house, weaving through the overgrown grass. The closer she became to the house, the taller and darker it appeared. Every window was broken and boarded up and the wooden door frame was rotten and gathering a collection of moss and weed. The porch at the entrance to the house was worn and splintered and pained her bare feet as she stepped up towards the door.

With baited breath, she reached for the door handle and pushed. The door opened with an eerie creak. As she slowly stepped inside a deafening silence infiltrated her senses. The entire building was littered with cobwebs and the only light was that of the moonlight streaming in through the cracks of the boarded-up windows.

The light streamed through the cracks of the house, illuminating a path up the stairway. As though drawn by a force, Alison mounted the stairs.

Her grip tightened on the rotting banister as she began her ascent. She looked down to her watch ‘5 minutes to go’. As she reached the top of the stairs, the light began to fade. Making her way across the landing she began to squint as her eyes adjusted to dark. Alison’s attention was caught by what looked like a pile of material on the floor, as she moved closer a scream escaped her lips.

A young girl in a blood-soaked cotton white dress lay in a heap, a teddy clutched in her hand. Alison trembled, tears streaming down her face as she reached out to touch the girl. Suddenly the girls neck snapped sharply, and her face contorted into an evil grin ‘he’s home’ she whispered as she melted into the floor and disappeared between the floorboards.

‘No!’ Shouted Alison, spinning on her heels.

Freddy’s lips curled into a vicious smile as he raised his gloved hand and waved. His other hand shot out and pulled Alison closer to him. She fought and screamed, ‘please, not, get off me!’

Freddy loved when they pleaded. It made him feel as though he was a God. He ran his bladed hand through her hair and watched as a few strands came loose and fell to the floor. ‘Don’t worry’ he whispered, his rotting breath infiltrating her airways ‘I don’t bite hard’ His un-gloved hand ran down her back and grabbed at her skin.

He leaned in to smell Alison’s hair. ’Strawberry. My favourite’ he exclaimed before running his tongue down the side of her face, his viscous laugh ripped through the air once more as he felt her squirm against him. His grip tightened and his hand grasped at her breast. She threw her hand towards him with as much force as she could muster, slapping him harshly across the face. This made him laugh even more.

Abruptly, Freddy launched his bladed hand at Alison, catching her shoulder. She fell to the floor with force, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her wound.

She felt Freddy’s hand slip around her neck and grab her hair. He yanked her up from the floor with such force Alison was sure he’d break her neck.

He gently ran a blade down her face, leaving a red mark down her cheek. ‘Beg’ he smiled ‘Make Freddy happy little one. Beg’

‘No’ Alison cried.

‘Bad girl’ he cooed. With the hand wrapped in her hair he tilted her head backwards and placed a soft kiss to her lips. Lifting a blade to her throat, he slowly sliced and watched as her eyes widened and her chest began to heave and glow a violent red. He tenderly ran his tongue along her chest, tasting his victory and then loosened his grip and let her fall to the floor.

Alison’s body glistened with blood in the moonlight, her final whimpers heaving her blood-soaked chest.

The watch on her wrist began to chime and Freddy smiled again.

He laughed as he walked away into the night, ‘too late little one’

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Blood - Mikey Way x Reader

Request: Can you do a vampire! Mikey way x female reader and it’s fluff and then angst? P.s your writing is amazing

Warnings: blood

Word count: 1 295

The first time you met Mikey was at a bar. It had been a Saturday evening and you had been out with friends when he stared talking to you. He was handsome and smart and you liked him immediately. You enjoyed his company and he seemed to enjoy yours but at the end of the night you went your separate ways. One week later you met him again, at the same bar. Again you talked and this time you exchanged numbers. From there on you met almost every evening. You went to clubs and bars, or you spent the evening at his home, watching movies or kissing. But you always only had the time between evening and morning. Mikey always had to leave for his job early and your job took your time until the late evening. But you did not mind. The time with him was worth barely sleeping.

Today was a night as any other. You had been to one of the local bars and when Mikey had started kissing you, you decided to take this somewhere else. Right now he was trying to unlock the door while his soft lips eagerly worked against yours.

“Just take your time to unlock the door properly,” you giggled as Mikey missed the keyhole for the fifth time.

“Forget it,” he mumbled against your lips, “I can do it!”

Two tries later he finally had unlocked the door and gently pushed you inside. Laughing you strode inside towards the kitchen while Mikey closed the door.

“Hey, where are you going,” he whined as he noticed that you already were halfway through the room.

“Making tea, do you want some?”

“You’re weird,” he mumbled, unable to keep a straight face.

You just smiled at him and turned around before disappearing in the kitchen.

Mikey followed you like a lost puppy. Your body, your voice, your smell, your character were addicting to him. You were the drug he could not get away from; you were the best reason to get through the day.

Like in a trance he watched you filling water in the water boiler, setting up two cups and putting tea bags in them. He watched you running your hands through your hair and biting your lips impatiently as you waited for the water to boil.

When the water boiled, you filled it into the two cups, picked them up and turned around to Mikey.

“Is it fun staring at me,” you wondered with a playful grin.

“Great fun,” Mikey smiled, slightly embarrassed.

You pushed past Mikey back into the living room, putting down the cups on the table and sitting on the sofa.

“Come here,” you demanded, patting the space next to you. Mikey immediately followed your wish and sat down close next to you, his eyes fixed on your face and wandering down to your lips every other moment.

With a mischievous smile you lent forward until your lips were hovering over Mikey’s. You could feel him tremble in anticipation to feel you kiss him again.

“You tease,” he whispered, closing the distance between you. The kiss was passionate, his lips eagerly working against yours to continue what your little tea-break had interrupted.

His calloused hand started roaming your body, massaging circles into your waist while your hands tangled in this soft hair. Slowly he stared to move away from your lips, kissing down your chin and jawline, getting closer to your neck. You tried not to whimper or moan, not wanting to give him this satisfaction yet. You could feel Mikey smile through sloppy kisses because he knew how much effort it was for you not to make a sound. You wrapped your fingers tighter into his locks, pulling him as close as possible to your body. Feeling his hot breath fanning over your skin sent a shiver down your spine. Slowly he started kissing along your neck, to your pulse point where he gently started sucking on your skin. A tiny moan escaped your lips, when suddenly-

“Ouch!” a sharp pain shot through your body, coming from your neck. Instinctively you shoved Mikey away, bringing a hand to you neck and covering the hurting spot.

Mikey jumped up from the sofa, turning away, mumbling unintelligible words. You pulled your hand away from your neck, taking a look at it. Red liquid, blood, covered a part of your hand. “Did you just bite me,” you asked unbelieving. Mikey liked biting you sometimes, but he had never drawn blood before.

“I’m sorry, (y/n), I’m so sorry,” he apologized, still turned away from you.

“It’s okay… it just hurt,” you answered confused. You felt bad for Mikey because he seemed really upset about hurting you. “It’s not that bad.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened; it was stupid, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tried to reassure him.

You stood up from the sofa, walking over to him to place a hand on his shoulder. You tried to turn him around to you but when he did not move, you walked around him. Tears were glistening in his eyes and his hands were wrapped over his mouth.

“Hey sweetheart,” you tried to calm him down.

Carefully you reached up and pulled his hands away from his mouth. That’s when you saw them. Sharp, pointy, white teeth, like fangs. Your eyes grew wide and shocked you stumbled a few steps back.

“What are those?” Your voice was shaking and you could feel all blood rushing out of your face.

Mikey stared at you, shocked as well, but he answered anyway. “That’s a part of me you never should’ve seen.”

Your breath was uneven, dots were dancing in front of your eyes. “What part?”

Mikey took a shaky breath, tears starting to run down his cheeks. “The part of me that is a vampire.”

“I’m serious, Mikey,” you told him. But you were scared. You did not believe in supernatural beings, but how did these teeth grow all of a sudden. Carefully you took a step back, getting closer to the front door.

“I am serious,” Mikey assured you. His voice was shaking. “Why do you think we only meet at night?”

“Because of our jobs!”

“And what about the weekends? Have you never wondered why I work at weekends too?”

He was right, you never had thought about that. You had just accepted it.

“I can’t move around in daylight, that’s why we only ever meet when the sun is down,” he explained, taking a step into your direction but you backed away.

“So you can also turn into a bat and fly around,” you asked sarcastically, still not believing him.

“Don’t be silly, (y/n). That would be ridiculous,” Mikey told you.

“And what about blood, do you drink blood?”

“Hardly, once or twice a month maybe, the rest of the time normal food is enough,” he patiently tried to explain.

But you had enough. By now he had said enough weird things to freak out completely, no matter whether he was a vampire or not.

“I’ve heard enough, I’m out of here,” you decided and ran towards the door.

“No, (y/n), wait!” Mikey leapt forward and grabbed your hand.

“Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me!” you yelled, swatting his hand away.

He listened, standing frozen as he watched you storm out the door. His heart broke as he realized his world, you, were slipping though his fingers and he was unable to do anything but hope you would come back to him once you were over the shock. But he was not sure you would.

“(Y/n), wait!” He yelled running after you.

But you were already out the door, running down the corridor, slammed the front door shut and disappeared into the dark of the night.

[fantastica-daily]

Marneen Lynne Fields Interview – The Singing Stunt Woman

What drew you to stunt work in the first place?

 My brother, Bobby Fields who was one year older than me, met a stuntman named Paul Stader who was Carey Grant's stunt double. Paul owned a stunt training school in Santa Monica that most of the famous stunt men in the industry trained at. The second Bobby, who was a 6'3" football player stepped into the school he saw students doing high falls from the twenty-foot rafter, backward falls off the ladders, and being flipped onto their backs doing fight scenes. Bobby said, "My sister is perfect for this," and he sent me down to the stunt school to audition for Paul Stader. 

I was a 5'3" Class One advanced all-around college gymnast, the number one gymnast at Utah State University and ranked 3rd in the entire state of Utah. I was one of three women in the United States who received a full-ride athletic scholarship in gymnastics to USU in 1976, they didn't award many athletic scholarships to women in gymnastics back then. Paul recognized the champion gymnast and exceptional athlete in me. He took me under his wing making sure I received the best training and he became 100% instrumental in getting me my first twenty-five, very dangerous, stunt jobs and stunt-acting jobs on primetime TV shows and in feature films. Paul Stader discovered me and had the power to put me on the map as one of the top stunt women in the world in the mid-1970s, Wikipedia listing me as one of the most famous stunt women of the 1970s and 1980s. From 1976 to 1991 the world saw my versatility and talent step into the shoes of 100 of the world's most famous actresses of the day and perform death defying feats for them and for myself when I landed a stunt acting, and that was exciting.

 What did you love about stunt work - and what did you not like?

 To be completely honest with your readers there wasn't much I loved about stunt work no matter how much recognition and applause I received on a set each time I performed. As the human cannonball gymnast and high diver I was, stunts were incredibly stressful and heart-wrenching for me. It upset me terribly to perform these difficult and dangerous things as I was unable to separate the reality from fantasy in my mind, these experiences became very real for me. After all, I was born with the extreme sensitivity that all great musical artists and composers vie for, so I was not cut out for the stunt arena. That was Bobby's ace card, and he threw it to me, and it changed my true calling in life, but as you read on, you'll see God found a way to make sure I landed where I was supposed to be in life as there are no accidents. The first thing I learned when I started doing stunts was all the mats from gymnastics were taken away and I'd now be falling onto my back and stomach onto the concrete, wooden tables, hard dirt grounds, linoleum floors, brick walls, boxes, thin layers of sand, and into trees. For fifteen years, my body was slammed hard onto these types of surfaces as I was expected to fall from high distances traveling at high speeds while landing within confined dimensions hitting my mark so as not to go out of frame of the camera. I was always told to not look at the camera, not get the clothing I was wearing that matched the actresses dirty (even if I was running through a dirty mine field of explosions), and not to break any objects I had to hold while performing the stunt. Luckily for me, I was a one-take wonder back in those days because they didn't look well upon a stunt person taking more than one take to perform these highly dexterous and dangerous feats. There I'd stand, usually in high heels, wearing a crazy pinned to tightly wig that matched the actresses hair when not donning a bad haircut or dye job, and dressed in clothes that were usually too tight for me because I had a little boy's football girdle, knees pads, and elbow pads underneath. I felt like a clown, even though I was an amazing champion.

Now that I got my dislikes out of the way, here's what I loved about stunt work. I loved acting. I like to say that I was Angelina Jolie before she was, in smaller roles of course, but never-the-less performing all my own stunts when cast in a stunt acting role. I had been performing in large productions on stage for three years minoring in Theater Arts and Dance at USU before Hollywood discovered me. I loved to apply my actor's technique to all my performances, while also pretending I was the character of the actresses I was doubling during my stunt performances. I would watch their every move mimicking their walk and gestures as thoroughly as I could, something I was also taught to do at the stunt school. I loved the scream or gasp I was able to perform during the stunts and fight scenes to sell them to the max. I loved playing all the characters through the actresses, and when I would sit at the make-up mirror or in my dressing room in my twenties, I had dreams of becoming the next Dustin Hoffman as I would pretend I was the actress in that role and not the stunt girl. My favorite part about doing stunts were the crowds that would gather around to watch me perform these amazing things, sometimes 100 or more people standing around staring up at me to watch me fall or dive and then applauding me like crazy afterward, that was something to relish because my talent had thrilled them to appreciate my work to that extent. My gymnastics training gave gracefulness to my stunts, something you didn't usually see since I was the only female gymnast (to my knowledge) from the national level making a living doing stunts in those days. I was truly poetry in motion in a lot of my stunt performances. It's important to note that it was my great extensive training that saved my life and gave me the ability to perform what I did without injury those years. My biggest moment of personal recognition came when I was awarded a Fall Girl license plate by famous stunt coordinator, J.P. Bill Catching and the Stuntman's Association and coined "Hollywood's Original Fall Girl," a title that sticks with me today. I truly love and appreciate that honor. I also cherish the respect I've earned in the industry for being a stuntwoman.

 Do you think the advent of CG has harmed the stunt-work profession?

 When I was competing in gymnastics there were no spring floors (they were just coming on the scene), my legs did it all. I taught myself backward flip flops on the hard wood floor in the Jr. high school gymnasium. I used a twisting belt on a trampoline once at gymnastics camp to perfect my back flip with a full twist on floor exercise. As a pioneering stuntwoman, I got to use an airbag for a three-story high fall off the side of a house in Malibu one time for the MOW, Death Ray 2000. Another time I performed a twenty-five feet head first high fall off a swinging catwalk at the top of the boiler room of the Queen Mary for Goliath Awaits into only a bunch of blankets the stunt coordinator threw on the floor because they couldn't get a small mattress through the hatch door for me to land on. One night I ran and stood on the ledge of the First Interstate Bank Building in downtown Los Angeles in a sheer negligee and fluffy slippers without a cable, then jumped feet first off the building into only boxes twenty-five or thirty feet below for the suicide scene in the "Depth of Beauty" episode of Quincy. Lynda Carter of Wonder Woman beat me up in the "Mind Stealers" episode of her series. There was no jerk off cable or mini trampoline for me, once again, it was my power tumbler legs that made the scene look like she had superhuman strength throwing me across the room. In take after take, I flipped over her sofas landing on my back on the hardwood floor as she pretended to throw me as hard as she could. In a lot of ways CG (computer graphics) and some of the equipment I've mentioned has added a layer of excitement and protection to stunt work. So, personally, I don't think that CG has harmed the stunt profession, but I do think that it has taken away some of the realism, while at the same time making it possible to showcase more outrageous, elaborate, and incredibly unbelievable stunts allowing the audience to enter a unique and unlimited realm of adventure like we've all seen in the Marvel and DC movies.

 What are some of your favorite non-stunt acting roles?

 From 1976 to 1991 every SAG actress job I was cast in for the 100 feature films and prime time TV shows I appeared in, regardless of if it was a large speaking role or not, as a co-star, guest star, character actress, cameo actress, or stunt actress, also involved me performing stunts on some level. During those years, I also appeared in fifteen small theater productions throughout the Los Angeles area in lead and large co-star roles, and those were the only straight acting jobs I landed, as were all theatrical productions I appeared in at USU from 1973 to 1976. I landed a wonderful role on a TV series at Universal Studios titled, Otherworld the "Princess Metra" episode where I played a Microwoman who's children were taken from her but my highly emotional dialogue scene with tears was cut. Same with the big-budget Airport '79 the Concord also out of Universal Studios, my dialogue scene was cut. It made no difference that I loved acting more than I loved doing stunts, first and foremost, I landed these roles because I could also do the stunt. By the mid-1980s I had become the first stuntwoman to come from the pure stunt arena to make the break into becoming a respected SAG actress, and I landed the coveted Page 3 of Star Magazine under the title, "Marneen Fields: Shapely Stunt Gal is Now an Actress."

Fifteen of my best performances took place in casting director offices with the executive producers, directors, and scriptwriters present, and believe me, getting that far is an amazing accomplishment in and of itself. Casting directors look at over 1,000 headshots for each role, maybe eight to fifteen actors get called in to read, then only two are taken to the producers. I had career breaking moments where I got to be one of two taken to the producers and the other actress beat me out every time (laughs). I was up for the reoccurring role of the hooker Mika on the TV series Santa Barbara, and the role of the bag lady in the Lou Diamond Phillips' feature Transit, along with nearly a dozen others. Although I was a fine highly trained character actress, I got beat out on these occasions because the other actresses were more the real McCoy's. They were not a character-actresses trying to portray the character like I was, they looked more the part than I did. I would have picked them over me each time also. I've cried many tears, and the boulevard of broken dreams is a terrible reality in my life. It just wasn't in the cards for me to land those career breaking roles. Some actors are lucky, some are not. Having made nearly a million dollars since 1976 on my SAG card I can't really say I've been unlucky.

 I should mention for the 150 things I've landed since 1976, I have not landed another 200 I've auditioned for, both on stage in theatrical productions, and in films, TV shows, web series, commercials, etc. Would you like to know the main reason why? The large agencies have everything under package deals and even though actors are called in to audition for the smaller roles they really don't have a chance over actors who usually get picked just because they are signed by the major agencies. The big agencies control Hollywood and who becomes mega. I've been successful in the motion picture business because I had gymnastic, diving, swimming, and fight scene talents other female actors in the screen actor's guild didn't have during those years. I could land and spin on a dime at the call of action in my prime so I was in demand and never had to hustle work, my unbelievable physical talent and reputation preceded me. Everything snowballed, and my phone rang off the hook each week for work for fifteen years. Then one day, my phone stopped ringing as quickly as it had started…

 When you got injured, is that what drew you to writing and singing - or were those interests already there?

 Ever since I was a small child all I ever wanted to do was sing. I remember vividly the two days in elementary school when they passed around the Row, Row, Row Your Boat song to sing in a round, and when they passed out the musical instruments. I got to school late the day they passed out the musical instruments and the only instrument that was left was the gigantic string bass so that became my instrument. My dad got me a little red wagon and I rolled the giant bass to school and back home to practice each week. Kids I went to elementary school with still remember me rolling the bass around the neighborhood. As a young teenage sweeping the garage one day I heard, I Love You More Today Than Yesterday by the Spiral Staircase. It was that day I knew I wanted to sing and dance for the rest of my life, as I broke out in song dancing around the garage with the broom after singing I Love You More… at the top of my lungs. To me, it was the greatest and most perfect love song in the world. I was a scholar student all through school and a child prodigy in math doing algebra with high school kids at nine years old, but I never enjoyed writing. After my near fatal car accident by an uninsured motorist and over a decade of resulting life-threatening abdominal operations, I had dreams of becoming a writer, but each time I'd sit down to write, a song would come on the radio and I'd have to get up and mimic the singer performing the song. Those were the years Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey came on the scene. I'd never heard anyone as great as those two (except Barbra Streisand) and I had to learn every song they released. I'm an alto-soprano with nearly the same tonal register as Whitney Houston. I wish today more than anything that I just had a weekly singing gig performing Ella Fitzgerald blues type songs, other favorite songs of mine, and some of my own songs in a nightclub, it's the only thing I really love doing and feel my singing voice is my greatest talent. One thing was for sure, after my personal life imitated my career life of surviving onscreen disasters, I would be forced to lose everything I had worked and trained diligently for. Instead of phony movie fight scenes with Freddy Kreuger and his long fingernails, I now performed the ultimate fight for my life for over a decade.

 Who are some of the most famous people you've worked with? Anyone stand out, or do you have a fun anecdote you can share?

 I especially loved when director Michael O'Herlihy told me I was prettier than Priscilla Presley when I doubled her on the "Manhunter" episode of The Fall Guy. I just shook my head, no way, no one was ever prettier than Priscilla, especially me, but it was sure nice to hear. I performed an extremely dangerous feet-first jump being pushed out of a taxiing jet with a roll across the runway at night for the "3-Day Affair with a 30-Day Escrow" episode of The Rockford Files. It was crazy. I landed and performed the high-speed roll with no injury. 

Props brought in a small 1 ft. high block for the actress I was doubling to jump into the scene from to look like she had made the jump and not me. She jumped off the block and buckled over in screaming pain. She had sprained her ankle badly and had to be taken away on a gurney. I felt so bad for her. I was thrilled to be cast and have the challenge of performing a karate fight in high heels with Stacy Keach himself on the "Dead Man's Run" episode of The New Mike Hammer. While we were rehearsing the fight Stacy put his open palm up facing me as a guide for me to kick towards. Oops, I nicked his hand with the tip of my heel. Wow! He reeled at me with the most intense and angry eyes, and rightfully so, Stacy can't have the stunt girl actually kicking him with her high heels. In my defense, I must add, anyone ever performed a karate fight in a low-lit room in high heels? It's not the most steady surface to stand on. Scenes like this one were how my gymnastic balance beam skills came in handy in my stunt work because 95% of the time I had to perform these unbelievable things in high heels or slippery footwear. For a fun anecdote, I doubled Brett Somers getting scooped up onto the back of a camel in the dark while holding a shotgun in "The Magnificent Warriors" episode of Battlestar Galactica. Silly feminine me, I had beautiful long artificial fingernails put on that same afternoon. You guessed it: those fingernails got ripped right off my fingers as I grabbed to hold on with one arm for my dear life while riding lickety-split behind the hump of a camel in a chase scene. My favorite actresses to double were: Michelle Philips, Jane Seymour, and Shirley Jones, they were great. [Check out Marneen’s IMDb credits here. ]

 What's your career focus now and what would you like our readers to know about?

 I love singing and composing pop-blues-soft rock brokenhearted love ballads, and songs about love, inspiration, and God. I'll sing anytime, anywhere, it's my passion and what I find most challenging and rewarding as an artist. My true story, Cartwheels & Halos: The True Marneen Lynne Fields Story is a main focus and I'm pitching proposals to agents and publishers now. The book is incredibly inspiring and empowering as I share how I found my true calling in the wake of my childhood dreams of music during terrible tragedy, and how finding God saved my life. I've also written my dear mother, Ruby Marie Farris-Fields true horror story about her survival of nine years of homelessness while battling schizophrenia and multiple cancers before being found through Missing Persons and brought home to safety. The film has a potentially Academy Award caliber lead role and it's WGA registered. I've been very close to selling the film, and want a big star in the title role. Earlier this year I released a book on the craft of acting on Amazon and Smashwords that's getting 5-Star reviews titled, The Illusive Craft of Acting: An Actors Preparation Process. I've been a student of the craft of acting for forty-six years trained by several celebrity acting coaches and my college professors since 1973. So all of that is plenty to focus on for now along with any SAG acting roles or speaking engagements I get offered.

  Given your wide-ranging career and your perspective on the entertainment business, what advice would you give to young women getting started now?

 Keep your inspiration and never lose belief in your talents no matter what. Get the best education you can afford and keep educating yourself. Respect the work and learn the various creative crafts for the careers in the arts you want to pursue. It's a life's work. Watch lots of movies and TV shows and listen to lots of music to see what's selling. Learn your special character niche and where you'd like to market yourself. Practice, rehearse, rehearse, audition, audition, perform, perform, always give 100%. Don't give up on your dreams. All the world is a stage, play the game, follow the rules, and hope to win. [Here's the link to purchase Marneen’s book from Smashwords.]

[andtheniwrotemarvel]

Save Me

dad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Gender Neutral (As far as I can remember)

Word Count: 1578

"(Y/N)."

You were off in your own world, unable to hear your father trying to catch your attention. Focusing had been hard lately. It was your inability to pay attention that had almost cost you your life on a mission yesterday, but luckily, Captain America had stepped in.

Not your dad--Captain America. There was a big difference.

"(Y/N)?"

Your dad was your favorite person. The father-daughter relationship was healthy and well kept. You had traditions full of ice cream, chocolate, movies, and lunch dates, no matter the time of the month. You could tell him anything, and had told you everything. There weren't secrets between you two.

"(Y/N)!"

You looked up innocently to meet the eyes of Captain America, a man that you could honestly say that you hated.

"(Y/N), what was the last thing that I said?" Cap asked you accusingly.

"Something about how I'm careless in the field and need to pay more attention to my surroundings?" you said hopefully.

He let out a sigh, and his face dropped into his hand. "(Y/N), that was five minutes ago."

"I guess I was spacing," you apologized.

"No kidding," he scoffed. "This is just like yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?" Natasha asked.

"You said that you wouldn't tell anyone!" you whined.

"It came up, so I had to say something," he justified.

"Yeah, because you brought it up."

"Rogers!" Sam shouted, knowing that it would shut both of you up. "Tell us what happened yesterday. We have the right to know."

"You want to tell them, (Y/N)?" Cap gave you the chance.

Given the lump forming in your throat, you didn't trust yourself to speak. You shook your head, staring down and the table.

"She almost got herself killed," he summed up. He didn't say anything after that, leaving the details to the imagination. No one else was much help, as they had all gone silent. "Right, so, other than that, mission accomplished?" he tried to move on.

"You can't just say something like that and not give us details," Rhodey frowned.

"It's like just now. She can't focus for more than five minutes at a time before she goes to la la land."

"Context?" Wanda demanded.

"I found her just staring at a time bomb, watching the clock tick down," he explained.

"That's not what was going on!" you shouted suddenly, not caring about the quality of your voice.

"Then tell me what was!" Cap fired back.

"What does it even matter? It's not like you're going to listen to me," you stated. Unable to take anymore of the soldier that replaced your father, you stood up and stormed out of the meeting room, blinking back tears.

"We're not done yet!" he called after you.

"I am," you grumbled to yourself. You went up to your room and told FRIDAY not to let anyone in without your permission.

Tony graciously offered to take you to school the next morning. You didn't know whether or not to be relieved that you didn't have to face your father, but you didn't know which side of him you'd see. Captain America would just criticize you some more, while Steve would insist that he was the one to blame.

For the first few minutes of the ride, you did nothing but sit silently and stare at the breakfast that you were supposed to be eating. You really weren't hungry. Come to think of it, you hadn't actually felt like eating in a while.

"Spacing again?" Tony asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

You looked up at him in surprise, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Um, no--well, yes, kinda? I just can't remember it I can eat in your car or not," you attempted to cover, but he just chuckled.

"I don't care if you eat in my car, but I'm going to go out on a limb guess that you're not going to eat it, anyway."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't been eating a lot recently, but you're not complaining about it. You haven't been able to get to sleep easy, and what little sleep you do get isn't so good. You can't pay attention very well, and progress on homework and other things that you used to make quick work of is a lot slower than it used to be," he listed. "Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your mouth hung open. "Are you using FRIDAY to stalk me?"

He laughed again. "Nah, kid, that would be creepy. I just know because that used to be me. I can see myself in you, which is really weird, considering that you're not even a little bit related to me," he grimaced. "But it's all the same. Now, I don't know how much experience Cap has with dealing with this crap, but I know that Steve just wants to be there for you."

"You--you do it, too," you noticed.

"Do what?"

"You refer to Cap and my dad as different."

"It's because they are. It's not like the guy has split personalities, it's just that he has two frames of mind," he agreed.

"A soldier and a regular guy," you added.

"Exactly. And it's only natural for you to favor the regular guy," he said. He pulled into the school parking lot. "Just remember that he's trying his best. You can leave the food in here." He reached over and opened the glove compartment to reveal assorted bags of cereal. "Choose one of those instead."

"Thanks, Tony," you said. You smiled at him, grabbed a bag of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and got out of the car.

"Have a better day than yesterday," he encouraged. "It's not going to be hard, but it's always a good thing to have in mind."

Your high school building was almost a hundred years old, so in the long run, it didn't come as much of a surprise when the boiler kind of...exploded. Most of the explosion was contained in the boiler room itself, but unfortunately, your 6th hour classroom was almost right above it.

The cinder blocks surrounding the door--the only way in and out of the classroom--collapsed in on the doorway. Thankfully, the floors were holding up just fine, but as alarms began to blare, everyone, including the teacher, was scared out of their mind.

People started to rapidfire express their worries, hyperventilating and crying, until you picked up your chair and slammed it into the one wall that wasn't cinder block. That shut them up.

"Come on, this is the quickest way to get out of here," you explained, hitting the wall again. Others cautiously did the same with their own chairs, but as you started to break through, that wall collapsed in on itself, as well. "This sucks," you complained. "Let's work on breaking through this wall."

Steve's phone buzzed from his front pocket. He was talking with Tony about you, completely unsuspecting of the emergency notification that he'd received.

"Explosion at your child's school. The following students and teachers are unaccounted for." it read. Tony looked over at the notification and frowned. He swiped the notification, and a short list of names popped up. Steve scrolled to the end of the list, and his heart dropped when he saw your name on it. He and Tony looked at each other fearfully.

"Go, Steve," Tony commanded his friend. "Save her."

He wasted no time, except for grabbing the shield. He had a funny feeling that he would need it. He made up for that lost time by driving almost ten miles per hour over the speed limit.

He talked to the first school officials that he saw, and they directed him to the firemen, who were preparing to enter the building and look for the people who were still missing.

"Thanks for joining us, Captain Rogers," the chief said. "Which class is your kid in?"

"Just call me Steve," he said. "She's in Andersen's 6th hour, I think."

"You take that one with Newton, Leibniz, and Bernoulli, then. Best of luck," the Fire Chief offered.

The three men walked as calmly as they could into the building. The power was iffy, so the lights kept flickering on and off. Steve could only imagine what you were doing right now.

He didn't have to wait long, however, as with a grunt, you finally broke through the cinder blocks with your now very deformed chair.

"We did it!" you called back into the classroom, not taking care to notice the four men looking at you. You set down your chair and said, "Come on, the exit is--" You bumped into what you thought was another brick wall, but as you looked at it, you realized that it was your father. "Dad?"

He wrapped you into a tight embrace. "Are you okay?" he asked earnestly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "Why are you here?"

"They said that you were unaccounted for. I had to come find you and make sure that you were safe."

You looked up into his eyes, and what you saw coupled with his response told you that he was definitely your dad hugging you, wearing the brown leather jacket and carrying the vibranium shield.

Your dad would always be Steve Rogers, best dad in the world, and Steve Rogers, Captain America. You were okay with that. He would always be there for you, and that was what mattered.

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 43 Like Orange Static

Lydia’s vision was now a nightmare that was all-too familiar. She looked around to find herself in the center of Orchard Ridge. The small town was on fire. The flying monster, smaller than it would be when she and her friends would encounter it but no less deadly, swept over the area with the crazed abandon of an animal whose cage door had been opened after being confined for centuries. It shot lightning from its eyes creating raging fires everywhere, then it soared through trees and houses, leaving devastation in its wake. The worst was seeing how freely it sprayed the panicked populace with its energy thistles. No one was safe and no target was ignored. Young, old, man, woman, and child felt its fury. This was farming country during working hours, leaving the fields and farms filled with working families and hired hands dressed for labor in heavy overalls, boots, gloves, boiler suits, and the like. The work clothes made ideal surfaces for the spores to latch onto, root themselves in, and take control of first their bodies, then their minds. In short order, a relentless legion of formerly hard-working, God-fearing people descended on their neighbors to either abduct the strong into their circle or rend the weak limb from limb. Deafening screams and the overpowering sense of death began to crush the young banshee.

Lydia turned away to find herself back on the Willoughby farm. She barely recognized it. Its fields were aflame, its barn battered, and the once quaint house was being consumed by fire. Lydia could see no one around. Where was the Willoughby family? Lydia looked at the cement structure that was used as daily storage for smaller farm equipment. She’s spotted it peripherally in her earlier vision, seeing how well it was kept, with its swept wooden floor and a handmade trellis along its outer side, beautifully alive with climbing plants and wildflowers. It bore little resemblance to that now. Nothing was left of the trellis but blackened planks hanging at odd angles. All its plants were ripped away and gone. A lawn tractor that had been stored there had been dragged across the floor and thrown to land on its side beyond the house. Lydia looked at the trap door, which was open. In an instant, she was inside the cellar, a silent witness to the unfolding tragedy.

Horace held Marguerite up, her arm slung over his shoulder. “Maggie, can you hear me? MAGS!”

The girl blinked her eyes. A stream of blood ran down her forehead from a nasty gash where something had struck her. He dress was torn, her hair askew. She looked a mess. Dimly, she came back to the moment as she first felt, then saw he brother next to her. “Horace?”

“That’s it, Maggie. You can do it, just a few more steps. That’s a good girl.” Horace, looking no better himself, with his face darkened with soot, his ripped overalls spattered with ash and one bib strap torn away. He was missing one of his boots and the bare foot was bloody from running over jagged debris. Still, he dragged his beloved sister across the room to get her to a place of safety.

“H-Horace”, Marguerite choked, what happened—what’s happening? That thing—the horrid thing that came up out of the ground.” Fear came to her eyes as a thought flashed across her mind. “Oh my Lord, where’s Papa? Where’s Bernie—and little Rol??”

Horace answered her under his breath. “You don’t want to know.”

“Why?”, she cried. “What happened? Where are they?!”

“Damn that hearing of yours”, Horace grumbled. “Here, let me sit you down. I’ll explain everything.”

“Just tell where they all are! I should go to them!”

Marguerite was eased down onto a wooden crate that had a couple woolen blankets thrown over it. As Marguerite gripped the edges of the crate, fighting off a rush of vertigo, she heard a metal gate slam right in front of her. No, not a gate. A door. Horace had locked his sister inside the cage in the cellar.

“Horace!! What are you doing??” She leapt up and grabbed the bars, but Horace had done this too many times and was too well-practiced at it, even when injured. Chains and padlocks secured the door before Marguerite could move to free herself.

“This is the only way to keep you safe, Maggie”, he said, his eyes wet with tears. “I can’t cope with losing you too.”

The words sank into Marguerite’s mind and their meaning seared a permanent place there. “…too?”, she repeated. Then in panic, she shouted, “Where are my father and brothers?!! Where ARE they, Horace???”

Horace backed away from the cage, crying harder now. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I am so, so sorry. I thought I only wanted to help. But I think maybe I wanted to show off, to impress everybody, to show Pa…and the whole town’s paying for it.”

Marguerite seethed as she clutched the bars of the cage door. “Horace. Let…me…out. Now.”

“This is my fault. I have to be the one to stop it. God knows what the thing will do, where it’ll go if I don’t. I really am truly sorry, Marguerite.” His sister felt her heart skip a beat. He never used her full name unless the situation was dire, and about to get worse.

“Horace. What are you doing?”

The farm boy half ran, half stumbled to the ladder that led up and out. As he grabbed onto the rungs, he turned back only once. “Remember I love you. Please at least remember that.” With that, he was gone, with his sister screaming behind him to stop and come back.

Lydia stood and watched, and unseen specter forced to bear witness as Horace raced past her. He was running toward the barn, to the summoning circle which started this disaster. He had to give a wide birth to the burning house, the heat keeping him at bay as ashes and blackened kindling filled the air. The Horace heard a scream. A high-pitched, dying scream he barely recognized. But he recognized it enough to turn sharply and run its direction. Behind the house, in a small clearing there was a shade tree from whose sturdiest branch hung a tire swing that Horace’s little brother adored. On the ground not far from that swing, face down, lay Horace’s brother Bernard. The boy of ten had dressed that day for what he called “adventuring”, so he was well insulated from any thorns and prickly underbrush as he embarked on his day. Little Bernard had attired himself in his heavy canvas tan bib overalls, with his sturdy barn jacket worn, as he preferred for his playful escapades, with the overalls strapped over the top. His pant legs were tucked tightly into his brown rubber knee boots (just like his brother wore his). Atop the lad’s head was a ball cap Horace won for him at the 1925 County Fair that he was never without. Bernard’s body was on fire. Or something very close to it.

           Horace stared in horror as energy thistles that had made good use of his little brother’s heavy garb to capture and control him, had seared through the skin of the young boy’s face and hands. Strange orange smoke formed a sparkling cloud as it rose from his body. Bernard’s adventure outfit could have survived the monster’s assault, but the gentle boy inside them could not. Horace had heard his brother’s dying scream even as the older brother was running to the barn to prevent exactly that. Horace wept and screamed at the godawful stinking orange smoke that rolled off his cherished little brother’s corpse. Horace started toward him, to at least wave away the invading thistles and offer his brother some dignity in death. Horace made it only a few steps when he saw Bernard’s boots melting. The stench of burning rubber filled the air, and the treasured boots pooled into the grass. Lydia watched, crying silent tears for a child she never knew.

           Horace knew that whatever was left of his little brother, he did not want to see it. He turned on his heels and doubled his speed to get to the barn. As he rounded the corner of his ruined house, Horace could see his hometown on fire in the distance. The Willoughby’s nearest neighbor was more than half a mile away, yet Horace could still hear their screams. It was more than he could bear. He wanted that monster dead. He wanted to strangle it with his own hands. But he had a better way—a sure way (oh please God) to be rid of it. But where was it? Where was the creature that was meant to save his town rather than destroy it? Horace screamed out into the air.

           “Come here, you damnable thing! Where did you go? Did you run away?! You’ve killed them—“, and he choked, unable to say any names, “but you still haven’t got me! I’m still here!! But in a minute you won’t be!”

           Horace ran again, faster than before, toward the barn and his summoning circle. The barn had been battered by the unnatural storm, but it still stood. There were many tools and implements on hand with which Horace could end his life and thus end this disaster. He even thought there was a pitchfork leaning against the barn only a few feet from the circle. He would use that. He would throw himself upon it, not even pausing for a second. He would send that thing back to hell where it belonged--

           The monster appeared in front of him. It had concealed itself by shifting its body to blend with the smoky air so that it appeared as if by magic. Which, in essence, it had. Horace skidded to a halt, still a good fifty feet from the barn, at least. The monster let out a satisfied growl as it stared down the boy who had summoned it. Its toothy maw curled into what might have been a smile as it blocked Horace’s path. It was as if the thing knew exactly what Horace was going to do. There was a split-second when monster and summoner stared at each other. The creature flapped its wings and hung in the air, as Horace trembled as he hung in the moment. Horace barely moved to dart around the monster when its wing lashed out like a giant hand to swat Horace away. The young farmer flew through the air and came down hard and in pain, sharp daggers of agony piercing him at multiple points.

           Lydia gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth to block a scream. With death upon him and realities intermixing, Horace looked up at the sound and stared directly at her. Horace was in a daze, staring back at this strange beautiful girl who stood somehow untouched by the surrounding carnage. Who was she and where did she come from? More than that, why was she looking at him like that? Horace looked down at himself and his jaw fell open. Five sharp metal staves, straight and thin, protruded from his body bisecting his torso. Oh. That’s why. It looked like the pitchfork hadn’t been left by the side of the barn after all. It had been set here, leaning against the wooden truck trailer. Horace felt an odd creeping humor rush up from his loins to his throat. He actually began to giggle involuntarily. How many times had he told Bernie not to leave the pitchfork out with the tongs up? Then he choked, his giggling stopped by a mouthful of blood and loosened tissue which spat out to cover his chin and his bib front. As the light left his eyes, Horace tried to speak one last time.

           “…I’m sorr-…”

           That was as far as he got.

           The monster threw its head back and let out what could only be called a shriek of victory. Lydia shuddered and then started, as another sound, close by and nearly as loud, rose from the cellar. As fast as the thought that identified what she’d heard, Lydia found herself back in the cellar. Behind the barred prison, Marguerite roared in desperation and anguish. Loved one were dead and she wasn’t there to protect them. Her eyes flashed yellow, she bared her fangs, her ears were pointed and large, and he clawed hands clutched the bars of the door. With another roar, Marguerite ripped the door open, breaking the chains that secured it and sending the fragmented links flying. She was topside in an instant. As she looked about to get her bearings, she spotted her brother impaled on the pitchfork. She wailed in despair, stepping backwards to put some distance between herself and the ungodly sight. Her heel bumped into something and she whirled around to see the body of her father, eyes wide and lifeless, his skin and clothing blackened and scorched. His body was twisted awkwardly at the waist. He was trying to use himself to shield something. Marguerite needed only to take one step to the side to see what that was. In her father’s arms he held a small, charred object in the vague shape of a baby. Marguerite stared unable to full comprehend what she was seeing as he mind fought to unsee what was before her. Lydia had to look away. That was when Marguerite saw the monster. She ran on all fours to face it.

           The werewolf Marguerite stood before the monster and roared. The monster seemed unimpressed. It coughed a barrage of thistles at her, which she batted or sliced away. Not wanting to waste any more time on the young lycanthrope, the monster let fly with a blast of electricity from its eyes. The bolts struck Marguerite full in the chest, sending sparks in every direction. Marguerite staggered, but still stood. Uncaring of her singed fur and burnt flesh that was already healing, the teenage werewolf closed in on the monster. Now she had its attention. The creature extended its wings to their full expanse. It was not as big as it would later become, but it was still formidable. Marguerite didn’t care. She leapt forward, hurling herself at the monster with claws bared, roaring right back in the thing’s face.

           Lydia started. She was back at the Willoughby farm in present day. There was nothing but grayness and decay, but the scene of horrors was long gone. She turned to see Malia standing nearby, her eyes fixed upon her friend.

           “What happened?”, Lydia asked.

           “This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me”, Malia responded. “You screamed, you gazed off into space, I stood guard while you saw whatever it was you saw, and now you’re back, supposedly with synopsis. So?”

           Lydia took a deep breath. “I saw it. The destruction of the Willoughby farm, the family that came before it.” She shook away the worst of the vision, knowing that to dwell on it would serve no one, least of all herself. “It was definitely the same monster.”

           “So did you find out anything we didn’t already know?”

           “I…I think I was about to.” Lydia squinted at the devastated landscape, but it refused to yield anything further. “But then the vision just stopped.”

           “Can you get it back?”

           Lydia extended a hand to help her concentrate. “I can try.”

           She felt herself shift back to the world she had just visited. The landscape transformed around her, or started to. With a sharp jolt and a flash or orange, Lydia was brought back to where she stood beside Malia.

           “Well?”, her friend asked.

           “I couldn’t reach it. I hit some kind of barrier. Like a wall of orange static.” She turned to face Malia. “Something’s blocking me from seeing what’s next.” Lydia considered that, then amended her statement. “Or…something doesn’t want me to.”