#i have spent too long being fucking beaten into the ground and abused and treated like a stupid puppet that just.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

i simply think there is so much love in the world and ppl should talk abt it more often

[axwalker]

CREEP 3: You're just like an angel

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

Synopsis: Drake is a hurt, angry teenager. After being rejected by Lexie, he spends two years bullying her until he discovers the horrible truth behind her rejection. 

MASTERLIST HERE

In this chapter: Lexie gets to know more about the boy hiding behind the monster. 

A/N: This is Lexie’s POV. We’ll be in Drake’s head in the following chapter. 

A/N 2: Thank you to my beautiful prereader @burnsoslow​

Your suggestions made all the difference! LOVE YOUU ❤️

A/N 3: Thank you to @mskaneko​ for the edit that closes this fic. It’s gorgeous! I love youu ❤️

Words: 5,108 🙈

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love, abuse, bullying. 

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express love. 

This is a dark love story. If you think this might trigger you, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS --As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapters. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic; please do not hesitate to ask!!

LEXIE

Watching Drake put my duffel bag on the back of his motorcycle, my pulse is getting out of control on my neck. This is happening. I’m leaving home. I’m getting out, and I’m never coming back. And Drake Walker, my tormentor, is helping me. He actually defended me. The fact that I’m being helped by the person who called me a future trophy wife this morning makes this moment even more surreal. He’s had this tormented expression on his face for the last half an hour that’s stupidly making me want to hug him or make him feel better. For what, though? I don’t know. I don’t owe him anything, and still, I have this pressing need to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him everything will be okay. 

When it comes to Drake, my emotions have never been truly logical. One second I hate him, and the next, I’m whispering his name in the darkness of my room, my fingers sawing against the wet cotton of my panties. My feelings for him are incredibly confusing…but I know asking him to back off was the right move. Even if I secretly miss his presence everywhere I turn. In my unstable world, there was something comforting about knowing he would always be there. Watching me. Hating me. Wanting me. That last part was never in doubt. He’s made that clear many times. That if I wanted, he would “give me a nice long hate-fuck in the back of his trailer.” And he’d always say, “No one has to know, baby,” in that deep, hoarse tone that keeps me up at night. Makes me shove my fingers down the front of my panties and struggle to breathe, sweating through my covers to an orgasm. I’m having those particularly sexual thoughts when he looks over at me, and I don’t quite manage to hide my lust. His movements slow, a dark eyebrow arching as he fixes on my mouth, my breasts. I’m a real hot mess right now. Beaten and bloody, but there’s no denying he’s still attracted. It’s always there in the rise and fall of his chest, the clicking of his jaw. The tenting of his jeans. How many times have I turned in class and—avoiding his gaze—locked eyes with his jeans instead? At least that’s one thing us poor fuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck.

 Well, if I thought sympathy was a strange emotion regarding this boy, jealousy is even more confusing. Why should I care that he’s been with other girls? Obviously, he must have been with hundreds of girls to get good at sex. It’s none of my business, is it? I’m almost rid of him. And I don’t want to be jealous. Still, when he holds out his hand to help me onto the bike, I ignore it with a raise of my chin and climb on myself. You’re almost rid of him, Lexie. Get a ride and say goodbye. Unfortunately, I may have been a little overenthusiastic in asking to be taken to a motel. I’ve never been to one, but I know a credit card is required—and I don’t have one of those. Nor do I have enough cash in my wallet for more than one night. I need to figure out an alternative plan fast. Still looking damned tortured, Drake places his helmet on my head and gently buckles the chinstrap. Swallowing loud enough to hear over the passing cars. Helmetless, he brings the engine to life, the vibration so exhilarating; I wrap my arms around his middle on reflex.

I can feel taking a deep breath. “Lexie…” He can’t see me, so I give in to the impulse to press my cheek to his leather jacket, absorbing the warmth and his smell, earthy and so masculine. 

“Yes?” Drake clears his throat, his voice even more profound. “My dad left me a cabin a few towns over. Near Portavira lake.” He pauses. “It’s very rustic, but I’ve been fixing it, so it’s clean, and it has a bed and some supplies. I could take you there. You’d be safe.” 

It’s dangerous to start accepting more favors from him, but what choice do I have? My father made sure that I’m helpless. He did it with my mother and now me. Isolated us from everyone who might be a friend. I’ll accept his offer, but only because here and now, I promise myself I’ll find a way to help myself in the future. To leave my father and his house of horrors in the past. Maybe it can’t be done entirely alone. Maybe accepting help is the only option. That doesn’t mean I’m forgetting the way he treated me. Yes, I’m attracted to him but I also hate him. He’s made my life miserable for two years and I won’t let him --or myself, forget that. Maybe he’s hiding right now but I know Drake--as my father, has a monster underneath. His monster might not slap me or make me bleed but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. Poisonous words can hurt as much as one well-delivered blow.  

“Okay,” I say, feeling him relax. “Thanks.” I’ll accept his help for now and leave as soon as I can. 

He responds by turning on the engine of the bike again. That’s when I hear my father yelling my name from the back door of the house. His hands are tied behind his back, and he’s limping, blood coming out his nose. 

“Alexis Jade O’Brien! You get your ass back here right now, or you’ll never be allowed back! You’ll be dead to me!” 

He has to be joking; he’s been dead to me since the first time he hit me. I look back at the pathetic old man with every ounce of rebellion I have. Baring my teeth, I give him the middle finger and dismiss him. Forever. 

“Good girl,” Drake murmurs a second before driving away. I don’t look back a single time. We drive for half an hour. After twenty minutes on the highway, the trees grow denser and denser, the road deserted. We don’t pass a single car on the way to the cabin, which comforts me when I should be worried. Shouldn’t I? I can’t allow the last two years of em2otional battle to mean nothing. To melt away in the face of tonight’s act of kindness. I meant what I said. I need Drake to leave me alone. To release the hold he has on me. I’ve cut one negative force out of my life tonight. The last thing I need is a replacement. But as I grow tired against his strong back, his woody and manly scent lulling me, encouraging the trust he doesn’t deserve, I worry leaving him might be easier said than done. Especially when we arrive at the cabin, and he lifts me off the bike, cradling me to his chest like I’m made of crystal, a moment too long before settling me onto my feet. It’s hard giving up his warmth, but I push off his chest, creating distance between us. He watches me back away like I’m breaking his heart. 

“There is a shower inside,” he says quietly. “You can finally get the, uh…” He blows a breath. “…the blood off.” The sun sets as we stand there. It’s nothing like the light of the night we kissed. This time it's brighter, more intense. It must be the higher elevation. 

“You’re not hurting anywhere else?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Why is he breathing so fast? “What’s wrong, Drake?” 

“What’s wrong?” He fights through a humorless laugh, sliding his hand through his hair. “Where do I start? Most urgent is…I know you’re going to want me to leave you here alone, and I don’t think I can. Look, if you want to lock the doors, I’ll sleep outside on the ground, Lexie, but please don’t ask me to go.” 

He’s right. I was going to tell him it’s OK to go back to his trailer. There was a convenience store with a payphone a mile down the road. If there is no working phone in the cabin, I can still make calls, if necessary. I’m not sure what my next move will be, now that I’ve run away from home. But I know I’ll never be able to think with a clear head as long as Drake is around, looking at me like that. “Drake…”

 “It’s just that once I leave, I know that’s it. You’re going to shut me out again. And this time, it’ll be your choice.” He paces away, still raking his fingers through his hair. “I deserve to be cut off. Fuck, I know that. Believe me when I say I hate myself right now, but if there was something I could do to make up the last two years to you, even just a little—” 

I shake my head. Nothing can make up for the two years I spent loving him while he tortured me. There will be nothing between us. 

“I understand.” His fingers rake his hair one last time. “You can go in the cabin. I’ll sleep outside; that way, I’ll be sure your—father won’t be back.”

Despite myself and my better judgment, I worry about him. “Outside? It’s cold and dark; I can go to a motel.” At least for one night, I’ll figure out what I’ll do after tomorrow. 

“No way. Look, I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Just go inside and try to rest; I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

Used to what? Sleeping outside? “Isn’t there a couch or something?”

He shakes his head. “The cabin was in ruins until six months ago when I started working on it. There’s only one bed, but there’s a rug next to the fireplace. Please don’t leave. I—I need to know you’re safe.” 

I know Drake would never abuse me physically. I might be naïve, but I just know he would never do it. And as much as it’s difficult for me to understand why I feel safe with him here. Still, I have to be smart, my instincts tell me to trust him, but my instincts have been wrong about him before. 

“Does the room lock?”

“It does with a bolt that can’t be opened from outside. But you’re safe with me, Lexie. I swear.”

It’s his miserable look that makes me decide. “Okay, if it locks, I can stay here.”

We go inside, and he leads me to his room. When my bag hits the floor next to his bed, I get even more nervous. I just left everything I know behind me and have no idea what’s coming next. School will be over in a few weeks, but I can graduate earlier, thanks to my credits. I’ll need a job, save some money, get an apartment and apply for college in Cordonia. It’s overwhelming. 

I don’t want to cry in front of Drake. I don’t want to show him I feel weak, sad, and pathetic, but something inside of me suddenly breaks, and before I can’t do anything to stop it, I’m sobbing.

Drake is sitting on the bed in a second, and he’s pulling me into his lap, trying to calm me down. “Shh Lexie, it’s okay. Cry all you need to. I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeats in a litany as he rubs my shoulders, kisses my cheek, then my nose. Why do I feel so safe with him? Why, after everything he put me through, do I want to be here with him more than anywhere else? 

“Let it all out, Lex. You’re so strong, baby.” He takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to gently clean my tears. The piece of fabric seems so incongruous in his rough hands that I can’t help but smile a little. 

“Is this yours?”

He shrugs. “My dad collected them. After he died, my mom gave all his stuff away. This handkerchief is the only thing I have left of him. And this cabin.”

“I’m sorry, Drake. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He smiles. “Ruin it? Impossible. If anything, now it's even more special to me.” 

The softness in his eyes looks so sincere it scares the hell out of me. I can’t let myself forget who Drake really is. I stand up from his lap and put my bag on the bed. 

“I’m really tired; I’d better go to bed.” 

“Okay … can I just look at your wounds?” he asks as he inspects my face. “You have some nasty cuts,” he adds, his fist clenching. 

When I nod, he takes my hand and leads me to his bathroom. The room is as simple and modest as expected. Block walls, no tiles on the floor, no curtain on the shower, and an old toilet. A million years away from the white marble bathrooms in my house. 

He follows my gaze and blushes. “I’m sorry. This is not what you’re used to. I—uhm, I’m slowly putting it together when I have time and some money. I’m good with my hands.” I look at said hands, and there’s no doubt he’s good with them. They look big and calloused. Capable and rough but so gentle with me. I want them all around my body. As if he had listened to my silent demand, he grabs me by my waist and sits me on the counter next to the sink. My legs part on instinct, and he puts himself between them. We don’t talk for two long minutes until he opens the faucet and wets a towel. 

“I just got the water running this week; Come on.” Gently --almost reverently, he washes and cleans every cut, every injury. Softly he brushes his thumbs over my face. He doesn’t speak as he does, but there’s a tension between us. A raw feeling that has always been there. 

“Tell me about yourself,” I blurt out, desperate to break the moment. 

“There’s not much to say. Sorry, Lexie!” he exclaims when I wince. “Does this hurt?”

“A little. I. need a distraction. Why do you live alone? I know your dad is –uhm, gone, but where’s your mom?”

“Gone too.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Drake.”

“Don’t be. She was a bitch. She died in a car accident two years ago. She was living in Texas back then.”

“I don’t get it. Two years ago, you were here in Cordonia.” 

“Yeah, she left me after my dad died. Took my sister and left me here. Reminded her too much of my dad, she said.” 

I remember Jackson Walker. Everyone in Portavira does. He was Liam’s dad's bodyguard and died protecting him. But that was five years ago. If his mom left just after his passing, that means Drake has been living by himself since he’s thirteen years old. It can’t be.

Drake turns around and opens a box in the corner of the room. When he turns back, he’s holding a Band-Aid. 

“I keep these around. Construction can get nasty sometimes. Come here, Lex.” He cups my chin with one of his big hands while he cleans a cut next to my eyebrow. His touch is leaving goosebumps all over my skin. I hate to be this affected by him.  

I clear my throat to avoid the embarrassment of talking in a squeaky voice. “So, who were you living with?”

“No one. My aunt got custody when my mom left, but her husband didn’t want kids. He made her choose between him or me, so I’ve been living on my own since I’m thirteen.” My heart breaks then. Not only at the fact that he had to live by himself when he was still a child, but at the way he says it. Matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that his mother, his aunt, and his uncle abandoned him. As horrible as my dad is, I’ve never had to fend for myself. And my mom loved me so much. If cancer hadn’t taken her away, she’d be here fighting for me. Drake has no one. I can’t help the tears glistening in my eyes. “Hey! Don’t cry, Lexie,” his thumb moves from my eyebrow to my cheek as he wipes the tears off my face. ”I prefer to live by myself than go to a foster house. And Leona checks on me now and then.”

“If your mom died, where’s your sister?”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t pronounce a single word for a few minutes. Finally, he clears his throat and speaks. “Savvy was with my mom in the car. She died too.” 

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t. Nothing seems like enough. Sorry is such an empty word—a stupid cliché. I’m horrified at my own muteness, so I do the only thing I can think of. I hug him. At first, he just stands there, his arms hanging at his sides. But soon, I can feel him giving in, his heart beating hard against my chest. He encircles his arms around me, wrapping me in the tightest hug possible. I don’t know who’s comforting whom anymore. I only know that I love being here, and I hope it’s giving him a little solace, this hug.

 It doesn���t mean I’ll forgive or even forget what he put me through, but no one deserves to go through that kind of pain alone. 

“I’ll be outside, Lexie,” he says when he finally lets me go. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call for me, okay?”

“Wait!’ I yell, so he turns around. “Are you really going to sleep on the floor?”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he hesitates as if he’s going to add something important. “Good night, Lexie.” 

“Wait,” I feel my cheeks redden just thinking about what I’m about to propose. “You can sleep here, I-I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Never,” he says, a determined look on his face. “I would never hurt you that way, and you have no idea how much I regret how I’ve treated you in the past. But I’ll be okay sleeping outside. I know you’ll feel better sleeping here by yourself.” 

I can’t deny that. I meant what I said about trusting him not to hurt me, but I can’t forget what he did either. “At least take this pillow and the blanket. I’ll manage with the pillow and the cover left.” He hesitates, so I insist. “Please. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

After taking them and giving me one of the saddest smiles I’ve ever seen, he closes the door behind him and leaves me alone in the room. I lie on his bed, incapable of sleeping. The pain in his eyes when he told me about his little sister haunts me all night long. 

The following day I toss around in bed, confused and angry at myself. I can’t have feelings for Drake Walker. I can’t forget the insults or the anger in his eyes, the hurt that his words caused me every -single time. I just can’t. I hate what happened to him. I genuinely do, but iI have to think about myself. Denying that I’m attracted to him would be preposterous. Our chemistry is strong and undeniable, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps I just need one night with him, so I can move on with my life. Get him out of my system.

When I finally leave the bed, I find a note under my door: Went to buy some groceries, be back soon. DW

I go to the room where I assume he’s going to build the kitchen. For now, there’s only a more-than-a-few-years-old microwave and a cooler. I open the cabinets, but there’s barely anything there. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. I feel my heart slamming in my chest; if it’s my father, I have no means of defending myself. I’m about to escape through the back door when a woman’s voice starts yelling.

“Open up, Drake. I’m not in the mood today.” 

I open the door because the voice sounds familiar. I recognize Leona, the principal’s assistant. And I know she’s related to Drake.

Leona arches an eyebrow when she sees me. “Ms. O’Brien, what on earth are you in my nephew’s cabin? Does your father even know where you are?”

“I’m 18. I don’t have to tell my father where I am.” I answer in a much bolder tone than I feel.

She shrugs, clearly uninterested. “Well, I brought this to my nephew. Tell him I want those signed by next week. We’re not going to lose thousands of euros because of some dumb nostalgia.”

She hands me a big manila folder, I take it, but she doesn’t let go. “Maybe you’re the one who can convince him.”

“Convince him about what?”

“His father Jackson left him this piece of land, but it isn’t worth a dime without cattle or money to invest in it. But, a couple of months ago a big company approached us, they wanted to build a landfill here. Drake refuses to sell. He thinks he’s going to honor his dead father by rebuilding this old piece of crap, but he will never have the money to do it.” 

“Never.” The deep voice that comes from the entrance startles us both. “This was my dad’s dream. He wanted a ranch, and one day this place will be one,” Drake says, “I told you already, Leona. I won’t sell; I don’t care how much they’re offering you to convince me.”

“I’ve never denied that they’re offering me a commission for the sale, Drake. But I still think it’s the best move for you.” Leona leaves the papers on the table, turns and leaves the cabin. 

“You love this land?” I’m genuinely curious. 

He slowly nods. “It’s all I have left of my dad. He’s the only person that ever gave two damns about me.”

“That says more about your family than about you, Drake.”

He looks directly at me. His gaze doesn’t leave mine for a long minute. I want to get closer to him, to touch him. Not only to offer some comfort but because my body reacts to him in the wildest way. Just standing next to him in the kitchen, I feel my heart beating faster, my hands trembling harder, my sex getting wetter. The response he gets from me is maddening. And it’s making me insane. There’s no freaking way in hell; I’m going to have feelings for Drake Walker.

“I- I need to take a shower. I’ll eat later.” Without giving him any time to respond, I run to the bathroom and shut the door. I open the shower and get inside, desperate for some release, anything that’ll take my mind off him. His stupid perfect smirk and deep eyes. That voice of his, intense, soft, and deep at the same time. Those big hands, calloused and capable. Hands that I just know would know precisely how to touch me. Before I realize it, I’m coming as quietly as I can. Sadly, my relief only lasts a few minutes, my body needs him --Drake Walker, and no substitute would do. 

When I come out, he’s waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee and a couple of white chocolate-strawberry muffins---my favorite kind. 

We eat in silence, but I don’t feel the weight of it as I usually do. Ours is a companionable silence. 

After breakfast, we decide to take a hike next to the lake. A bit of exercise and the lake’s breathtaking landscape might be exactly what I need to stop thinking about my father and the confusing feelings I have for Drake. 

“I think I need a job. Do you know how I can get one?” I hate that I’m so spoiled, but I’ve never lifted a finger in my life. I have no idea how I can get a job. 

“Uhm sure. Here in Portavira?”

“Actually, I was thinking of moving to Cordonia city after graduation. “Drake stops walking for a second. “It’s too late to enroll for next semester, but I can get a job and start college next year.”

He finally starts walking again and nods slowly. “What do you want to do?” 

I blush. My dreams don’t include being famous or rich. All I want is a good, quiet life. Falling in love, having a family. Doing a job I’d enjoy and traveling as much as possible -even if it’s on a low budget. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

Drake looks at me. “I swear I won’t, Lexie. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll find dumb. It’s just not possible.”

“I love books. They offer you new worlds. They allow you to escape and be someone else for a few pages. You can never be alone when you’re reading a book. I’d love to have a job where I would be surrounded by books. Maybe become a librarian and then open a bookstore one day.”

Drake nods but doesn’t reply. I knew he would find my dream stupid.

“I know it’s not much-“

He stands in front of me and tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s amazing, Lexie. I was just thinking how great you’d be at it. Remember the top 5 assignment for Mr. Daniels?”

Of course, I do. Mr. Daniels, our English teacher, asked us to make a list of our five favorite books and recommend them to the class. 

I nod. “Yeah”

“Well, I read all the books on your list. I checked them out of the school’s library and fuck, I loved them all. Especially the one from that Krakauer guy.”

“Into the Wild?”

“Yep. I really enjoyed it. The way that guy Christopher reinvented himself spoke to me.” He holds my gaze. “You’d be an awesome librarian, Lex. You would also be an amazing writer. I remember that short story you wrote for Mr. Daniel’s class. The one about the lonely girl and how she traveled through time with her mind. You have no idea how much I loved it.”

I can’t believe he remembers that story. We had that assignment more than a year ago. “I’ve always wanted to write, but my dad thinks my stories aren’t good enough.”

“Your father is a dick. Your stories are amazing.” 

He looks at me in a way that makes my knees weak. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, so I feel it again. The connection with him. The desire. Maybe the only way this would go away is if I give in to it. 

“There is something you can do for me,” I say, surprising myself. As soon as those two words are out of my mouth, though, I know there is something I need from Drake. 

And he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Get you out of my system.” 

He stands still as a statue. “What?” 

“Get yourself out of my system.” It starts to rain, and it makes me speak louder, feel bolder and freer. “For two years, you provoked me, insulted me, stalked me, bullied me…” He makes a frantic sound, his eyes slamming shut. “And yet, I still—I still can’t stop thinking of your hands that night in my garden. How big and warm and rough they were. I can’t stop imagining you taking off my clothes. Even the ugliest things you’ve said to me, I imagine you saying them in my ear while you…while we…” 

Drake falls toward me a step, clutching the center of his chest. “Lexie—” 

“Please, get yourself out of my head. One night together. Okay, Drake? So I can get on with my life knowing fantasy was way better than reality. That I built up some unrealistic idea of what we’d be like together that we can’t possibly live up to.” My throat closes. “Get me on the road to forgetting you. Please.” As we walk, I can see the mixture of devastation and hope in his eyes. 

“And what if reality lives up to the fantasy?” 

“It won’t,” I say fast, with conviction. It couldn’t possibly live up to it. And yet I suck in a nervous breath when he crosses the divide between us, every cell in my body craving him. Fight or flight. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from wounded animal to determined predator, the rain causing his dark hair to hang low over one eye, dripping, his hands ready at his sides. 

“Are you so sure, Lexie?” 

Damn my hesitation. “Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll prove me right in one night. I can move forward without feeling like I’m leaving something behind.” 

“What if your fantasies come true tonight? Could we ever move forward as…as an us?”

 I can’t believe what he’s suggesting. “There can never be an us, Drake. Not after everything that’s happened. I’ll never change my mind about that.” I shake my head. “How can you think I would?” 

“Maybe I think if I want it hard enough, it’ll come true.” 

“It won’t,” I whisper, starting to ask myself if I’m making a mistake. Opening myself up for even more heartache and pinning for this man than I’ve already lived through. It feels like a lifetime’s worth. “One n-night.” 

“No backing out from this point on?” My heart beats urgently. 

“No backing out.” 

He’s silent so long; I’m not sure he’s going to respond. And then, all at once, he reaches me in two strides and scoops me up into his arms. I realize he’s going to bring me into the cabin, “I’ve been studying you for years, Lexie O’Brien. I’ve been hanging on to your every sigh, every expression, and mood. Years. If you don’t think I’ve obsessed weeks of my life away over how you’d like to be fucked, baby, you’re sorely mistaken.” We reach the house in a matter of minutes, and he doesn’t stop; he just keeps going until we’re in his room. And oh God, I have made a severe miscalculation. Because Drake’s showing me exactly what’s always been in my heart and mind when I thought of us together, it’s my fantasy come to life, the two of us wrapped in the arms of the other. And as he turns me, urging my legs around his waist, his ravenous mouth bearing down on mine, I realize I might never recover from this. 

[oingo233]

By The Lake* Part Five

Summary:  A family friend offers you a place to stay to get away from an abusive past.  Her home is a place that you are familiar with, an old town with a large lake you spent many days in. You went there years ago for one full summer, where you became close friends with a very young Daryl Dixon.  You two were inseparable until you had to leave.  But now you’re back, escaping from a past much like his.  You will need to weave your way through the town’s problematic people, your own problems, and above all the confusing Dixon.  Will you two find your way back to each other again?  Or will he push you further away?  And above all, will your past cease to haunt you?

Part one * Part Two * Part Three * Part Four

Pairing: Young Daryl Dixon X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and violence(potential triggers), cussing, more mature themes(not smut or anything tho), slow burn romance, described wounds and injuries

Authors note:  I don’t own the character Daryl Dixon, he belongs to the creators of The Walking Dead.  This fic talks about abuse, and the terrible reality involved to spread awareness about the matter, not to romanticize it.                                    ps. in this chapter we get hints at what really happened the last summer Daryl and (Y/N) spent together, which might be confusing at first but next chapter we’ll get more inisght to that.  There is also super cute and sad angst between the two as their pasts are finally revealed more to each other.  This chapter is just cute to me, I hope y’all enjoy! 

Word Count: 3.1k

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It has been a week and 3 days since I have last seen Daryl.  He was never in Marks garage, not wandering through town, not by the lake, not anywhere in sight.  All though sometimes at night, when I’m drifting off you sleep, if I’m lucky, I’ll hear Daryl's motorcycle as he drives through the night.  I always wonder where he’s off to, towards home or away?  So much has changed, it was hard to know much about him nowadays.  

It was one of those lucky nights as his engine roared to life, but something felt wrong.  I checked the time on my phone. 2:28 am.  What the hell?  Where is he going to at this hour?  Going to raise hell with his brother?  Or get him out of it?  I shook my head, and cuddled deeper into the pillow although it did nothing to calm my mind.  But it wasn’t my place to worry about him, we aren’t friends.  Daryls bitter words from our fight often circle around my head at night.  But so does the day he saved me.  He still cares for me, he as to, right?  I wouldn’t be ready to fight 3 tough looking guys for no one?  But he did, for me.  Maybe not everything has changed.

The hum of the motorcycle sounds the closest it has ever been.  I get lost in my own thoughts and soon notice the quite of the night.  No more engine accompanying the crickets and owls in the dead of night.  Well, where ever he is...I hope he is safe, I think.  My thoughts start to fade out, as my tiredness sinks in and sleep takes over.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

I wake with a start, my heart leaps to my throat and I can feel my fast heart beat.  Someone was at my door, knocking quickly and loudly.  

Knock! Knock!  “Damn it, wake up!”  Someone whispers from the other side of the door.  They didn’t sound like Cherry, Mark or the kids.  Could it be Carter?  The thought alone replaces my beating heart in my throat with bile.  I seal my lips shut and fight back the need to gag, a nervous tick if you will.  

Knock knock!  I quickly throw the covers off of me, and stand on shaking knees.  Apprehensively, I grab the bat by my bed and creep towards the door.  One more knock sounds and then I hear it.  “(Y/N), please...”The voice was shaky, and soft.  I know that voice!  I unlock the door and reveal the person behind it.  

“Daryl?”  Even if I had a hunch on who it was, seeing him before me here still was surprising.  Even more surprising was the way he stood.  His one arm draped over his waist, hunched over.  The other had blood trailing down his forearm from his knuckles, as it was raised in the air ready to knock again.  In the dead of night it was hard to see the full extent of his injuries.  

I drop my bat and turn on the porch lights.  “Omg Daryl!  What happened?.”  I panic.  His face had more bruises than flesh, and blood leaked from his lip and nose, covering the front of his shirt.  He squinted at the light and did something I last expected him to do.  He collapsed in my arms.  The weight of him nearly had us both on the floor, but I steadied myself and wrapped my arms around him.  My hands slid up and down his back, they were met with bloody welts.  I raised my hands so they weren’t touching him at all, and tucked my forearms under his sweaty armpits to lead him inside.  I walk the short distance from the front door, to my bed and lay him down on it so his back was facing the ceiling.  

He pushed his arms up under him and tried to get up.  I lightly grab his bicep and push him back down.  “Don’t move.”  I say softly, taking in his hurt expression.

“I’m not gettin’ your sheets dirty...” He mumbles.  

“I don’t give a damn about my fucking sheets.  Let me help you, that’s why you came here right?”  I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but seeing him like this scared me and he was only putting himself in more pain trying to be polite right now.

“Ya said if I needed anythin’...” He trialed off, clearly embarrassed.  He never was the one to ask for help, he saw it as weakness, almost like defeat.

“I know, I’m glad you came here.”  I can’t stop myself.  I reach out and comb back the hair from his eyes, running my fingers through his head of hair.  He closes his eyes and relaxes into the pillow, flinching when I go to do it again, before visibly relaxing even more.  Blood from his lip dribbles down onto my pillow and I frown.  How could someone do this to him?  

My heart breaks in two, and I hold back my tears.  He’d see it as pity and push me away.  I’ve never ever seen Daryl this beaten up, he won’t even let me check out a bruise.  It must have been real bad for him to come here directly after being hurt.  I scratch the base of his neck softly, thinking to myself how in the hell was I supposed to help him.  His lips parted and a sigh escaped them, I don’t know how long we were sitting like that but in that time Daryl has fallen asleep.  I smile to myself and pull my hand back.  Taking him in all the way.

I always wanted to see him in my bed with me, whether we were cuddling, laughing, or other fun things ;).  But never would I have ever wanted to see him in this condition.  His shirt was torn and through the rips I can see raised, irritated welts of skin, and some deeper marks turned into gashes.  Blood running down his tan skin.  His face was beaten badly, and his knuckles were cracked open, leaving blood down his arms.

I needed to get him cleaned and bandaged up, but all the supplies were in the house.  I had nothing.  This could prove difficult.  But it needed to me done.  I had to sneak into the home of those who are helping me, and steal their medical supplies.  No, borrow, I think to myself, I’m borrowing things to help my friend which they would surely approve of.  And I’ll replace everything I took in the morning.  

With that plan in mind I stood up and turned to walk out the door but a hand wraps gently wraps around my hand, squeezing it.  

“You leavin’?”  My heart leaped at his broken voice.  I crouch down and make eye contact with him, half his face sunken into the pillow, the other half facing me.  When I speak my voice is comforting, despite the fear and seriousness I feel when I look at his injuries.

“No Daryl,” I run my thumb across his knuckles which luckily this hand was clear of cuts.  “I have to get a few things for us.  But it won’t take too long, and I’m coming right back.”  He drops my hand and sits up slowly, holding his side again, face warped with pain before settling into a stony expression.

“If you’re gonna tell em’, I’m leavin’ and you have nothing to worry bout.” He goes to stand up but I block him.  

“I won’t tell them Daryl.  Nobody is going to know but us.  I just want to help you that’s all.  It’ll be between us if that is what you want.”  He nods once, and continues to stand there, looking awkward.  I hold in a chuckle, and help him sit down again.  

He watches me leave, as I walk out the door and to Cherry’s house, thinking of what I’m going to do.  Do I even know how to clean all of Daryl’s wounds?  I grimace at the thought of hurting him more, in a hopeless attempt to help him. But then a grim thought crossed my mind, of course I know how to treat wounds, I’ve had most of them myself.  I arrive at their front door and try it.  It was locked.  I curse under my breath and check the back door.  Praying to whatever god is up there, I try the handle.  For a second I think it might just work, its turning, but then it stops abruptly and I almost scream into the night. Locked. What now?

I can’t go to town, I don’t have a car.  I don’t have first aide in the cabin, and I’d rather die than disturb or “borrow” from the Hendersons.  No, this was the only way.  But how?  In my train of frantic thought I bring my thumb up and bite it.  Quickly I retract my thumb and spit on the ground.  Daryl’s blood was all over my hands from where I carried him.  Suddenly, the answer to all my problems presented itself.

I run around to the front of the house and knock frantically, putting a pained expression on.  Mark opens the door, his eyes bags prominent in the moonlight and his half sleep state.  He looked like a zombie.  I felt terrible for waking him, but the thought of Daryl back at the cabin keeps my plan in action.

“Oh Mark!  Thank god.  I hurt myself...” Oh shit, I haven’t thought about this all the way.  “uh, when unpacking and the pocket knife slipped.  I uh, cut my palm.”  He bought my rubbish lie, and glanced down at my hands.  Even in the darkness, the blood on my hands were hard to miss.  His eyes widen and he ushers me inside.

“Jesus.  You’re on the verge of bleeding out!”  His voice seemed much higher than before, panicked.  I shrug, clearly I wasn’t, but Mark seemed convinced I was in grave danger.  “We need to call someone.  Cherry!”  He yells into the night.  Two lights down the hallway turn on and I hold back a long string of curses, this wouldn’t work.  I wasn’t even cut and now everyone was going to come and take a look.  Mark glances uneasily at my hands and closes his eyes shut.  He chuckles.  “I’m not very good with things like this.  Blood is...well I don’t really like it.  Cherry is better at this stuff anyway.  Cherry!”  He calls again.  Cherry rushes down the hall, pulling her arm through her robe.  Her hair sticking up, and matted, she looked just as tired as Mark.  Behind her, I can see Monty stick his head out his door.  He gives me a shy wave, making me smile.  I go to wave but can’t for Cherry grabbed my hand.

I pull it back to my chest and fake pain. I wince and give her a weak smile.  “It hurts, it would be best if I cleaned it myself.  I just don’t have any first aide at the cabin.”  She puts a hand to her mouth and closes her eyes for a few seconds.

“(Y/N), I am so sorry.”  She hits Marks arm, who looks pale.  “How could we have forgotten to give her first aide, she’s by the lake for christs sake.”  She turns away and rushes in and out of the bathroom.  She hands me a red kit, and frowns at me.  “I’m sorry, we literally bought you one and totally forgot to give it to you.  Are you sure you can do it yourself?”  This plan has worked out better than I thought, I think to myself quite amazed.

“Uhm, yeah.  Done this a hundred times.”  I laugh to myself.  “And don’t be sorry at all, everything worked out like it should and I have it when I most need it!”  I swing the kit around, not sure how to retract back to the cabin.  “Well, thank you so much, and I’m so sorry for disturbing you.”  I give Cherry and Mark a kiss on the cheek and run out of the house like a bat out of hell.

I approach the Cabin and see through the window as Daryl’s face lights up slightly when he sees me coming.  He goes to open the door but stops short when his back no doubt holds him back.  I run inside and open the first aide kit.

“Careful!  No need to be moving around, just sit still.”  He puffs out air, some hair that fell in front of his eyes fly back.  He eyes the first aide and gives me a small smile.  

“Thanks.”  That made me stop.  I can’t help it, a teasing smile breaks through.

“Did thee Daryl Dixon just say thank you?”  I giggle, he rolls his eyes at me, cracking a small grin too.

“Nah, you hearing things.”  We both laugh lightly, Daryl slowly reaches over for the kit.  I stop him, giving him a questioning look.

“I know what I’m doing, been here before.”He says.  I place the kit in my lap and give him a look.

“So have I.”  He sits back, eyebrows furrowed.  His mouth opens lightly, I know he wants to say something, but his words fell short as he looked into my eyes.  We shared the same look, the one you get carved into you from hands of abuse.  Daryl clenches his fists and draws his lips back, like a dog growling.

“Carter.”  He states, venomously.  I give a stiff nod and we didn’t mention it further although it seemed like Daryl wanted to.  I grabbed a towel and soaked it in water.  I slowly approach Daryl and stand between his legs, he looks softly up at me from his position on the bed.  

“May I?”  He swallows thickly, and wordlessly gives me permission with a nod of his head.  I tuck my pointer finger under the towel, and use it to wipe blood from his upperlip.  He winces and his hands shoot up, grabbing at my hips.  My movements falter at his touch, his large hands, calloused and rough, but so soft against my bare hip.  My pajama consisted of a large shirt, and shorts like underwear.  

“‘m sorry.”  He mumbles, hands falling back at his side.  I continue wiping the blood off of his face softly.

“It’s okay, you can hold me if it helps.”  I smirk down at him, he rolls his eyes and I feel his disbelieving smile against the towel.  Truth was though, I loved him holding me like that, I wanted him too.  We were like that for a while, until his face was clean.  I placed a disinfection on all the open cuts on his face, and an adhesive band-aide.  When I’m done, I inspect his face.  Even all roughed up, he was the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

“This your dad?”  I ask, after a while of inspecting him, he was inspecting me too, his small smile dropped, as well as his gaze.  

“Yeah, my ain’t good fer nothin’ pop beats me.  That what ya wanna hear?”  His face contorts with anger.  “That I ain’t nothin’ to him but a beatin’ bag, a disappointment.”  He fist the bloody sheets of my bed.  “That I ain’t nothin’.”  His voice cracks and tears spill out of his eyes.  He wipes at them angrily but they won’t stop.  A sob breaks through his lips, and his body shudders.  I wipe his tears away for him, and dab at my own.  

“Daryl...You are so many things. So many incredible things.”  He’s coughing on his sobs now, head in his hands.  The sound broke me.  What could I say to make his pain go away?  What could I do to take it from him?  “You’re more than what your dad thinks of you.  You-you don’t need him...you have me.  And I think the world of you.”My own voice cracks.  I don’t know what to say that would reach him in the way it needs to.  So I wrap my hands around his neck and pull him in for a hug.  His arms instantly snake around me and hold on for dear life, his head tucked into my stomach.   His cries stop for a second and I hold him tighter.

“Ya left me too...”He whispers, almost like he didn’t dare to say it, but he did.  My grip looseness, the guilt from so many years ago hitting me full force.  His head shifts and his eyes meet mine, his beautiful blue eyes.  I expected to see anger, but all I saw was hurt, and vulnerability.  Tears were drifting out of them slowly, and they glistened in the wet sheen.  I hold my breath.

“Ya left me there in the woods.  I thought I lost ya forever that day.  The stupid fuckin’ kiss.” He mumbles the last part to himself.  His hands bunches the fabric of my shirt, before he releases and stands with a pain filled sigh.  His hand lightly cups my cheek, I hold on to it.  A sad smile returns to his face, almost bitter.  “Ya should of ran when I held ya like this (Y/N).  If ya were gonna run anyway, then ya should have ran the first damn day we met.”  His hand drops down the base of my neck, he traces circles down the base of it slowly, inches above my chest.  It was silent for a few moments, heat and emotion trapped between our two bodies.  “When you were wearing that pretty lil necklace, we lost in the lake days after.”  His smile fades again as he drops his hand and picks up something from the kit.  Dabbing at his knuckles with the towel. Ignoring me.  He never was so open, I didn’t expect it to last very long.  I regain my voice and grab his forearm, making him look at me.

“It wasn’t a stupid kiss Daryl.  I was a stupid girl.  But I never planned on running from you, not even the first day we met.”  As a small chuckle slips from my sad demeanor, he looks at me.  Shyly from his lashes, watching me speak, hoping it was true. “I should have never ran.  Like I said, I always thought the world of you.”  He stops messing with his hand and stares at me for a long while.  He steps forwards and hugs me, a real hug.  His arms wrapped around my shoulders, my head tucked into his chest.  I hug him down my his butt, not wanting to hurt his back even more.  I felt deflated.  His lips trace my ear as he whispers into it.  

“I was a sorry fool the day ya left.”  His words echoed in my head all night, as we laid in silence.  Him sprawled on my bed as I patched up and cleaned his back.  He played with my hand, as the other raced through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

  “Goodnight Daryl.”  I whisper into his ear, giving him a soft kiss by his hairline before lying next to him.  I was answered with a snore.  I feel asleep watching him, and thinking of all that has changed, and all that has yet remained the same.  

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 127 Thoughts

“Let us speak for 46 pages about how we still don’t actually have any real plan, we’re just all very against genocide (except Magath and Yelena) and very upset and feel like we should be doing something.”

The characters are sort of doing my job for me this month.

Maybe this whole post should just be illicit screencaps from Crunchyroll with me providing links and saying, ‘and here’s the panel that makes the point I whined about in this post here.’

That would probably provide more entertainment than whatever I’m about to come up with.

-sees the amount of swearing in the first section-

Hm.

First off, fuck Magath.

Like no, I’m sorry. This is not about what happened 2000 years ago. You know what it’s about? It’s about Marley sending in child soldiers to assault and rob a land that had caused literally no problems for 100 years. It’s about Marley doing this despite being aware of its own history, being that their personal hero collaborated with the First King of Paradis to make Marley’s independence possible.

You want to talk about history, Magath?

Jean isn’t the one who sounds like a child.

Jean is reacting to actual pain that he has experienced in his lifetime thanks to Magath’s very intentional military strategies.

Magath is blaming Jean and everyone else on the island for being born.

That is not equivalent.

That is not remotely equivalent, and while Eren is being a fucking bastard about it, Jean’s right. Eren has the power, means, and will to do all of this because of what Magath and Marley did to Paradis.

Magath doesn’t recognize Eldians as people.

The Eldian Empire was bad.

No one except Floch is disputing that. That is how you know that it is bad.

Marley, as well as the rest of the world, has been free from the Eldian Empire for over a hundred years, and in that time, all they have done is take every horrible thing about the Eldian Empire and exploit it for their own gains.

Magath doesn’t get to be angry that he lives off the backs of abused, brainwashed children that he treats like crap.

Years ago, the Eldian Empire was the worst terror in the world.

A year ago, it was Marley.

Now, it happens to be Eren.

And you know, I’ve been actively against pretty much everything Eren’s done. His plan, if he has one, has mostly managed to make everyone angry and get a lot of people killed who weren’t even involved in the beginning. He gets his head blown off close enough to his brother that he doesn’t die. That’s how the beginning stages of him committing genocide goes. He betrays his friends, makes his besties from childhood feel like crap, and honestly has just been a dick to pretty much everyone.

But at least Eren’s indiscriminate murder has the decency to actually be indiscriminate.

Marley takes children it despises and turns them into their willing slaves for the promise of a better life they have no intent of dispensing. They take these children, and full of hatred for the very ability, demand that they shorten their lifespan and murder people to prove that they’re a “good Eldian” who deserves to live.

Marley is why people can stomach rooting for Eren.

Because Marley is such an abomination that it almost feels worth it to destroy the world if it means Marley’s gone too.

Hell, I’m with Hange. There’s not an avenue where I accept genocide as a way to deal with any of this.

But if someone wanted to burn Magath alive, and we spent a dozen pages gloriously detailing his flesh curling off his bones, it would make me happy.

That’s a more dignified death than he’s given any of the children he’s forced into Marley’s wars.

He does not have the fucking moral high ground.

He's the one Jean should have punched. There is not a single person around that campfire that he has not damaged deeply, and noticing that Gabi is a little girl and he cares when she is in pain does not magically remove that.

Fuck Marley. Fuck Magath.

Grow the fuck up and stop viewing genocide as an acceptable response, you fucking halfwit child. You are the individual who saw four children off on their solitary mission to murder thousands of people. Two of them are dead. Two of them are deeply traumatized, with one of them wishing he had died.

But oh yes, Magath. You’re the victim, here.

Because you baited one angry idiot with the power of a god into destroying part of a city you didn’t give a damn about.

Truly, your justice is a thing to aspire to.

Perhaps Eren taking notes is the real reason we’re here.

Motherfucking fuck I hate Marley. I hate that Eren’s put any of these characters in the position where they have to put up with this shit for the sake of civility. I don’t have a problem with the Warriors. I don’t have a problem with the Survey Corps. I don’t have a problem with the kidlets. Hi Onyankopon, sorry about your life. Yelena has many problems, but she’s also attractive, so I don’t mind as much.

Magath, though.

Pieck, just eat him. Everyone’s too depressed to really throw down over it at this point, and the two small ones are so deeply traumatized that one more body really isn’t going to make much of a dent.

Jean’s clearly the star of this chapter, and a good deal of that comes from the potent hopelessness hovering over him like a rain cloud.

He can point to how bad everyone is at talking things out like it’s the key to the entire mystery, but the long list of problems Jean offers at the beginning of the chapter are still present. Unless they have a way to talk to every person in the world out of their (at this point, rather justified) fear and anger, Paradis and Eldians around the world are very much screwed.

Paradis has forever been running out of time against the hatred the rest of the world has for them.

They do have to fight against what Eren’s doing, and talking instead of blowing each other’s heads off is a good start, but it’s a good start thousands of years after the worst possible one.

And the last time they tried to talk to Eren, Armin punched him, and that was the most productive thing to come out of it.

Jean being the everyman who recognizes the heart of an average person because he is one has been a great tool. It’s still great, here. He wants to close his ears to all of this. He wants, desperately, to run away, because there is no good solution that doesn’t end in death.

When he joins the Survey Corps, they at least have Eren as a brand of hope. They can believe that years of the same tactics and bodies piling up won’t end the same way.

Joining this squad is all about stopping Eren, and despite having figured out their next course of action, no one has yet to provide a real idea.

Genocide is wrong, so you stand up and try to stop it.

That’s the only plan they have.

The Scouts from Paradis don’t even have the promise of saving the people they love if they stop Eren. Annie, Pieck, Gabi, Reiner, Falco... they have a home. The world might forget to hate them. They might get to go home and have a life after this.

The people sitting on the other side of the fire are fucking screwed. They’re fighting entirely for their principles.

...Also Yelena is here.

I do like Yelena.

She’s not the worst, because this manga has too many horrible people in it, but she’s delightfully terrible. I especially like how the fact that she’s actually from Marley hardly gives her any pause.

I do so like Yelena.

It’s a beautiful sentiment.

After all, everyone’s drunk on something.

If you can just save the world, what does the rest matter? What do the crimes that kept you awake at night mean, when you’ve accomplished something so miraculous? All the good deeds cleanse the rottenness, and maybe then the world rights itself and you can breathe again.

...Hey wait, where’s Reiner’s reaction shot to finding out Gabi killed Sasha?

...Did he even know Sasha was dead?

But I guess we’re doing Marco angst.

Wow. Marco angst in 2020.

I think my favorite thing about this chapter (outside of the fact that Mikasa still hates Annie and it makes me giggly because wow Mikasa) is that Annie does absolutely nothing while Jean’s beating the crap out of Reiner.

My less favorite thing is I’ve stopped enjoying Reiner getting the crap beaten out of him. It’s been done, and... really the kid just needs to have not been born into this particular life. Watching Jean beat him bloody is. not cathartic. It’s really just awful.

Annie dodging with her food is glorious, though.

Because while Jean beating up Reiner over Marco is sad and kind of miserable, Annie watching someone beat up Reiner after the years she spent putting up with Reiner and Bertolt brings it back to almost funny.

Until you look at Reiner’s face and go back to feeling bad.

-turns page back to Annie getting out of the way-

Much better.

Truly, I love Annie.

Her forgiveness status is interesting, though. I think besides Marco, she enjoyed more of the kills she’s responsible for than anyone feels a need to dig up.

She’s also been more alone than most of the others in the wagons, and essentially spent four years imprisoned for her crimes.

I’m not surprised she asked, because she’s Annie, but I’m a bit surprised we don’t have an answer yet. Probably too close to the end of the chapter to open up that can of worms.

If it makes everyone feel better, I think we know for a fact that Mikasa will never forgive Annie for anything, even if it only displays itself as petty brandishing of weapons every time they make eye contact.

It’s not even a ship thing.

I just love that Annie is the one person Mikasa can’t stand. They’ve been in one chapter together and Mikasa’s already pulling out swords. These two shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near each other. It’s perfection.

Then we get to plot complications that really don’t register as complications because like. Yeah, you guys need something to do while you figure out what the hell you’re doing.

Because you don’t actually have a real plan, just so we’re clear.

Killing Eren would result in all those Wall Titans operating under their own power.

That is not fundamentally less destructive.

Killing Eren has a nice ring to it, but much like talking to Eren, it does not solve any of the other problems looming ahead.

So you enjoy your little subplot with Floch!

It’s one of the last times your combined competence will have any meaning.

-looks over at Kiyomi-

Honest question, but why are you alive if Floch dislikes you enough to hold you hostage? If Eren’s gonna kill everyone, shouldn’t Floch be following suit and just do his Floch thing of murdering every slight inconvenience?

We’re in the boring stages of the finale right now.

No clear plan for either side to contend with. No real progress in any direction because the tiny squabbles are just a delaying tactic for the massive squabble that no one has an answer to. None of any of this chapter really matters except for clearing the air.

Which is not a useless investment, it’s just not very exciting.

At this point, no excitement is allowed, because there’s that One Huge Thing, and the entire story hinges on it. Maybe someone will die on the way to dealing with it, but that’s all the drama we’re going to get until we find out enough about the plot to have a future worth rooting for.

Right now, there is no good outcome for the people we’ve watched fight for 127 chapters.

Pulling a story along with that weight is hard, and I can feel my brain turning itself off until we’re back to a point where the story is permitted to address the stegosaurus in the room.

One more month.

Again.

Until something happens and we all regret everything.

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 202 - Truth

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….

Chapter 202 - Truth

[Will Blake finally tell Brandon the truth about what happened to David all those months ago?]

------------------------------------------

It had been a blustery morning, and even with a fleece-lined jacket thrown on top of two other layers, Blake's teeth were chattering by the time the afternoon rolled around.

Today she had spent her time with just a couple of people out in the gardens moving the last of the buckets and planters inside the greenhouses.

She had kept a reluctant close eye on Lucille all the while, who was currently propped up on a bench nearby, feeling slightly irritated that Negan hadn't come back for the stupid thing yet.

She was happy though he was spending some time with Mia. The little girl always seemed thrilled when they did. And Negan, much to Mia's delight, had indeed taken a much more hands on role with the toddler of late.

Blake was glad, as lately, she had felt like she had had very little energy to be running after Mia all the time.

She put it down to all this work to get the Sanctuary ready for winter. For she had been hard at work almost every day from dawn until dusk these past few weeks, and always seemed to pretty much crash the moment she got back up to her and Negan's room, often not even feeling hungry for dinner.

Today, as one of the last few people out here in the now-sparse gardens, Blake was currently having trouble shifting a large rectangular planter that was far too heavy for her to try and drag across the lot alone.

And so, bent over, with her teeth gritted, Blake gave an appreciative sigh when she heard a pair of feet come to stop just over her shoulder.

"I can't move this by myself," she said, to what she assumed was John behind her. "Can you give me a hand?"

There was a brief pause, before, to her relief, she felt the planter being pushed from one side.

"Thanks," she said looking up, only to falter when she saw that it was not John at all.

"Uh, hey," came the sheepish voice of Brandon, who was bent over beside her.

Blake swallowed before replying. "Hey..."

She wasn't sure now what to say, especially after Negan's entrance this morning.

Blake was fully aware of how intimidating the dark-haired Saviour could be at the best of times, but when it came to her and Mia it was no exaggeration that Negan was like a wolf protecting his pack. Ready to rip the throat out of anyone who messed with them.

Brandon was silent for a moment as the pair of them shifted the planter across the empty lot, the tension between them thick. Before the blonde haired man finally spoke.

"Listen, Blake, you should have just told me about you and that Negan guy-" he blurted out.

" I know," said Blake quickly, feeling utterly flustered. "I just-"

But Brandon cut across her.

"Blake, it's ok. You shouldn't have to feel guilty that you moved on after David," he said with a shake of his head, stopping what he was doing and turning to her.

And with that, he placed a hand to her shoulder.

"You loved David, and that's all that matters," he said reassuringly, giving her a smile.

But at his words Blake felt her mouth go dry as everything seemed to slow.

Yes she had loved David, once. But David had taken advantage of that.

Using her, abusing her.

Manipulating her into thinking she needed him, into thinking that she didn't have anyone else.

And for a time Blake had been blinded by the love that Brandon was talking about, letting David hit her, bruise her..

...making her think that it was her fault and that she deserved his cruel words and his fists.

And so Blake, unable to take it anymore, stood up straight, her chest rising and falling quickly now, as she balled her fists together at her sides.

"I killed him," she said starkly, the words seeming to fill the quiet lot as they echoed off the walls surrounding them.

But Blake wasn't done.

Brandon needed to know the truth.

"I killed him. I killed David," she repeated, a serious frown appearing between her eyebrows.

For a moment she felt Brandon's grip on her shoulder tighten as he stared at her, but it soon softened again, as he tilted his head.

"We've all had to put people who've turned, down-" he began, but Blake took a step backwards, causing Brandon's hand to drop from her shoulder.

He needed the truth now.

"No," Blake said in a hard voice, her fingernails digging into her palms as she spoke. "I killed David because he deserved to die. Because I'd spent months letting him treat me like a fucking dog, and I was done. I with done with his lies, done with his abuse…"

She took a breath, determined tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"...so I did it, I killed him."

Brandon stared at Blake for a long moment before shaking his head.

"I-I don't understand," he muttered.

Blake gave a frustrated sigh, more for herself than Brandon, angry at herself for going through what she had for so long.

"David wasn't the man you thought he was. The things he did to me..." she shook her head. "Brandon, David abused me. For so long. H-He hit me, and hurt me, a-and talked to me like I was something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. And when I tried to stand up to him-"

The blonde woman dropped her eyes to the ground, swallowing again, before staring back at Brandon.

"He pushed me down a flight of stairs. When I finally began to see the light, when I finally started to see that I could be more than this abused little woman, he tried to kill me, Brandon. So I'm sorry, I-I know that he was your brother and I know that you're gonna hate me. But David wasn't the man you once knew, after everything went to hell, he changed. And I did what I did because if I didn't, I'd be dead, one way or another. Either by his hand…"

Blake felt her stomach lurch as realisation flooded over her.

"...or my own."

And that was the truth.

How much would she had have bared living in that world for much longer? Feeling worthless, desperate, beaten down and broken?

She stared at Brandon now as tears streaked down her cheeks.

Blake couldn't have kept it from him any longer, but as Brandon stood there motionless, his face unreadable, her blood suddenly ran cold with a fear that Brandon would not take this news of his brothers death by her hand lightly.

What if he had the same temper as his David?

Blake glanced down at Brandon's fists that were clenched together tightly at his sides just like hers had been.

Shit. If he tried anything, Blake knew she would be helpless, with no one else out in the lot on such a cold day.

Panic began to set in.

She knew that Lucille was there on the bench just a few feet away, so if she could just get to her-

But Blake didn't get the chance to move, flinching suddenly as Brandon lifted his hand.

But to her surprise it was no longer shaped into a fist, his hand instead moving back to her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I am so sorry, Blake," he said in a sudden choked voice. "What he did...If I'd have known-"

At his words, Blake let out a sob, unable to stop herself.

Brandon's blue eyes were wide and sad-looking now.

"He was always just my baby brother, I mean , I knew he could be an asshole sometimes but," he gave a sniff. "For him to do those things to you..."

Brandon trailed off, facing the sky suddenly, as though trying to stop tears from falling from his eyes. He gave yet another sniff.

"I'm just… I'm just sorry you had to go through all that," he said his voice wavering again. "And I'm sorry I had to turn up here, making out like my brother was some kind of frikking hero and you had to just stand there and listen to all that crap."

Brandon looked back at her, dropping his hand from Blake's shoulder and wiping at his face.

"It's ok," said Blake, perhaps a little unconvincingly. "I just...you coming here like that...its like seeing his ghost again after all this time."

Blake let out a shaky breath.

It was good to get all this off her chest, to confess to Brandon what she had been so scared to say for so long.

Him coming here like that, that wasn't his fault. She knew Brandon was a good guy, and truthfully, it was good to see that he had survived.

"Listen," said Brandon after a second. "I can't do this to you. Me being here. After all you've been through I-"

But Blake quickly shook her head.

"No it's fine, Brando-"

"No, really, Blake," said the blonde man with a shake of his own head. And with that he lifted a hand to Blake's cheek gently. "I should go. I was on the road for long enough, a little longer wont kill me-"

Blake gave sudden loud scoff. "Uh, it might!" she said in an incredulous voice. "No, you should stay. The Sanctuary is a good place and-"

But Brandon merely smiled softly and lowered his hand from her face.

"I know it is, but I've made up my mind," he said in an earnest voice. "You said you see the ghost of David here...Well now I do too. The things you said that he did...everytime I see you...that’s gonna be hard to forget, y’know. So I'm gonna grab my things and head out…"

He glanced up at the sky.

"...make a move while it's still light."

Blake also peered up at the cold and greying sky above, thinking for a moment.

Maybe Brandon was right, maybe him leaving was for the best.

Wasn't it?

Surely there had to be another solution….

Slowly her eyes travelled back down to his.

"What if you left, but technically you didn't…"she murmured, an idea suddenly forming in her mind.

Brandon frowned.

"Like I said, the Sanctuary a good place…." she began speaking slowly, her eyes flitting back and forth. "But we have outposts. Five of them. You could go to one of them. They all have generators, running water, beds…"

Brandon gave a smile.

"Better than what I'm used to out there," he said with a half excited-looking smile, gesturing with his head, as Blake smiled back at him.

Wow.

Maybe this was all going to work out ok after all.

Blake blinked a little feeling a flush of happiness pass over her face.

But wait..was this a flush?

Actually now it came to it, Blake felt hot all over.

And she also felt like she was swaying...

Looking quickly down at her feet to check, she dragged her gaze back to Brandon, but strangely he seemed very very far away now.

"Blake...a-are you ok?" came a distant voice.

But Blake could only murmur out the words…"No...I-I feel funny…”

….before everything went black.

--------------------------------------------

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[ellaintrigue]

Photo credit: Julio Cortez/AP

George Floyd's fiance pleads against the violent protests: https://www.thedailybeast.com/george-floyds-fiancee-pleads-…

YES, racism is alive and well. So is sexism, rape culture, and homophobia, but you don't see the Me Too movement hurting people and destroying property...

YES, George Floyd was murdered. But this goes far beyond racism. I never deny racism, the recent murder of a black man by two white guys in a pickup was clearly racist. But this is an issue of MEN. And POLICE. Cops have always killed people, it's all a matter of what gets the most publicity. I see a photo collage going around of black people that have been shot recently by cops and I find it offensive. Where are the white, Asian, and Hispanics that have also been shot by the police? What about the recent shooting of a white woman? We are all equals, right? https://apnews.com/57b423dcf5e54bdb801d7ea564416a0a

Foolish liberal hypocrisy. Meanwhile I am seeing younger democratic socialists applauding the looting as capitalism being put in its place. What the hell? You see the first article above, George Floyd's loved one said he never wanted this. And what exactly is the relevance to his death? What did Target stores do to George Floyd? How is the guy walking down the street with a backpack of stolen liquor bottles contributing to justice?

This is bullshit of the greedy and the brainwashed, race issues and social topics have been long lost. The majority of the protesters seem to be males enjoying violence. Which again, is what it comes down to.

While a huge feminist, I have no problem admitting that men have their own separate laundry list of issues. Difficulty speaking out, and difficulty getting help for whatever problems they may have because of the stigma of society where men are still not allowed to admit "weakness." I see it in my own father who has outbursts from being overwhelmed by various things. Having to be a tough guy and a financial supporter to a disabled wife but unable to accept or seek support himself.

There are A LOT of angry men out there. Shit, they're justified for the most part! I would definitely not want to be a man. And that is where the position of authority comes in... overcoming your struggles as a male youth and becoming a cop or correctional officer.

There are so many great cops out there! But, I haven't met many of them. Because not everyone overcomes their past and becomes a good cop. Whatever they grew up with or were born with makes them relish power, control, and violence.

I, a lower class (former middle class) white woman, have been victimized by the police. If you think that's a fucking joke because I'm white, refer back to the original point: POLICE VICTIMIZE PEOPLE OF ALL AGES, RACES, GENDERS, ETC.

A few years ago I read an article about a rapist cop. He raped more than one woman, but when they reported it, they were dismissed because he was a cop. His peers made sure he was above the law. So then he rapes an older black woman, someone's grandmother. She raised hell and he finally got in trouble. Was she listened to because she was black? HELL TO THE NO, women are treated like shit. A black woman? I've seen black women treated horribly my entire life. It's just how it is.

But no one felt like bringing this pig to justice, because, well, white male cop. Cops obviously deal with criminals and folks they will naturally regard as lower class, and none of these folks are going to be believed over a cop. From dating men of questionable backgrounds, I have heard horror stories of prisoners being beaten by cops and correctional officers and all kinds of shit. But who is going to believe some felon over a police officer?

May marked the 4 year anniversary of my ex-boyfriend almost killing me. It was hell, I struggled all month. My mom having cancer, the anniversary, the pandemic, now everyone running around setting shit on fire because they want free TVs... HOLY FUCK. PTSD trigger much?

I've wanted to talk about that, but I felt I couldn't, because, well, he's stalked me since. How did this happen? People think I was a battered woman but that's not true. Women stay with abusive partners and I did not. I got with this guy knowing he had a record, as others before him, but did not expect the onslaught of mental illness. The guy before him was bipolar and would shut down, lay on the bed and just be totally mute or sob. This new guy, after about 3 months into a relationship, would have manic episodes that would lead to suicide attempts. Over time I found out that he was a diagnosed bipolar, and rumored (unconfirmed) schizophrenic. I begged and begged for him to stick to taking meds, which clearly helped over the course of months, but he would stop taking them because he felt he "didn't need them," which is the cruelest cliche of the mentally ill and why so many don't function at all.

So I ended up having to call the cops on him multiple times in the course of 3 years when he lost his shit. Not once did he ever harm me, although you can see, and I can see, now, that it was unhealthy and dangerous for everyone involved regardless. The first time I dealt with the cops over him was when he got a DUI in my truck with his friend. but the friend was driving. I woke up at midnight to this chaos and remember a black female cop intimidating me and screaming at me because I was standing near a beer bottle on the ground and I was "hiding evidence." Which was bullshit since the driver had already been arrested. Who the fuck cares about a random Bud Light bottle lying in my yard? The DUI was in Ocean City. Whatever.

The same fucking night my shitfaced, manic boyfriend logs onto my computer and reads like 7 years worth of texts between me and a male friend, accusing me of fucking him. After a long night of dealing with the other drama it was like hell never ended. He's on my computer, looking at everything I have and accusing me of cheating. Never met the dude, never tried to be with the dude, but that seemed pretty moot. Even if your partner has nothing to hide, you shouldn't be going through their shit. IF YOU DO NOT TRUST THE PERSON YOU ARE WITH, LEAVE THEM. IF YOU HAVE ONGOING ISSUES WITH MANIA OR PARANOIA, GET HELP.

Well, perhaps I seem a hypocrite in protesting violence against women, and I did something I'm not proud of: I punched the fuck out of him. He then got up and put my shotgun in his mouth. He didn't pull the trigger but obviously that scarred me for life. I called 911 and they chased him down in the woods and took him to the mental ward in Salisbury. I dealt with 3 male cops that were kind to me and said I did the right thing by hiding the gun afterward and calling 911. My neighbor also helped me, which I am incredibly grateful for.

I should have left, hands down. But because I never felt physically threatened by him: I felt I was helping him, he could get better, and I kept trying. I have never been a woman that wanted a "project" as some people want, where they find someone to fix or better as a person. But I loved this man and tried my best, stupid as I was.

He was fine for months after that, another huge factor in me staying. We were just boyfriend and girlfriend, enjoying life, until he had another manic episode. Once he went 6 months with no signs of anything at all. Again, at this point in things, I have nothing to candycoat in my life. I am an open book, and in 2018, came out about being raped by a man in 2011, and got judged harshly. I've had to accept that no matter what I say, I will be questioned and put down because that is how victims are treated.

So in 2015 he came home late at night, screaming the FBI were in the bushes and smashing things. He accused me and a family member of conspiring with the government against him and stripped half of his clothes off, threatening to kill himself. Just like that, he would go from a calm person that worked all day to a raging maniac in the most literal form.

I called 911 and was in tears by the time two very tall male cops showed up. That is the main thing I remember, I am 5'2 and these men were both over 6'0 and stood way too close to me. My boyfriend was running around screaming utter nonsense and one cop talked to him, another talked to me. The two men ID'd me and laughed at the fact I always wore lipstick, in the pic and in real life, a habit since I was 14. Then they told me they weren't going to do anything with my boyfriend, who was still screaming and stomping around. I said, "but he's clearly unstable and threatening to kill himself." Both of the cops stood roughly two feet from me, and the heavyset olive skinned officer moved in even closer, shining his flashlight in my face, his breath bearing down on me, and said, "if you call 911 or anyone again tonight, you will both be arrested."

I felt scared of them at this point and they told me my option was to leave my home, leaving my boyfriend there. They asked me if I had family in the area and I said no. "Well, we can't help you then. Plus we want to go and get dinner," the thick one said, before laughing with his partner, who was a thinner blond man. So they waited until I got in my car and left, then they left, leaving my ex still standing screaming in the middle of the yard.

I had nowhere to go, so I went to his aunt's house and spent the night. At one point in the night I heard my boyfriend's truck screech through Berlin, looking for me, but knew I couldn't call 911 anymore because I WAS threatened. And cops can do what they want, no one is going to listen to some white trash chick with a crazy boyfriend.

I called 911 one other time before things got truly worse (I know, right). I got one of the cops that I had dealt with when he put the shotgun in his mouth and he threw him in the mental ward after a brief car chase.

By spring 2016 my boyfriend wasn't working, binge drinking, and seeming off on a regular basis so I somehow managed to drop him off at a homeless shelter despite him initially standing in a Wendy's parking lot screaming I was out to get him.

Finally, in May he became increasingly manic before literally waking up one morning with this weird hollow look in his eyes and screaming the worst threats against me and his family I had ever heard. First I tried to be calm, then I tried to run from him when I thought he wasn't looking and he ran after me and jumped on me. And that was the first time I felt actually afraid that he would hurt me. I thought he would hit me. Instead, he dragged me through the woods by my ankles so hard my leggings were pulled down and became filled with dirt, leaves, and sticks, threw me on the porch and then dragged me into my house. He tortured me for 1-3 hours. I think it was between 1 and 2 hours. Years later I sat down with a shrink and told her, I can't remember, I truly can't. I just remember the intense fear and shame of what it would be like for my dad to come into my house and find me dead. The doctor pursed her lips as she listened to me and reassured me that people with PTSD often have trouble remembering details. In fact, I couldn't piece together how bad the whole thing was until 2018, around the same time I talked about being raped, because I had repressed memories so hard. There was a point where I vividly remembered everything both men had done to me respectively, including a lifelong physical injury I had also blocked out. Like, I knew it was there, I just never allowed myself to think about why.

Instead of killing me, thank fuck, my boyfriend left me lying on a plastic floor mat he had just put a cigarette out in that he been holding over my eye and walked out of the house, stealing my truck. So I called 911, in a sort of daze I seemed the most worried about the stupid truck. But I really couldn't comprehend anything at that point. I shouldn't have bothered calling, because ding-dong, who is at the door, but one of the cops that essentially kicked me out of my house in 2015, leaving me to wonder if my boyfriend would kill himself or burn the place down. The thin, blond cop. The first thing I noticed was his eyes when I spoke to him that day. His pupils were tiny pin-pricks and it was shockingly noticeable. He looked like he was blind or something, because he had wide blue irises with these teeny tiny pupils. Frankly it was creepy, but wasn't relevant to the situation. I told him my ex went nuts, then stole my truck. He starts screaming at me and asking me what I wanted to do, and why the hell did I call. I completely shut down and just felt scared of him. Thinking about telling him about the assault just evaded my head, all I could think was that I was being cornered and I had to get away. He walked around the yard looking at other shit my ex had torn up, yelled at me some more, then left. This cop was almost manic and I was afraid he would arrest me for annoying him.

I finally got my truck back with the help of my grandmother after watching my boyfriend acting insane in front of his boss, who he had driven to. The man got a restraining order against him that week after seeing the violent instability and I made our breakup official at the same time. I knew I was done the second he dragged me through the woods. That was the first time he had ever put hands on me and the torture session would be the last. (I was lucky in that he had tossed me around and suffocated me in a headlock, etc., rather than getting a knife or something... it could have been so much worse.)

At this point, regardless of what people around him did, my now-ex was clearly gone mentally. Not sure how or why it got that bad, but all of his issues just imploded on him at once, almost overnight. So 2016 to 2018 he stalked me and made my life a living hell. He called me and I was afraid to disconnect my number right away because I felt it was a way of tracking him/how dangerous he was any particular day. After screaming for him to leave me alone and calling the cops even more times failed, I felt I had to be nice to him to keep him at bay, or when he started coming into my job, so I wouldn't make a scene. I finally got a domestic violence order in 2017 and stood before the court and described my assault so the judge to decide if I had just cause.

About a month after that, my ex called me threatening to kill himself so I felt super happy about calling 911. Finally they would put his ass in jail. A cop in his early 20's showed up, flirted with me, called his boss and they told me that there was not enough cause to jail my ex. The cop told me to "just talk things over" with my ex and then left after staring at my tits through my sweatshirt.

More time goes by, more bullshit, afraid to go to work, afraid to come home at night. Mace didn't make me feel safer, guns didn't make me feel safer, having coworkers didn't make me feel safer. My dad was screaming at me that I had brought this all on myself by being with a nut for so long. I felt like a hunted animal. My boss complained about me calling out of work over this. Finally my ex's other ex-girlfriend who he was with after me comes into my job, says he assaulted her, and that he was dangerously obsessed with me and my boss finally took me seriously.

I couldn't do anything about phone calls or online harassment. He would message me online telling me he hated me and stuff and I would just block him. Then, one day in September, during Ocean City bike week, he showed up on a bicycle, cornering me in the parking lot of my job as I walked to my shift. I was in utter terror and for a moment he looked like he would attack me again but I just kept on walking, and did not pause. My coworker wanted to know why I was being confronted and I said "THAT'S HIM, THAT'S HIM. I'M SO SORRY, NIKKI, I'M NOT CLOCKING IN RIGHT NOW. I AM CALLING 911."

Two cops showed up, a male and a female and ID'd me, and looked at my DV order. I asked if it was okay for me to lift the sweater on my front seat up to get my purse and the male cop brushed that off, acting like I was a non-threat. But I knew I had to move slow, because, well, cops shoot people. White, black, male, female, non-bindary-gender, whatever.

They saw I had all my paperwork in order then they started fucking yelling at me! They told me they really didn't have time to look for him since it was Bike Week and they were busy! I don't know what else they said to me, I think they were confused about what phone number I used the most because I had 2 at that point. I broke into tears and the male cop said "you don't have to do none of that." I walked back into the store and they came back in again, and my coworker told everyone later on how nasty the cops were too me. I knew it wasn't just me but it was good to finally have a witness this time around.

They looked around for my ex at two known locations then gave up, I had called and asked. 3 days later he attacked his other ex, the one that I had spoken to and they arrested him on both that and my DV order. He was jailed for several months and since then his stalking has been infrequent aside from him popping up on Tumblr this winter to make fun of my cat dying. Because I left him, for assaulting me, he now, in whatever the fuck is left of his mind, wants me to live a life of hell. During one phone call he screamed "YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY UNTIL I'M HAPPY."

I'd love to count on him staying gone, but I know better. His brother added me on FaceBook not too long ago and I said hi, and he said "you know you're the love of my brother's life, right?" I told him I wanted nothing to do with my ex. "Not even friends?" I told him that my ex tried to kill me then made my life hell and he said he didn't know and the conversation ended.

I'm not afraid of my ex's brother. I don't think he added me purely to help my ex. This man isn't crazy. This man didn't try to kill me, and isn't going to. But the sheer mindfuckery of it: how can you try to get back with the woman you abused? How can you use threats to try and get back with her? Another time my ex called me and screamed over me posting pictures with my last ex, mocking it. Why would I be with him, instead of the guy that abused me?

...Why would I want to be with a guy that I felt safe with that never abused me? Golly gosh, no idea. But it's all just a headfuck that I will be scarred by for life.

Summary: Cops and the severely mentally ill are capable of ruining the lives of anyone, of any color. 🤷‍♀️

[siobhanwolff-blog]

Through The Dark

The biggest of thank you’s to @superpupdanvers for being an angel and beta reading this. I love her so much!

TW: graphic violence, mentions of sexual assault and abuse. Proceed with caution. 

May 9th, 3am —  Las Vegas, Nevada.

Being a superhero is nothing like how they depict in the movies. But sometimes, it is like in the movies— having to fight off super villains in order to protect the city you love so much.

Phoenix was quite possibly the most dangerous supervillain Shade had ever encountered. She also happened to be one of the first he’d fought. She got her jollies on creating chaos and making Shade feel helpless.

An apartment building was on fire and Shade’s intangibility was next to useless against the heat of the flames. He can walk through solid objects with ease but he isn’t immune to temperature and the flames licking at his intangible skin still hurt like hell. He had gone in and out countless times, his head dizzy and lungs burning from inhaling so much smoke. In the building for what could be the eight or twentieth time, Shade grabbed up a small boy in his arms whose pulse was dangerously slow.

And that’s when the backdraft hit, sending Shade flying through the explosion and debris. So many people died when the apartment complex went down, so many people he should have been able to save.

But usually, on ordinary days, it’s nothing like that.

Most nights being a superhero just means rescuing a guy from a potentially deadly mugging, or walking a crying girl who was just beaten by her boyfriend to a women’s shelter. Most nights it is just sitting in a garbage-scented alleyway and comforting someone before walking them home. Shade spent most of his nights just walking people home and being a shoulder to cry on. Because wasn’t a guy in a mask who offered his time a patience better than no one at all?

She looked barely eighteen, stumbling down the alley, being backed up by a large brute of a man. The girl was clearly a prostitute, wearing a tight dark grey dress that left little to the imagination and more makeup than was healthy for her skin.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she had said, on the verge of hysterics as he pushed her against a wall. The guy was massive, tall and easily twice Shade’s weight in muscle alone. He would had have to take him down quickly and quietly.

Shade skimmed down the side on the building he’d been sitting on the roof of. Keeping himself cloaked in the shadows, he silently approached. The guys hand was sliding up under the hem of girls dress now, muttering filth into her ear as she shook. Shade had to lean up on his tiptoes to be able to press his hands over the brutes eyes, whispering a soft “go to sleep”. The man screamed and crumpled as the darkness, cold and unforgiving, pulled him into unconsciousness.

Her name was Isabelle and Shade sat with her in the disgusting alley for an hour, rubbing her back and handing her tissues that he kept in one of his utility belt pockets. When she’d finally calmed down, he offered to walk her home.

And then there were nights that are purely sickening. Nights that left Shade drained and crying himself to sleep. Those were the nights he would much rather be risking his neck fighting other supers. Because those are the nights he’s cleaning a dead man’s blood from his spandex suit, or finding the body of a child tossed to the side like nothing, holding the hand of a dying rape victim he was to late to save, or watching someone commit suicide by jumping from several floors up. He saves lives, but those are the nights he feels like he has failed his city.

Shade didn’t know how a drug bust had turned into this. He had already called the cops, which was definitely his mistake. He was young, hadn’t figured out that he needed to call after he’d knocked out the thugs. But as soon as the cops showed up, all hell broke lose. Two of the cronies took off, but the guy that appeared to be in charge started shooting. Instinct kicked in and Shade let the bullets buzz through him harmlessly. And turn a cop into swiss cheese instead. He was close enough for Shade to grab before he hit the ground. He held the officer in his lap, pressing uselessly at the wounds to slow the gush of bright red blood. He died within seconds. His labored breath stopping and body going slack in Shades arms.

Those are the nights he wishes he could erase from his memory. But the spackle of a hostages brains isn’t something easily forgotten. The world is so, so fucking cruel. And Shade is just trying to help— trying to protect innocent people from what he sees every goddamn night. And that would be a hell of a lot easier if the police weren’t always trying to put him behind bars.

Which is exactly why Shade was running down unfamiliar streets. His breath huffing out of his lungs in harsh pants, heart beating like it was trying to break its way out through his ribs, and boot-clad feet pounding against the pavement. Even on awful nights, this was the worst part of what he did. Running from the cops for hours when he could instead be helping people. When they could be helping people. Instead they were just wasting time, time that could mean the difference if someone lives or dies. But the police weren’t saving anyone— they are chasing Shade. Even if they ever got close enough to him to actually cuff him, he would simply slip away. He was a shadow, and that’s what shadows did. Just disappeared in the buzzing nightlife of Las Vegas.

Bullets whizzed harmlessly through him— into his back and out of his chest, straight through his head to lodge uselessly into brick walls. It was as if he really was made of shadows, completely untouchable.

He rounded a corner that was more tall buildings than flashing excitement. He faded into the dark. Melted back against a wall, becoming apart of the shadowy darkness. He couldn’t do this in the center of the city buzz. Everything moved so quickly in Vegas, and people would notice if a shadow against a wall stopped moving. Shade had made this mistake when he was younger, first figuring out how to be a vigilante of such a busy city. He had taken a bullet to the shoulder for his ignorance. Shade was smarter know.

He watched silently as five police officers and a German Shepard rounded the corner in search of him. He held his breath fearing the smallest puff of air would give him away.

But they went right past Shade, couldn’t see him cloaked in the shadows. Two people stumbled out of the bar directly across the street from him. A man and a woman who were drunk, and leaning into each other, and laughing. They looked so happy and that wasn’t something Shade saw often. Usually when he saw people stumbling out of bars it was accompanied with angry yelling.

The cheap watch around Shade’s left wrist vibrated, it was three in the morning— it was time to go home.

An hour later, Shade costume hidden underneath the broken floorboard in his bedroom, Ronan Kingsley laid in bed unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. Always being tired was something that simply came with being a Las Vegas superhero— it was in the job description. And he knew when seven rolled around and he had to get up and actually function, Ronan would hate himself for not falling asleep until four-thirty. And one of his roommates, it was always Sara, would make a snarky comment about him sleeping around and his other roommate, it was always Kira, would silently hand him the coffee he needed oh-so-badly. And neither of them knew.

They couldn’t know. That was just another one of those things that was in the job description. If they wanted to assume he was sleeping around or involved with a sketchy gang, that was fine. He didn’t care what they thought he was doing when they found him gone in the middle of the night, as long as they didn’t think he was running around Las Vegas in a superhero costume. It was safer for them to not know.

And then Ronan would shower, get dressed, and go to work. Because that’s what twenty-six year-olds did in Vegas on Mondays.

~

“Kingsley!” Kathy shouted at him when he walked into The Beat, looking irritated. He knew he was five minutes late but traffic was a bitch, due to an awful car accident, but she had never gotten irritable with him before. In fact, ever since she hired him after her son moved to New York to go to law school she had treated him like a son. Most of the time she was more of a mother than his own ever had been.

“I’m so sorry I was late, there was an accident and—”

“I don’t care about that,” his fiery redheaded boss said, simply waving him off. “Did you not get my texts last night?”

“Uh,” no, Ronan thought, because I turn off my regular cell and leave it at home to fight crime on the streets of Vegas and only carry disposable crappy cells incase of an absolute emergency. But he couldn’t say that, because Ronan was not a crime-fighting hero in tights. He was just a guy that worked at a coffee house and he was clumsy, and nothing interesting ever happens in his life. Just boring ol’ Ronan.

“Never mind, doesn’t matter. This is Oliver,” Kathy put her hands on the shoulders of the curly haired guy with her, who was smiling all too brightly. Ronan had not even noticed the guy, with observation skills like that it was truly a miracle he hadn’t gotten himself killed yet. But when Ronan met Oliver’s shining green eyes he swore that his breath got stuck in his throat for a moment. There was no way to deny that he was beautiful. His red hair was messy and his eyes were bright even though they were hidden behind wide, round glasses. He was younger than Ronan, shorter, and his shoulders weren’t as broad. But When Ronan shook his hand he could tell that Oliver was strong.

And Ronan swore that he would not allow this boy to be his downfall. He stayed aloof and kept even the people he loved the most at arm's length. He was not about to forget what he was— who he was— just because some pretty boy made his chest feel like a thunderstorm.

“He is the new weekend barista but since Angie is on maternity leave I will need you to come in for the next couple weekends and train him. I can’t just put a newbie behind the counter without supervision, my customers expect nothing but perfection from us and—“

“Wait,” Ronan cut her off, icily. “Sundays are my only days off, I have things to do.” He had yoga class in the morning and always got a couple extra hours of patrolling in at night. He didn’t want to give that up to work a seven day week. Kathy and The Beat were important to him, but so was his Sunday routine.

His fiery boss rolled her eyes. “Fine, take Monday off,” she waved it off before launching into the story how she built the place from the ground up. Literally and metaphorically. While it captivated Oliver, Ronan had heard it a million times and tuned her out to help the other barista prepare to open shop. Emilia was technically the pastry chef but since they were short-handed she had been helping out.

She said his name softly to get his attention and Ronan arched an eyebrow at her. “I can train him today if you’d like.” She offered with a gentle smile. It was a tempting offer, Ronan wanted very little to do with the beautiful man, but he shook his head.

“It’s my responsibility, besides you do more than enough as it is.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but before she could Ronan walked to the front to unlock the doors and flip on the neon Open sign. Regulars quickly filled up the shop and they were both too busy to make any conversation.

~

By noon Ronan wanted to strangle him. He was a hard worker, charming, and the customers adored him. Logically, Ronan knew he was a great guy and there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was a great addition to the team and would fit right in with the ‘family’ Kathy insisted that they were. But he was touchy and Ronan’s muscles ached from being continuously tensed. Oliver was flirty and Ronan tried not to take it personally when he winked at him but he was so unaccustomed to being hit on that he didn’t know how to handle it and stared at Oliver until they were both uncomfortable.

After the lunch rush dwindled down, Ronan leaned against the counter next to Emilia. “Can you hold up the fort if Oliver and I take a lunch break?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. “‘Course I can. Are you going to D’Latte?”

“Always do,” Ronan answered. He was already untying his apron and hanging it on one of the hooks behind the wall. “Want me to bring you back turrón?”

“Please.” She said and he nodded. Ronan may scoff at his bosses claims that they were a family, but he did have a soft spot for his co-workers. Kathy, Angie, and Emilia were good people and The Beat was his second home. He would never admit it, and he would always keep his kindnesses to a minimum, but he did care for them.

Ronan showed Oliver to the break room and asked Kathy if she wanted anything from D’latte before heading out. The small coffee place across the street was more than just a coffee shop. They offered a revolving variety of Spanish baked goods and sandwiches and had the comfiest chairs. And Ronan, no matter what mask he wore, always received free coffee. Which was more than a little disconcerting, but he chose not to think on it too long.

“Ah, Ronan my friend!” Mr. Soto greeted in his gruff Hispanic accent when Ronan entered. But he could not even muster out a hello in reply, his eyes glued to the television mounted high on the wall behind the coffee shop counter. The sound was off, but turned to a news channel.

Bank Robbery Leaves Seven Dead the text at the bottom read. “Can you turn the sound on please, Mr. Soto?” Ronan asked as he walked closer, eyes not leaving the screen. He heard the coffee shop owner sigh but did as requested and turned on the sound on the TV.

It happened at eight that morning, when Ronan was complaining to Kathy about not having a day off.

The robbers started shooting when police showed up, used a child as a hostage to get away. Ten men or women in masks taking a child. They were interviewing the missing child’s father, a man in his early thirties, eyes red and wet with held back tears, and begging to have his daughter back. Begging for Shade, Vegas’ vigilante to bring his unharmed daughter back to him. And Ronan felt sick.

Mr. Soto clicked off the television completely.

“I think that’s enough of that,” he grumbled, pressing a large paper coffee cup into Ronan’s shaking hand.  He felt like he was going to be sick.

A child hostage. It had been hours. Unless they wanted to use her for something else, she was probably already dead and Ronan could have stopped it.

Ronan was wrong, being chased by incompetent police wasn’t the worst part of what he did. It was this. Feeling so much not like a superhero, because he could have saved her but he didn’t.

[praeliasdecorum]

Abuse is not just physical.

The following post is not a story. And it deals with verbal and mental abuse, as well as a brief mention of self harm. If that triggers you, you might want to skip this post.

"Katherine, get the boys some cookies!" my mom calls. I've finished the two sinkfulls of dishes for the day as well as the counter and stove full, and it's almost bedtime for the kids. I've got my laundry and my sister's in the washer, meaning I'll need to put it in the dryer before I go to bed. I'll have to wait on Charlie's for that, but no one ever folds laundry anyways so I can do what we all do with it and put it in a basket to the side. My two brothers and sister follow me to the kitchen, jumping with excitement as I pass the chocolate-chip goodies out to them. Charlie comes in the back door, and no one seems to notice but me. Because I'm hyper-alert to him. He stops in the doorway of the kitchen, looking enraged. "Don't you start fucking passing fucking cookies out till you ask!" he spits. "We did," I say, leaving it at that. He shoots me a dirty look, angry that he's wrong about jumping my case, and storms off. The kids get their cookies, and they go away to do whatever they were doing before the cookies. I realize I forgot to clean the counter. Fuck. Charlie is going to see that, and I'll be in trouble yet again. I grab a cleaner and some paper towels and go to work, almost panicking. If he sees that I forgot, he'll flip. Out of nowhere, I hear, "Why did you touch my fucking laundry?" Charlie. I hadn't even heard him come up. I hesitate. How could I word it without making him even more angry? "Lacy and I needed clothes for school tomorrow, so I moved yours to the dryer so I could start some in the washer for us." "You don't fucking touch my laundry without asking, you hear me?" My mom hears us, and she says nothing. "Okay," I say, and he turns to leave but before I can stop myself I say, "Don’t talk to me like that please." He stops. Panic takes over me, and I'm petrified. Oh, god. Will this be the time he hits me? He hasn't been this mad in a while. Shit. "What did you just say to me?" Giving me a chance to take it back. A chance to avoid another fight. But I'm a moron tonight. I'm sick of him. I'm sick of me. I'm sick of being treated like this, and my thighs sting when I remember I can't keep doing this if this is how I'm going to be treated. "I said, please don't talk to me like that." He storms towards me and pins me to the kitchen counter. I'm already in tears. He's twice my size and if he wanted to, he could put me in the hospital. He could kill me. "You don't fucking talk to me like that!" He screams. "Give me your god damn phone!" I move my phone out of his reach. Again, a moronic move. But I know I'm right. I know this isn't okay. I KNOW this is not normal. I know this is abuse. "No," I say, "not until you tell me what I did wrong." Apparently I have balls tonight. And I'm fucking terror-stricken. I'm so scared I'm almost immobilized. Despite my ballsy talk, I keep my eyes downcast because I know if I see him, if I see his face, I'll break down and I'll cry and I know I'll be more scared and more angry and I wont be able to do it. "Give me your god damn phone!" he repeats, trying to grab it from me. He pushes me further against the counter as he tries to grab it. I keep it out of his reach, "Tell me what I did wrong!" I'm cornered by him. The counter is digging into my back and I'm sweating and I want to piss myself I am so frightened and now I can't think because if I do it'll screw me over and if I'm going to stand up to him I better follow it through because if I don’t I wont make any progress. He snatches the phone from me and shoves it in his pocket. His gaze turns to me, anger and fury and quite possibly hate in his green eyes. Oh god. And now I'm in trouble. What's he going to say? This is the angriest I've ever seen him. Will he hit me? Will he kill me? What's going to happen? God, he's so mad. He's still pinning me to the counter and he's so mad and if he hurts me what am I going to do how am I going to get away will I even get away or will I just be beaten till he's tired but there are knives two feet away so will he grab one? I shove him back. And I'm immobilized now. Did I just do that? I can't freeze now! Move! Run before he moves! He shoves me against the counter again but now I don't even feel anything and now I'm angry how dare he touch me? I shove him back, and again he pushes me against the counter and I push him again and scream because oh fuck I want him dead but I couldn't take him on and now he screams at me. "Go fucking talk to your fucking mother!" I start out of the kitchen. "You think you can talk to me like that? You think you can stand up to me? You're lucky I don't fucking tell you to get out of my house!" I can't control myself. I've said and done too much to care anymore. "You want me out, all you gotta do is say so! I'll grab my shit and get out right fucking now!" I hurry up the stairs because I know he'll be following me. And by this point, I'm in tears. I'm shaking. I'm scared beyond belief. Will he actually put me on the street? I've had a bag packed just in case for ages and I can probably stay at Melanie's for a few days. It'd be better than staying here, probably. My mom is sitting on her bed reading something on her phone, but she sets it down when I come in. She'd moved upstairs during my argument with Charlie, probably to avoid being caught in the crossfire. I'm sure she heard most of it, but regardless, I quickly explain what happened to her before he comes in because I know he'll lie to her and make me look like the bad guy. "I was giving the kids cookies and he came in and told me to 'fucking' ask before I did, and then not to 'fucking touch his laundry without fucking asking' even though you told me I could move it and Lacy and me needed laundry. I asked him not to talk to me like that and he told me to give him my phone and I told him to tell me what I did wrong and then I pushed him cause I was scared and-" He comes in and I shut up. Talking now could really get me hurt. He's been known to throw shoes at my brothers' heads and punch walls and throw chairs. What's stopping him from hitting me? The answer to that question: nothing. And that's terrifying. "Go to your god damn room and don't you fucking dare come out till I tell you to!" he bellows. I scurry off, but I sprint past him because I swear I see him raise his hand. He screams at the top of his lungs at my mom for maybe twenty minutes, and then I hear him stomping towards my room. I push myself against the corner of my bed and the wall, praying to a God I don't even believe in that he doesn't come in. Charlie pushes my door open so hard that it knocks several figurines off of my bookshelf. "Get in there and talk to your mom!" he screams. I wait for him to go down the stairs before I even think about moving, and I close my mom's door behind me as I enter her room. I sit on the bed next to her and I'm still shaking, twenty minutes later. She looks annoyed with him. "I told him he was in the wrong, but you're still grounded for a week." Better than I thought. But, that doesn't mean I don’t have to live with him. "Why am I in trouble if he's the one who was wrong?" I had to ask. She just admitted he was wrong, but I was still being punished. "To appease him." she states simply. I spent the rest of the night in my room, cowering. I cut myself, again, because it made me feel better. It's what I needed at the time.

It's been two years since then, and now I'm almost twenty. I moved out a few months later, thanks to my ex-step-grandmother who was willing to drive two thousand miles and spend hundreds of dollars to get me out of that household. That night was a bad one for Charlie, perhaps his worst, but it wasn't the only time he spoke to me like that. It wasn't the only time that I was genuinely afraid of being beaten. This is the first time I have put this into words aside from talking about it a handful of times with my closest, most trusted friends, but my hands still shook. This is what abuse looks like.

Two years later, I still panic around men. Being around men who are built similarly to Charlie (which is not his real name) set me on edge. I sweat, and I am on the edge of my seat and I am never far from the exit of a room if there's someone who has his bodytype around. If any guy sets something down too hard, or slams a cabinet, it's enough to send me into a full blown panic attack. Even if they look nothing like him.

Abuse is not just physical. It's verbal. It's mental. If you are in a situation like this, you need to know that it's not okay. You need to know it's not your fault, and it's not something you deserve.

You deserve better.  And you need to get out because things like this can screw you up for life. Or at the very least for a long time.

[negligentchaos]

Sins of Trust

I hadn’t believed that things would go as well as they currently going. My pet was willing to coerce all other doubters into seeing the light that remained in his sceptical heart; even his own beloved wife in the former Miss Weasley’s behaviour towards Miss Granger hadn’t been noticed by the oblivious Auror who still seemed to think he walked on water. Ah… it had been too easy to sway him into seeing the world through the eyes of one who had lived in darkness and light - but he certainly had no idea just who he was writing too and that at times; amused the Hell out of me. Clearly his years spent trying to handle the threat of the Dark Lord had affected him; but not as one would thing? In the ‘right’ way - as in be careful with what you tell others and certainly think about what deals you make with the unknown out there. That being said - I had to ensure that he kept telling me his fears, his concerns and how he wished others around him weren’t so idealistic. That fear for his life and those around him had led to me being able to easily sway the simpleton into doing anything an unknown entity wished of him; it had been really easy however; after informing the young wizard that I had several incriminating photographs and witnesses who would inform his beloved wife that he had been playing the field with several female aurors and then there was the ongoing affair behind his wife’s back with none other than Miss Daphne Greengrass. Chuckling softly; I remembered the disgust and yet. delight that had been in dear little Astoria’s tone when she had come to me full of righteous indignation that her sister had been fucking the Boy Who Lived. The little thing had cried into my arms for over an hour saying that her sister was ruining the chances their family had been given to be restored within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was a shame that she didn't think of that when she was all too eager to throw herself at me in a bid to be at the side of the new wizard who would remind Wizarding England and the Wizarding World as a whole that Muggleborn witches and wizards may belong in our world but they were beneath those whose blood was pure like my own. I was amused, laughing softly at how easy I could play puppeteer with the marionette that was Astoria Greengrass. I would use her, take everything she had from her and they drop her swiftly like the rubbish she was - and she wouldn’t be any the wiser as to how pathetic I viewed her to be. All those who had knelt before the Dark Lord only to flee when he was deemed to be dead, were worthless and I would cast them all aside once I was finished - or perhaps treat them as the Muggles had all witches they encountered during the late seventeenth century; maybe drown them or set them alight whilst chained to a post. It would be poetic to relive those dark times with wizards and witches and look them in the eye before they died. “My Lord Crouch; there’s been an owl for you - I believe it to be the Southern white-faced owl you assigned to Lord Arcturus Snood. I have her in the dining room being fed Sir. I have the letter that was attached - would you like it here or brought to your chambers Sir?” Nodding, I glanced at my reflection and smiled slowly - Snood had been relatively quiet as of late and I admit, I had grown concerned over his attachment to Miss Hermione Jean Granger, the Muggleborn saviour of the world. It had come to my attention that the Minister had grown attached to the… witch and wanted to keep her for himself as his pet. The thought had nauseated me at first before I recalled the fire that lived within Miss Granger and I could understand just how one could desire her. If he got her? Miss Granger would long for the days when the ginger wizard, Weasley, had beaten her - because his assaults on her person were nothing in comparison to what Snood was capable of doing to his… quarry. If Snood caught Miss Granger as he hoped too, then he would kill her within a month. What a shame that would be… “Bring it to me here Godbry now. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” The look on the House Elf’s face was one that chilled me to my core. There were very few things that drew out the good part of me; the Bartemius Crouch junior who had tried in vain to protect the House Elves who were bonded to the house of Crouch, those under my Father’s employ would be victim to his fury and his hatred for all beings, pure blood, magical creature or Muggle. House Elves, he stated often enough; were the lowest of all beings, barely below Muggles and therefore to be treated as if they were nothing. Those who protected them, ie; me - would often be the victim of the Cruciatus charm till I couldn’t lift myself from the ground and be lying in a pool of my own blood. Such things had melded me into the Wizard I was today; he literally drove me to a breakdown that had me believing I was insane. “Yes Sir.” The pop of the small creature leaving the room had me jump for the briefest second as I found myself drawn back to the chaos that would ensue when the esteemed Bartemius Crouch Sr drank excessively and insisted the House Elves line up so that he could choose punishments from A through to Z. I would end up caring for them all and tending to their needs and even now; I would ensure all Elves were looked after and treated with respect. Those who chose not to listen, would be punished - often till they would plead for death. Instead of returning in the same manner; I heard a soft knock and with an utterance of ‘Enter’ the small elf entered the room and bowed offering me the letter that the slimy Minister had sent.. I could practically smell his fear on the parchment and sneered at the recollection of his promise to do everything I wished of him. ‘I bring good tiding with this letter and ask of you a single request to locate Miss Granger and ensure that she isn’t in danger of the abuse Weasley enforces on those he’s infatuated with. I ask this of you as I believe in time we can sway Miss Granger into seeing the world through the eyes of the Knights. Mister Weasley and the traitor, Lord Malfoy were in an altercation over the your talented witch and once again the arrogant Weasley was inebriated and attacked both Lord Malfoy and Miss Weasley. I am most concerned that the moronic bastard will kill someone soon - I have instructed Percival Weasley to enforce some sobriety on the young drunk. Perhaps a course of Cruciatus curses as you have often said to be Hell for one to suffer, will ensure we have young Mister Weasley as Knight to… How shall I put it… Stumble and then take the fall for others. He is close already for the things he has done to Miss Granger, and I believe to several others when inebriated - and I believe Azkaban to have a few empty cells for celebrities to rot away. Miss Granger has fled into the Muggle world but I certain I will locate her as she has also been spotted at the Muggle bank associated with Gringotts and our spy there, Anastasia Woodruff has informed me the Bank Manager gave her… the letter. Miss Granger was seen visibly upset so I am sure My Eminence that she believes her parents gifted her the house you provided me the details of. The wards are still in place and have been checked - I can assure you there is no possible way that Miss Granger will be aware of them - several of the Knights were taken there blindfolded as you requested and not one of the five felt any change through the barrier. They have been placed in holding cells at your bequest and will be catered for until which time you are able to visit and deal with them accordingly for the insubordination they committed towards both myself and about you My Lord. If Miss Granger is indeed at the house in Chelsea, I wish to know what your requests are in regards to her safety and/or how you would like me to sway her away from the traitor whom I believe is in love with her. I would like to request informing the Wizengamot of what is occurring in Malfoy Manor sooner than planned? The traitor should be with his Father in Azkaban rotting like the vermin he is. Bandeau.’ I wondered where in this parchment I would locate the good news apart from the thought of Weasley being tortured by his own sibling. I could only hope that the bastard survived so that I may continue in such treatment to remind him that he was low down the food chain within the Knights. Miss Granger had fallen for the bait. Which meant I could take a nice little trip to the Muggle area of London where I would no doubt find her and play a few games with that clever mind of hers. Foolish chit had fallen right into my trap and I would enjoy tearing her apart.

[frenchybell]

Angel Wings and Demon Smoke

Pairings: None

Characters: Angel!Reader, Alastair, Cas, Dean, Sam (Listed in order of appearance)

Warnings: Language, TORTURE, angst, TORTURE, blood, TORTURE, wishing for death, TORTURE, very light fluff. Oh, and did I mention torture?

Words: 2,321

I tried to get away. I broke free for only a second, but it was enough time for me to run. Unfortunately, I didn’t get very far before my kidnapper’s hand wrapped into my hair, yanking me back onto the ground. Breathing was impossible as the air left my lungs at the impact, leaving me gasping. As I laid there on my back, bloody and beaten, unable to move, I just knew my life was over.

My captor leaned over me, his rancid breath mere inches from my face, laughing. My vision blurred around him, I must’ve hit my head when I went down. The last thing I remembered was him grabbing my hair once more and dragging me deeper into the dank pit I’d just escaped from. My fight was done; I would hunt no more. After the past week of torture, part of me welcomed the ease of death; the release of death.

Things don’t always happen the way you expect them to. That was a lesson I learned long ago as a hunter. See, I’d expected to die that night, to escape the hell I was living in, if torture and beatings could be counted as living. But it seemed my tormentor knew a thing or two about angels. The first thing he’d done was take my grace.

As I came to, it was the first thing I saw sitting on a small ledge in front of me, it’s soft blue glow only adding to my agony. The rough rope that bound my wrists above me had cut off all circulation to my hands; all I felt was cold. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and pain coursed through my body with every breath, stretching and pulling at the slices that marred my skin.

I knew they wanted something from me, but even after days of their unending abuse, they had yet to ask a single question. It seemed as if they derived pleasure only from my pain. If only they’d kill me, then I’d return to Heaven. I’d gladly take any punishment my brothers and sisters would dish out at my abandonment over this hellish existence.

The heavy door to the side of the room creaked open, the strident sound of the hinges echoed through the room, making me grit my teeth at what was to come. As if to elongate my suffering, he took his time, relishing my discomfort. At last, he stood before me, a blade in his hand.

I met his eye, refusing to back down. Now that I’d seen his face, any hope of release that I may have harbored died a quick death. His tousled dark hair and scruffy countenance bespoke of a lack of personal hygiene, but the hate in his eyes was what really confused me. Why the hate? I’d done nothing to this man, nothing to deserve the way I’d been treated.

As if to taunt me, he ran the blade along my jaw, a sinister smile on his face. Again, the blade made a path across my cheek bones, not cutting, just teasing. My eyes never left his during his endeavor to make me cower in fear.

Realizing that I wouldn’t be the one to break, he deftly sliced into the fleshy part of my arm, causing me to whimper at last. It was a small victory for him, but one, it seemed, he was glad to claim. He stepped away from me then, leaning against the wall right next to where my grace sat.

After a moment, he finally spoke; his voice gruff and full of gravel. “You filthy angels think everything revolves around you and your Heaven. Well, I’m here to tell you that it does not. You think what I’ve done to you for this past week was bad? Sweetheart, you have no idea. The man with a plan should be here shortly; he’ll put you in your place. You can count on that.” He sneered, his teeth a stark contrast with the darkness of his beard. The look in his eye was one of madness, which did in fact scare me, but I’d never let him know it.

On his way from the room, he kicked my legs out from under me. The pain in my arms was indescribable, almost causing me to black out again. I scrambled to regain my footing, sighing when my dead limbs no longer beared the brunt of my weight.

I’m not sure how long I stood there, just staring at my grace, wishing I could just have it back. If only I could get to it somehow, I could escape this and show that man a thing or two about torture. What he’d done to me would be child’s play compared to the wrath I’d unleash on him.

What seemed to be hours went by with no more appearances by anyone. At some point I dozed off; a human’s need for sleep overcoming me. I wasn’t asleep for long before the door slammed open on its hinged, startling me from a fitful rest.

The same man entered, but the difference in him was striking. Not only was he clean shaven and neat in appearance, but his countenance had changed. Wearily, I watched him casually stroll in until he stood in front of me, tugging his new suit into place with a dark smirk on his lips.

“Hello, darling. You and I will be spending a lot of time together for a while. Hope you don’t mind; I brought my own bag of tricks. The one who use to inhabit this body lacked vision and finesse in the art of torture, but I am here to rectify that.”

That’s when I noticed the satchel he carried. A chill raced over my spine as I met his gaze once more. The soft brown orbs I’d grown use to had been replaced by a pristine white. There was only one being I knew of with white eyes.

“Hello, Alastair.” I stated, my voice cracking from disuse. “They finally decided to break out the big guns, I see.”

He scoffed. “Silence, girl. You’ll soon be screaming enough under my knives.” He sat the bag down against the wall nearby before backhanding me.

My head snapped to the side with the impact and I spat blood onto the dirty concrete floor, only adding to what already stained it. “You know, it might be helpful to know what exactly I’m being tortured for. So far, your vessel has only succeeded in irritating me.”

Perversely, he chuckled. “That part is easy. We want to know where the gates of Heaven are being hidden and we believe you can lead us there.”

I started laughing. They’d spent all this time trying to break me down for me to give them information that I did not have. I couldn’t help it; not even the pain that wracked my body could contain my incredulousness at my situation. This didn’t seem to amuse the demon standing before me.

Harshly, he punched me in the stomach, cutting off my hopeless mirth with anger. While I was still trying to catch my breath, he cut the rope binding me to the ceiling. Swiftly, he picked up his bag and led me on shaky legs down a long corridor, not giving me a chance to even contemplate escape.

When we reached a large, well lit room, I decided then was my chance. I thought I could make it back to my prison, nab my grace and be out of here before they even had time to sound the alarm. It didn’t work out that way. As I raced to the still open door, Alastair came behind me forcing me head first into the wall and into unconsciousness.

Before I even opened my eyes, I could see the bright lights of the room searing through my eyelids. I couldn’t move, that was the first sign that I was really in trouble; not an arm; not a leg; not even my head. I’d only caught a glimpse of the contraption situated in the center of the room, but I knew I was now strapped to it.

I kept my eyes closed, listening for any sound that would give me some clue as to what to expect. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the sound of water dripping; an irksome repetition that assaulted my ears the longer I heard it. Footsteps, heavy and even reverberated through the room, coming closer with every step.

“I know you’re awake, dear girl. May as well quit feigning. It’s time to get this show started, and you’re my main star. Oh, the sounds you’ll make for me.”

My eyes flew open as Alastair sliced deep into my thigh. I couldn't help it; I screamed with everything I had in me. The sound bounced off the walls around the cavernous room, amplifying my pain. My naked body met my view. The meat of my leg was splayed open and seeping dark crimson blood.

Alastair laughed then, a sound of glee that told me volumes about his love of inflicting pain. “Is there anything you want to say? If only you'd tell me what I want to know, I'd end this quickly; granted that would take away from my fun.”

Between panting breaths I managed to meet his eye. “Fuck you. I don't know where it is! You're wasting your time.”

He stuck his blade back into my wound, scraping against the bone. Try as I might, I couldn't keep from shrieking and thrashing fruitlessly against the straps of the wrack. All the while a sick smile rode his lips.

I don't know how long this went on; ages it seemed. Alastair took his time slicing into my flesh, eliciting the most pain possible with every swipe of his knives. I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to take it before I finally would die on his table.

He leaned down close to my ear. “Didn't I tell you I'd be getting those delicious screams? You know how to end this. I could go on forever like this; bringing you the most pain possible without the benefit of death to get in the way.”

Just as I was about to give up and make up some fictitious location a loud crash sounded through the room, interrupting Alastair’s next slice into my torn flesh.

“That's enough, Alastair. She doesn't have the information you seek, but I do.”

I strained against the strap that held my head in place, needing to see who entered. I was barely able to make out the shape of a man in a trench coat, but that was all I needed; Castiel.

Blade in hand, Alastair charged the angel who was too fast for him. Cas knocked the blade away with one swift move, leaving Alastair unarmed. The fight moved more into my line of sight, the two of them scrambling to gain the upper hand on the other. For only a moment, I thought Cas would end him. Then Alastair slammed him into the wall, much the way he'd done me before.

Cas fell in a heap, and so did my hopes of rescue. That was until another man entered the room and made a beeline for the demon. Quick punches landed on each man until Alastair again gained the upper hand, beating the man senseless until he too fell. Right on his heels, a taller man came in, pinning his adversary to the wall in a fit of rage.

This whole time, I watched, leery of the outcome. My wounds ached and I could still feel the blood leaving my body to run in thick rivulets down my body. I could do nothing as mind mind went foggy, my vision blurring before I fell into blackness once more.

My body arched painfully off of the floor as I took a great gasping breath. Warmth flooded through my system as I sensed my grace being returned to me.

It wasn't normally this painful to have your grace restored. Each wound that had been inflicted on my body healed slowly; like a cut in reverse. I felt Cas’s grace tangle with mine and the pain disappeared.

Finally whole again, I sat up, taking in three sets of worried eyes before me as the weight of my wings settled back into place against my back. A split second later I gasped, covering my nakedness as best I could with my hands. I knew the effort was futile; they'd seen everything there was to see of me already.

Without a word, Cas shrugged out of his trench coat, handing it to me. Once it was securely wrapped around me, I met his eye.

“Thank you, Cas. For everything.”

A soft, turned smile curved his lips. “No need to thank me, Y/N. It's just good to know you're alive. We’ll talk more about that later, right now let's get out of here. This is Dean and Sam.” He wrapped his arm around me then and steered me toward the door.

Dean fell into step beside me, an odd glint in his eye. “You know, I've seen a few naked angels in my time, but none as hot as you.”

“Keep dreaming, Winchester. Your reputation precedes you.” I smiled a real smile for the first time in a week. “But if you play your cards right, maybe.” I winked as I walked away, leaving him standing with a dumbfounded look on his face.

The past week had been hell for me. All I knew then was that somewhere out there, demons were planning to storm the gates of Heaven. I may not have been a part of heaven in ages, but I knew it was up to me to stop them. Maybe now, with the help of Castiel and his friends, I’d actually be able to do something about it.

Forever tags:

@impala-dreamer, @babypieandwhiskey, @xxwinchester-22xx, @wevegotworktodo, @chelsea072498, @mamaredd123, @ashleymalfoy, @dr-dean, @curliesallovertheplace, @tardis-is-mine, @thefangirl54, @pumacat69, @nerdy-devils-bride, @kazchester-fanfiction, @goldentippedtimephoenix, @jensensjaredsandmishaslover, @vote-for-pedro, @bringmesomepie56, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @kittycat-cas, @moonstonemystyk, @kristaparadowski, @summer-binging-spn, @percywinchester27, @grace-for-sale, @winchesterprincessbride, @jensen-jarpad, @tmccarney, @idreamofhazel, @atc74, @inmysparetime0, @wayward-mirage, @wi-deangirl77, @pixikinz, @the-latina-trickster, @hamartiamacguffin, @purgatoan

Extra Tags: @gemini75eeyore, @ellen-reincarnated1967

[shaneestumbler]

This Year's Cake: How's That For the Icing On the Birthday Cake?

When I look back and saw all that I gave even when I had so, so little to a person who did not care or appreciate my efforts- I was never good enough- it makes me wonder how I’d be with someone who reciprocated. One day when I have more than so little to give to someone who cares, how special would that be? To love someone who also loved me… Since I had so much to give even when I had nothing, giving my all was just the standard. I wondered how much more and how much more beautiful and lovely it would be to have someone who loves, cares, and appreciates me. I know that what little I had was not enough for you- it was never good enough- but it makes me yearn for something better, more loving and true. For a true love, happily I will wait as I could never anticipate another sustained abuse pro-bono service relationship that added me up to nothing, hardly adequate, and not good enough to be loved causing much more damage than good. So unbearable was I to you that all the love I gave you- you reproved, you even had proof; my painful scars and unhealed wounds. The testimony of my heart you used to prove just how unlovable I was, especially to you. Everyone I ever loved and surely you were no exception all had a mouthful of cruelty to spew and batter me with word’s weapons. I cannot say they didn’t hurt as words are one’s best weapon, they conquer and destroy a man to teach him kind of love’s best lesson. You beat me. I hope you are happy that you win. You beat me hard and you beat me down, and down I went without a sound. I know too well what it feels like going down without a fight to go down without a fight and have nothing to show but a losing plight and as I’m down on the ground grasping for my last ounce of dignity and gasping for my last breath of self respect you show for me no remorse and for any ounce or last desperate breath another dagger you would dig it even deeper in my chest. You sure showed me that I was not good enough and certainly not meant to be roughed up, though you blame me for the battery and abuse I do recognize that you just need an excuse. Beaten to a bloody pulp and left for nearly dead were the reasons you gave for an apology that is still left unsaid. You used the bruises and the physical violence to make me suffer into subservience and silence. Physical violence and domestic abuse are all the examples you used as reproof to reprove all that I am, all of the love, and all of everything that I had to give. You sure showed me what you thought I’d deserve as you exclaimed what I should expect as for what you had in store, you sure showed me that you really had it out for me. The unimaginable and unbearable pain you inflicted upon me to use such excrutiating examples of physical abuse, obediently standing there face-to-face I looked at you with love in my eyes and a smile on my face, to stand I stood and I took more, and endured even more torment in the torrent of another argument, another one of your emotionally battering upheavals; to suffer through the undescribable pain of another hurtful tirade; not far from what they call “emotional rape”. Such a low blow ever did you strike, you took your best shot and you got me real good, but to make sure you didn’t miss your shot with a bullet deadset on me two wasn’t enough so you went for round three. It was not the first strike you took out on me, and harder with a vengeance they came more frequently, it seemed as though the job would never be done when all I asked was for an apology. But how dare I have the audacity to expect a long past due apology. Not able to comprehend is the one who condescends to throw me under the bus is where you had to go and throw me again for such a suggestion. Belittling, berating, condescending, comparing and degrating me with dead-end arguments that never went anywhere, you had to show me that you owe me nothing. So maybe I had to learn the hard way but learn very well I did indeed the difference between what you said and did to me. This is how I came to know your love, and just how much I meant to you. Though the world was everything that you meant to me and everything is all I ever had to give so freely for all of the love given not only was it left unrequitted but you admitted I deserved the acts of physical violence and used them against me to justify another excuse for your unrelenting verbal abuse. As if to say, well everybody beats you up and even your own mom abused you see, it’s because you deserve it. Why else would you be subjected to physical violence and domestic abuse. See, you deserve it and there is the proof. Unimaginable and unbearable was the pain I suffered through from those kind of remarks. After a while and the sooner you realize that the person is a bully the better so you can distance yourself, ignore, and try your very very best not to let them get to you anymore. From that I did learn that the worst things can happen to even the best people. The day I decided to walk away was one of the happiest days of my life. From the outside it may not have looked so pretty. I broke up with him the day before my birthday because I want this year to be one of the best years of my life and my relationship was not going to get any better than that. For all the smiles I had to muster and for trying as hard as I could with every fiber in my body to not let it hurt an ache inside of me so painful that no words could ever shake the raw tenderness of the bloodshed of my 10 times over battered black and blue broken heart that was pulled out of my chest only to be stamped on all over again and again and again through the verbal, psychological, and emotional abuse with every fiber of my body, mind, and, soul did it take me to withstand it quietly as I smiled and nodded my head as if he was doing me some great service. For all the things I did not and could not say for the past 10 months at the brunt of such massive displays of disrespect and cruelty I saved it for my one liner in which I told him that “all I want for my Birthday is for you to get the fuck out of my life!!! For once and for all!!!” (In a text message). So I believe I take the cake this year, it would only be fair considering it was all I wanted for my birthday. As for my wish, I only wish to help others in situations similar to mine that may not be able to escape the silent prison that emotional/psychological abuse is. I got to celebrate my birthday in my own way, happy as could be to be able to live my life free from abuse of any kind. I cannot express the gratitude within my heart that is bursting with thankfulness to be free of that. I see how close I came to not being so lucky as that was just the very beginning and who knows how bad it would have gotten? He said the arguing would stop. I believed him. He said he would change. I believed him. But after 10 months the arguing did NOT stop. Every week I had to ask myself WHY I BELIEVED HIM, AGAIN. I wanted to believe him when he said he would change and told me the arguments would stop. But LITERALLY EVERY WEEK after hearing the same thing, no longer could I hold on to hope. The fighting WAS NEVER OKAY. WE FOUGHT TOO MUCH. IT WAS A PROBLEM (for me). THE PROBLEM WITH HIM IS THAT HE SAW NO PROBLEM. He really thinks it’s okay to treat me that way. It is absolutely NOT okay and under no circustances is it acceptable to willfully cause someone pain and suffering. UNACCEPTABLE. Further, for him to use the physical violence I suffered as an excuse for his verbal abuse is just maddening and mind-blowing. So it was just a thought I had when I finally broke free and started feeling like myself again to open up a hug center and offer hugs to people regardless of what they are going through like free hugs for everyone. I like really needed a hug after that. No one deserves to be treated like that- treated without love or respect. He still has excuses, blame, and no good reason for treating me like shit. So I am happy to have begun a new year of my life free from abuse of any kind and wish to help others that are in or have been in situations similar to mine. The main thing to remember is that people like him NEVER CHANGE. After beating the same dead horse for 10 months with those dead-end arguments and on a weekly basis feeling exhausted, physically spent, emotionally and mentally drained from the psychological warfare of that kind of abuse, it was high time to realize that he was NOT going to change. It may sound sad but it is not. The day I broke free was one of the happiest days of my life, what would have been sad would have been if I didn’t. The worse he got the more I showered him with adoration, basically bowing down to worship the ground he walked on. I have honestly felt that his blatant outward display of disrespect may have made a person who overheard FLINCH. The bottom line is I asked him to stop slapping my ass so hard, and not in public, he did it over and over and over and when I asked him not to do it Again he started getting aggressive. I thought it was a joke at first and wanted to laugh when he said, “woman you listen to me” but he did not mean it to be funny, scary enough, he was dead serious. So I had no other choice but to shutup and take it. I kept my mouth shut, my ears stretched, treated him like the king he thought he was and waited until the coast was clear to break free. I cannot express how grateful and thankful I am to be able to have hopefully gotten away. It was time for me to cut my losses and move on, clearly. As was once written by Voltaire, “one must cultivate one’s garden” what this means is that like a flower, in order to grow needs sunshine and water. When we are in toxic relationships they are like weeds overgrowing in a garden stealing the water from the flowers and stifling their growth. Once the weeds, or toxic relationships in this case are removed then the flowers, or in this case the person will flourish. I definitely feel like the sunshine came back into my life and have been happy to be a source of nurture, love, care and nourishment for myself. A relationship should be a well of nourishment, love, care and nurture leaving us feeling rejuvenated and full of life. When the opposite happens and instead we feel drained and exhausted more regularly than not, it would be a really good time to reevaluate the relationship and perhaps realize that we have to weed out the bad to make room for all the good. To top it off, after calling me a "STUPID B*TCH!!!!!!" The following morning he wished me a Happy White Trash Birthday first thing. He then left for Mexico for a week, but before he left I told him I needed $5 to eat. He had borrowed some money from me so I asked if he could pay me back. I have NEVER asked him for money before because I did not need to. He said when he got back he would send a check. He left me in emotional, physical, spiritual, and financial ruin. If I was not able to cash in my change at the CoinStar, I do not know what I would have done to get groceries. It has been confirmed a billion times over how much he does not give a f*ck. There is nothing that could be said to undo those hateful actions. I, myself, say things I don't mean. Who doesn't? But NEVER have my actions SHOWN such a blatant display of HATRED. He does. He contradicts himself. His words mean nothing. His actions say it all. I couldn't care less what he thinks, or how he feels. I am just stoked I don't have to tiptoe around him anymore not knowing what will set him off next. HE HAS SHOWN HIS DISDAIN FOR ME TOO, TOO, TOO WAY TOO MANY TIMES. So whatever it is that may be robbing you of the life you want to live and the life you deserve you must weed it out in order to grow. I wish to be a radiant, beautiful and happy flower that can grow and bloom to my full potential without anymore weeds. Maybe I will open up a hug center some day and maybe I will not, but hugs are great. I love hugs and who wouldn’t need one after that? Xxoo much love to errrbody out there. Peace Love and Happiness to everyone. Give someone you know today a hug. And let people in your life know how special they are. K. Thank you for reading. I survived!!!Please don’t be shy, hit me up anytime!