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away-ward · 2 years

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Hell Yeah

Thoughts got away from me. As a result, here is a willemmy snippet/short fic. It takes place in the spring of Chapter 42, during that time jump.

I can't write anything like Penelope Douglas, and I know I can't nail these characters perfectly, so I feel a little embarrassed putting this out. I most I hope for is that you appreciate the fun of it.

Sorry for any mistakes, and thank you for reading.

Will

The rowdy sounds of laughter fill the large kitchen as everyone gathered once again at St. Killian’s. Mads and Ivars tumble around underfoot while we kick back. Everyone's here, and there isn’t even a good reason. We just naturally gravitate towards our old haunt turned home.

It feels good. Normal, even. These are my people, my family, and for once nothing's wrong. A peace I haven’t felt in years, and at one point thought I’d never have again. It hollers in my chest with each beat of my heart. There's only one thing that beats it…

I smile.

I don’t think the Fanes would be down to let me and Emmy sneak down to the catacombs for a little old-fashioned fun. Not while everyone is here, at least.

Not that we need to ask. Necessarily.

My eyes find Em automatically. She sits at the island, sandwiched between Alex and Rika, her hand supporting her chin as she watches the rapid, easy flowing conversation happening around her with a soft smile. My chest expands at the sight, loving that she’s there, in the middle and not in the corner away from everyone. It took forever to coax her out of those corners.

She’s still quiet though, and sometimes I still can’t tell if that’s her natural pace or if she’s nervous around us. She damn well never gives me a break, always busting me for something.

I love it.

Damon says leave her alone; she’ll speak when she wants to. Not everyone has to say everything that comes to mind like me.

But god, I love hearing her voice. And my heart stops at the sound of her laughter.

“…like that time you left me alone with Anderson five minutes too long,” Rika accuses, blue eyes narrowed at Michael but with none of the venom in her voice.

The guys and I all meet each other’s eyes as we simultaneously recall what happened after we pushed her out of that bathroom. We grin ruefully.

“Anderson?” Emory asks, glancing between Rika and the rest of us at the island. She hasn’t heard this story before and I know why.

It was the last normal night.

My eyes fall, teeth gritting against everything that follows.

She returns to Rika. “He bothered you?”

Rika rolls her eyes, lifting the glass she’s drinking from. “He bothered everyone.”

“And where is he now?” Michael rumbles. His seat is angled toward Rika but still open to everyone. Something passes between them, a shared secret in their own language.

Rika hides a smirk behind her glass.

“Exactly,” Michael finishes, sipping from his own bottle.

I chuckle to myself. The bottom of a river, that's where. It's will he'll stay if I have my way. I share a look with Damon, knowing he's in agreement. Anderson made the mistake of putting Winter's life at risk that night.

He all but signed his death certificate.

Em doesn’t add anything else to that. Her eyes flicker to the counter and she blinks for a moment. I catch her doing this occasionally. When I ask, she says it’s nothing.

But it’s something.

Damon tells me to give her time.

But she’s my wife and, God, I want to know. No secrets. That’s what we promised.

The conversation moves on and on and on, until night has fully taken over. The kids are passed out in the playpen in the living room, Winter’s whispering to Damon, pulling on his jacket sleeve to get him closer to the door, and we all pretend we don’t know what that means.

Banks and Kai start helping to clear the night’s dishes and trash while Rika sees Damon, Winter, and Alex out. Em picks up a large platter, careful not to spill the crumbs from the sandwiches we devoured over the course of the evening. As she turns, Kai is right behind her. I pause from gathering the cups and bottles to watch as he takes the platter from her. It takes a second but she lets him help, smiling as she follows him to the kitchen.

Kai told me what he said to her that night on the train while I was making calls and hiding. He’s apologized for it and Emmy said she accepted it. You’d think after we did later that night and then sharing a wedding, they’d be less awkward. She dived right in after everything and Kai has never been less than welcoming. Despite that, I feel it. This one thing, this crack in our foundation.

They’re trying, I know. It’s not easy to go from hating someone to seeing them as family overnight. But I worry what this will do to us if it continues. I love them both too much to let it happen. Em's my heart and Kai's been my reasoning for too long. I need them both.

Damon slaps my shoulder as his final parting, squeezing it for good measure. He’s the only one I’ve told my thoughts to. He’s not worried. Neither of them are big on talking; they respect actions so they communicate through doing, and that’s what will build their trust.

Though, I don’t think Damon worries about anything these days, except for whatever’s going on with Winter or Ivarson and their next one. Or his plans for Banks and Rika.

Maybe I’m just not ranking high enough on his radar anymore.

I’ll have to do something about that. Can't let him forget that I need him, too.

Rika waves us away when the kitchen is mostly clean. It’s late enough that I suspect she just wants us out of her house.

“If you were smart, you’d buy a secret property that none of us know about,” I tell her as she literally pushes me out the front doors. As usual, I’m the last to leave.

“I might have to,” she grunts, giving me another shove as I let gravity and my larger body give her trouble. “Otherwise, I’ll never get any privacy with my husband. Emory, think you can help?”

Emory rolls her eyes as she comes back up the stone steps. “Moron,” she mumbles, but the warmth in her eyes shakes me to my bones. She takes my hand and it’s like magic, pulling me towards her.

“Finally,” I hear Rika say and the door slam shut but all I can see is a rosy hue on golden skin and the tendons of Em's neck move when she sees me staring.

I laugh, watching as Emmy tries her hardest not to let that perfect smile show as I bring her hand up to my lips. She pretends to try to break away - or maybe she's serious - but it’s useless. No getting free now. She’s mine.

We descend the steps together, her hand in mine. She pushes her hair out of her face and adjusts her glasses. She only wears contacts when she’s working on-site, and I appreciate having free access to her face. I take full advantage, laying kisses across every millimeter while she tries to push me off. Still, her glasses are such a big part of her I’m happy she keeps on them most of the time.

I step towards passenger door of the truck to let her in, but she pulls me to a stop.

“It’s warm,” she says, looking at the sky.

“Yeah?” It’s spring. The weather is perfect. It’s late, but it’s Thunder Bay and I’m Will Grayson. “You wanna walk?”

She nods. I double check that the doors on the truck are locked, not that I’m worried about it.

We walk the same route the guys and I took the night we headed to Michael’s wedding, unknowingly our wedding. Every time it gives me a rush. I still can’t believe she sprang that one on me – just diving in. While I worried that she was changing her mind, she was focused on not wasting any more time. She’s so good at giving me everything I want and nothing I expect.

“What did you guys do to Anderson?” Emory asks as we walk through the center of town, our path lit only by the glow of the street lamps.

It takes a moment for me to remember the conversation from earlier. I don't know if she's asking about the Rika accident or his final moments, not that it matters.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” I look down at her, seeing the way her eyes flicker again. Using our linked hands, I pull her closer to my side forcing her to lean into me. “Why?”

“No reason, just curious. He was always a bit of a jerk.”

I frown, knowing more about him and his girlfriend than I’d like to. It pisses me off that we let them run around so freely after we left for college. But we didn’t know all that he was at the time, just that he pissed us off. “More than a bit, and more than a jerk.”

She snorts bitterly. “Yeah.”

Her response rolls around in my brain for a minute. Anderson was a predator, no two ways about it. If he had the guts to pick on Rika – the town’s sweetheart – and Winter – the mayor’s daughter – then Emory would be an easy target.

“He ever do anything to you?”

Her big dark eyes dart up to me and she gives me this look of disbelief. It’s the look she always gives me when she thinks I’ve asked a dumb question with an obvious answer. And yeah, sometimes the answers are obvious. I’ve only started looking at her past without my blinders so it’s going to take some time.

“But it’s no big deal,” she says with a shrug. “Everyone bothered me.”

I shake my head, angry for not having pieced it together before. Angry at Anderson but more at myself. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve–" I break off with a harsh exhale. That’s a dead-end conversation and I know it.

Em lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Will, who do you think gave them the idea?”

I stop and she stops too, still hanging on to my hand. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, head cocked to the side in confusion. I’m serious, though. When she gets that, she sighs and looks way and squaring her jaw.

I yank on our linked hands, getting her attention back on me. “No secrets,” I tell her. It doesn’t matter that it’s the middle of the night and we’re standing in the middle of the street in the middle of our town. She’s telling me right now.

She raises her brows at the challenge. “Okay, Will. Tell me, what do you think the other students saw when you cornered me in the hallways? When you’d sit in the bed of your truck before school and joke about flipping my skirt? When you’d yank me into your lap or force others to sit away from me so you can have easy access to your mark?”

I remember clearly all the ways I tried to get her attention. I loved that blush that rose to her cheeks, quickly followed by the rush of anger in her eyes. She’s always been fun to tease. Even when she tried new tactics, like ignoring me or avoiding me, they never worked for long. Getting a rise out of her was the best part of my day. Sometimes the only reason I even went to school.

Which reminds me, I never did get to flip that blue skirt. Emmy doesn’t have her old school uniform anymore. Said she burned it the first chance she got after she landed in California. We still have my old tie, though, and I’m thinking Rika might have an in with the school. I’ll definitely pay for it, if that's the case.

She smirks, knowing where my thoughts had taken me, before sobering. “I know why you were doing it,” she says evenly. “But to everyone else, it just looked like I was Will Grayson’s target of the month. For three whole years."

I ground my teeth as she continued.

“Will Grayson, bullying the band geek. Will Grayson, laughing at the scholarship kid. Will Grayson, trying to get into the overalls of the moody, little nerd.”

My jaw clenched. I was trying to get into the overalls of my moody, little nerd. But that’s not all I wanted. And I probably would have killed anyone else who had the guts to try.

Emory swallows, her big eyes blinking at me from behind her glasses. “The other kids saw all that, and thought – well, if you can get away with it, I'm free game. So, they did it too.”

“It’s my fault.” Old news. I was so focused on her I didn’t think of the repercussions. It wasn’t just about her brother; I knew how mean my classmates could be. I brought the worst kind of attention to her and then didn’t shield her. I tried, when I caught it. But I wasn’t around all the time. I should've known there was more.

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “No, Will. I would have been a target anyway. I was a band geek and a scholarship kid, and my brother was a cop. You just made it impossible for me to stay in the background.”

Shit.

“Senior year was the worst,” she added casually, swinging out linked hands between us. “Because I had to deal with their shit and pretend that I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved by you. Martin was particularly hard, I think because he knew his time with me was coming to an end. I felt nothing but hate that year.”

I hate this. I need to hear it. Every story she chooses to share helps me see her better.

I pull her to me, hugging her to my chest and wrapping my arms around her, one around her back, the other winding through her hair. I kiss the top of her head and rest my chin there.

Never again.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” I vow into her hair. “Every day.”

I feel her shift against me, her hands running up my sides and under my shirt. They’re hot when they meet my bare skin. My heart jumps to my throat.

“Yes, every day,” she agrees. Her head tilts up until she’s looking at me. We meet eye to eye with how much I'm leaning over her. I can feel her breath against my lips and takes everything not to give into the pull. “Because now, I’m going to be your bully.”

I swallow, not even going to pretend I don’t respond to that; to the way she’s looking at me, as if I’m her next meal. God, yes.

She uses her hands at my sides to push me back until my back meets the brink wall of one of the closed businesses. It bites into my back but I can’t feel anything except her. Her lips form a wicked smile as they ghost around my neck and jaw, heating my skin.

She's testing my patience, something she's always been good at.

“I’m going to be the one shoving you into dark corners, and staring at you during your pick-up games with the boys. Distracting you.”

I try to move my hands to her hips, her ass, to bring her closer but she grips my wrist and pins them to the wall at my sides.

“Don’t play,” I groan, “you always stared at me during my games.”

“It was the uniform.”

My chest rumbles with the deep chuckle. “I know it was. I know a thing or two about uniforms, remember.” Yeah, I’m definitely getting one of those blue Thunder Bay Prep school uniforms. At least the skirt. She’s gonna let me flip it at least once.

She scoffs and I feel it everywhere. “I’m going to catcall you when I’m working in town with Damon, so that everyone knows who you're going home to. And I’m going to whisper the most delicious things in your ear, you’re going to wonder if I’m even real.”

I lean forward, trying to capture her lips but she moves out of the way. Her hands keep me pressed against the wall. I could easily overpower her, but this is it. This is everything I want.

This is everything I need.

Quiet, little Emory Grayson, making demands about what she wants. She looks so bored half the time, but right now she staring at me like she’s got plans for me.

And it's all for me.

We're going to be okay. I can already feel our foundation becoming stronger.

“Yeah,” she says, her lips finally connecting with my jaw and it feels like all pressure in me releases and triples at the same time. “You’re going to make it up to me, alright.”

“Hell, yeah,” I sigh as her warmth sinks in.

Master List

#devil's night series #devils night series #willemmy #nightfall #emory scott #will grayson iii #my fic #penelope douglas

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

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Seven Devils

AO3 <<<Previous

Day 7

You woke up to the smell of burning. The cold floor you had fallen asleep on was beginning to warm, indicating how hot the inferno had gotten. You quickly got up, grabbing the rosary and the dagger on your way to the door. Gathering all your strength you gave the door a hard kick, the rotting wood crumbling away and giving you the space to get out of your little prison. Immediately your hit with the heat, it was as if you had opened an oven while at its hottest, making your eyes water a little. You bolted down the corridor towards the dorms, you hoped everyone had gotten out by now. Bursting into the room you tried to wake all your classmates in the room. No one would wake. It was as if everyone was under a spell. This wasn’t a good sign.

The smell of burning got stronger, the heat rising. The heartbeat you had heard all week got lounder, its thrumming seeming to echo into the deepest parts of your mind, all consuming.

You knew what you had to do, to finish this once and for all. You ran out of the room, towards the courtyard. An axe was leaned against one of the arches, you took it. The heartbeat got louder the closer you got to the tree. You could feel it in the bottoms of your feet as you stood before it. You took a deep breath, before swinging the axe into the tree.

It bled.

The sap was a dark crimson but that didn’t stop you. Crows had surrounded you, pecking and diving at you but it was as if you were possessed, swinging the axe until the tree fell backwards. You dropped the axe and fell to your knees, breathing wildly in exhaustion. You could feel the sap on your bare knees, the stickiness making your skin crawl. You finally turned your attention to the stump. You could see the box in the cavity, snakes forming a defence around it. They hissed as your hands reached towards it. You paid them no mind, using your own hands to uncoil them from the box.

You finally held the box in your hands. Your hands vibrating with the pulse inside. You pulled your rosary from around your neck, placing it in the cavity. It clicked in place, moving the mechanics of the lock system. The lid creaked open slowly.

You gagged at the contents, but they were exactly what you expected. You pulled it out and discarded the box. You held Michael Langdon’s beating heart in the palms of your hands. You sat and stared at it, mesmerised by the organ pulsing without a body.

The sound of falling, burning timber finally snapped you out of your daze. You had to act fast. The only way to end this would be to burn his heart at the altar. You got up and ran towards the burning half of the building. It hadn’t reached the dorms yet, but you had to act fast.

The heat inside the building was unbearable, you were surrounded by flames from all sides. The smoke tickling your throat and making you cough.

The door to the chapel had been burned away. The flames slowly crawling towards the alter but you still had time. The holy candles were still burning. Your vision started to blur as you walked closer to the marble. Your movements became staggered. With shaky hands, you finally placed the heart into the paten. A few pieces of communion bread still in the vessel. You emptied out the little bottle of anointing oil into it, just for good measure. You staggered towards the candle, moving was becoming harder. The wax dripped onto your hand as you moved it towards the paten. With the last of your strength, you brought the flame down to catch the oil.

The paten burst into a violent flame, throwing you onto your back. A black smoke filled the room, clouding your vision and filling your lungs. You moved to your hands and knees, coughing violently. You would have screamed if you could breathe. The floor was crawling with snakes. They slithered over your hands and ankles. You finally raised your head to look at the source, the alter. The smoke had begun to clear up. The silhouette of a tall man could be seen. He began to slowly step forward.

You saw his blue eyes first. So familiar, yet the rage inside them made your skin crawl. You looked down in fear, watching his shoes move closer. The fine leather was right in front of you now. The smell of cinnamon assaulting your senses. He squatted down to you. His ringed hand painfully gripped your chin, moving your head to finally make eye contact with him.

It was the face that had haunted your dreams for the past six nights, grinning at you.

“My my Y/N why is it when we meet, you are always on your knees?” You whimpered in reply. This isn’t how you planned it. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

The screams of women broke through your thoughts.

Your friends.

The fire must have travelled.

You tried to move towards them, but Michael had his feet on your hands. Crushing them and keeping you in place. “Let go of me!” you cried out, feeling like your bones would snap at any minute. Michael just snarled, grabbing you by your neck and throwing you onto the hot marble. You hissed at the feeling. “I can assure you; the fires of hell are much worse than this.” Your dream flashed through your mind. You tried to reach for the blade you carried, but Michael quickly took it out of your hand, snapping your wrist in the process. “This ended differently last time. I won’t let it happen again,” he growled. You looked up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. The heat made the paint of the frescoes melt into grotesque images; the screams of your peers seemed to get louder. “Music to my ears,” Michael said, closing his eyes and relishing in the heat and pain. “How?” was the only thing you could choke out. He reached over to the candles, holding it so you could see the base. Some sort of demonic seal was stamped into the wax. “Not a single holy candle has burned in this chapel since I took over all those years ago. No one’s ever checked,” he shrugged.

The screaming finally stopped. You knew what it meant, a sob shaking your body. The symbols and scripture carved into the arches and ceiling of the convent were never meant to protect. The realisation washing over your face. Father Langdon only laughed, as if he had been told the funniest joke. “If only people still valued prophetic dreams like they did back then. But I won’t give you the privilege of being a martyr this time St Maria Y/N,” he sang the last part.

His nails had turned claw-like, tearing straight through the fabric of your clothing. Leaving you bare on the burning alter before him. You were sure the smell of burning flesh was from you.

The timber of the chapel began to collapse around you, always narrowly missing you. His hand finally let go of your neck, leaving a collar of bruises behind. His hands ran up and down your body, pinching and groping every inch. The events of tonight had left you paralysed and numb to everything.

“Let me help you fully enjoy the sin of lust this time. God has no use for your body now.”

The heat had gotten to you, you could no longer fight to stay awake. You let your eyes shut, the sound of laughing being the last thing you heard.

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Fire destroys historic convent of St. Maria Y/N, again: No survivors. One missing

////

The fire spread through the world. Two lifetimes worth of memories kept you quiet most of the time. You could only cry. The blond man just laughed.

AN: Thank you all for reading, finally another story done! I’m not sure if im totally happy with the ending but i hope it was good enough for my readers! Until next time!

#My writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #SD7

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hauntedelation · 4 years

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Asunder

Description: There was a churning Michael’s gut that morning. He stretched in his bed and felt as if there was something dark, something breathing over his neck. Something waiting to waiting to lunge.

And he wasn't sure if he would ever be prepared.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: This is the finale to the what I want to say is greatest creative journeys that I have been on. I want to thank @hope-to-hell for showing me and @feralrunaway how wonderfully Mike and Walter go together, and for being the reason this all started.

Both of y'all push me to be a better writer every time I go at it. Thanks guys.

This is a very depressing one. The warnings in this are serious, and I do not wish for anyone to read where they could feel uneasy or uncomfortable.

Please enjoy. If you are reading this, thank you for all of the engagement, the comments and reblogs, and just following along! 💞 I proofread, I hope it reads alright!

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: serious warnings ahead!! homophobia, emotional abuse, self-hatred, angst, big sad feelings with this one

➽─────────────❥

There was a pond located just outside St. Peter’s Cathedral. The water was always still, especially so early in the morning. The body stretched around the side of the large building clear to the back.

A small number of trees stood around the perimeter, arching toward the water. Lily pads and tall strands of grass sprouted about the surface as well.

In that little ecosystem, you could hear frogs’ croak and crickets’ chirp until the remnants of night hung onto the day. The area seemed to house all kinds of local animals.

One thing Michael never noticed before about this pond, was that it was home to the occasional family of ducks and even swans.

That dreary morning, after the rain fell and everything was developing in a fog, he sat. His eyes were irritated and sore, but through his thick lashes, he could see.

He took a seat in one of the less used halls of the cathedral, further away on the southern side, hands clutching a crumpled sheet of paper.

The window had a view of one part of the pond. This small part was where, next to a tree, appeared two white swans. They had begun gliding slowly across the surface of the water, performing a dance of sorts, before coming to a stop centimeters away.

One swan placed the side of their head to the other, closing the distance between the two. They found each other in a tender embrace and continued to float motionless about the fog.

Michael's eyes followed the two swans and watched how their beaks never broke from the proximity of another.

He attempted to pull his eyes away, an ache climbed itself into his stomach. His eyes burned hotter than they have been for the past couple of hours. Mike couldn't...

His head drifted toward the floor, the weight between his shoulders nearly taking him out of his seat. In the silence of that hallway, Michael could pick up the ticking of his watch, the seconds’ hand clicked a measured rhythm.

In an anxious fever, he tilted his wrist to take a look—hardly a minute has passed.

Mike's hand returned to its previous position, pressing down on his bouncing knee and suppressing the frantic movement of the leg. But, with all of his effort inside, he had not found a permanent way to settle his nerves.

The paper was withering in the fist of his other hand, small tears and rips littered the edges of the shape.

Michael couldn't let go of the sheet in his hand. As the moments passed him by, it remained in his fist, the grip around it growing tighter. He subconsciously wrapped that same hand around his middle. He took his other hand off of his jittery knee to hug his body.

If he pinched the skin of his arm, would he be able to feel anything? Was all of the apprehension as bothersome externally as it was internally?

Would he be as numb as he felt that time in the hospital?

That seemed so far away, it was a time where he would wake up and not even feel the sensation of his nails gliding across his skin. All of his senses were on delay and everything felt muted.

So what if?

Michael pinched the skin on his side through the sweater. Yes, he could feel the pull, he could feel the faint jolt of discomfort shoot from that spot to the other parts of his body.

The young man never wanted anything more than to take that feeling away from himself.

He wanted to take everything away, all of the suffocating breaths, the searing in his eyes, the ache in his clenched jaw. He wanted to forget what it felt like to hold this—this weight settling inside him.

Michael wanted to erase his mistakes and wipe away the memory of himself from these walls. Everything that man commanded him to do.

It was right after the break of dawn, merely a quarter of six o’clock passing by. Bishop Daniel Franklin arrived to silently interrupt his studies, knocking on the door and giving a sideways glance at Mike's current instructor.

He placed his book and pencil down, eyes watching his instructor's for a moment before they gave him a nod. This had been just enough for Mike, but with the benign expression on the old man's face, he felt confusion swell inside of him.

It was not as if he could deny the request, the demand of someone so high up in the church.

He was led to the western wing in the house of worship, following after the white and cream-colored robe, observing the way the fabric partially dragged on the pristine floors.

The sun was starting to rise when the Bishop began.

"Michael—" the old Bishop had stopped to peer behind Mike's shoulders before continuing. His face grew dour, eyes falling back to the curate's face. He waited a long while before quietly slithering out,

"I know what it is that you are doing. Michael, don't think that I am blinded."

At the time, the young man was not sure of what he was getting at, no alarm bells sounded off. How naive he was to not have caught on sooner.

He remembers gazing down at him and a pinch pulled at his brows before sending his reply, "Bishop Franklin, I'm sorry but, I don't know if I understand what you're talking about."

His voice remained calm and ever-so questioning, for this had come out of nowhere.

Michael remembered that he slipped his hands in his pockets and felt the strange cloud of uncertainty seep into his brain. He knew that within the church, he was the most hard-working, and understood enough that he followed everyone's orders appropriately.

With most of the people there, he was able to cordially get along with them. Not even the people who doubted him in the beginning seemed to show animosity toward Mike.

He thought that Bishop Franklin was one of those people. It was in his mind that the old man turned his feelings around about him.

Michael never forgot the stares he received when he first walked in those church doors. They had lasted for several months, close to every time he was in the Bishop's presence. And yet, as of recently it was this man who congratulated Mike on all of the work he put in, how far the young man had come.

The old man's claw dug out a sheet of paper. The man read through the contents, promptly spitting out each word.

"'Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God's'—I don't need to say anymore. And, I find it impossible to ignore the handwriting of a man who has worked under me for the better part of ten years now."

How could he have been so foolish?

"Whatever is going on, whatever has been going on is irrevocably unacceptable. It is a festering pustule on the face of God. And he, he has the audacity to mention his glory in this—this love letter?"

Michael was quite sure that in some way he was still in his bed, still laying on a pillow and sweating through another nightmare.

The blue in his eyes began to trace the same colored ink on that paper.

"I have the right mind to disbar Mr. Marshall from this church...To make sure of his exclusion from any facility."

His eyes shot open wide.

Michael reached out; he didn't know why but for any drop of protest inside of him, he gathered it all and reached his right hand out to the old man.

Please. He wanted to say, 'Please just listen to me,' yet his voice betrayed him. As if that would have helped in any way.

Bishop Franklin stepped back, balling up the note in his fingers and tossing it dismissively in the curate's direction.

"I want you out of here...I want you out of here before the noon service today or I will expose the vile behavior that you and he have been engaging in. I will make sure that he never receives another position for as long as he lives."

Michael's eyes had followed after where that paper landed, the balled-up note bounced off of his chest and fell to the ground, right next to the Bishop's feet.

He forced his lids shut while he blocked back more phrases from his mind, willing that memory of his to close up more. There had been a lot, and in the wake of his delirium, they played on a broken record.

Mike knew that they would stick, for a long time.

In his peripheral, he could see a blanket of white shift, and the man's feet step out of their previous position, kicking the paper. He had forgotten about the evidence entirely.

"It is, of course, your decision...A bus will be arriving at the front gates by 11:15 and taking you to another location—another..."

His ears picked up the man begin to glide away from him.

Under the old man's breath,

"You should have never been accepted into this building. I don't know how the flames of hell haven't swallowed you up yet."

➽─────────────❥

The young man did return to the classroom, following the confrontation. Michael shakingly picked up that tattered sheet of paper, and walked back to where he originally was that morning.

On his way to the room, Michael thought back to the day he received this cherished paper.

The note was slipped to him on one of the tables in the library, while he and Walter both sat studying scripture.

Michael had his books opened and several pages of annotated notes. His nose was deep in the opened pages for the better part of an hour.

He decided to take a break and shut all of the covers, fingers rubbing at his strained eyes. When he had gone to stretch his back, Walter wasn't anywhere in his sight.

It wasn't until he felt a warm hand slip along his back that he was made aware of where that man was. Mike flashed a bleary grin, he knew that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself if he tried.

On the table in front of him sat a small folded-up sheet of paper. At first, it appeared to him as one of his note cards, but when he heard the older priest whisper to him, "Read it," he did.

“Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s…The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.” —WM

Michael took his index finger and gingerly brushed over those written words, feeling the slight indentation at the strokes. With each touch of his skin to the paper, he could feel an anomalous emotion penetrating his soul.

"What do you think?" Walter asked him. The man appeared slightly anxious for his reply having shown with the absentminded play with the hair on Michael's nape.

"I-I really like this…" he tilted his head back and gazed up at the bearded man, "—I didn't know that you were a poet, Walter."

His tone was teasing but for a second there Father Marshall saw a tint along his cheekbones. He waited for a second or two before telling Michael that those words did not come from him, but from a man named Herman Melville—to another man, Nathanial Hawthorne.

Michael's eyes were big when he watched Walter's face, not saying a word but his lips parting at that final phrase.

"Herman, the author for Moby Dick, had an intense fondness for Nathaniel...this is an excerpt from a letter by Herman to him."

Walter leant down and pressed his lips against Michael's jaw, inhaling deeply. He let his hand rest in the curate's lap, simply feeling the heat of his body.

"I found these words and felt…felt an unfeigned connection with them."

Mike listened to the voice of Walt and took in the weight of each word.

The young man always hung onto every word he said, regardless if it was a Catholic teaching or helpful advice. That day there was a shift between them, one that was felt but had never needed to be said.

Walter opened a piece of himself to Mike and the young man willingly followed in.

He pocketed the paper that day. His hand found Walt's larger one, and he squeezed the digits in his. Mike brought Walter's fingers up to his lips and held them there for a brief moment.

"It's beautiful, thank you, Walter."

➽─────────────❥

The rain had picked back up at around 9:45 a.m., hitting Michael's bedroom window with an irregular tapping. His eyes watched the droplets fall down the pane while he placed his clothes and shoes into a black suitcase.

Time drifted in and out of his focus, he hadn't paid close enough attention until he saw the hour and minute hand.

Additionally, Mike wasn't sure if he was grasping the situation entirely. He could feel his mind repeating everything that morning, and he knew those same words sank into the depths of his brain.

He understood what he was to do, but his body protested.

Mike glanced around and tried his best to gauge what he should take, what could fit in that bag.

He stopped. There he stood silently by his bookshelf, considering where it was that he was to be transferred to. The discomfort of the unknown began to poke and prod at Michael. His thoughts kicked into overdrive.

Michael knew that this place was somewhere close to four hours away, he thinks the town was Westview? Westlake, Minnesota?

He hadn't a clue of what this facility's history was, what they were exactly known for in the world of priesthood.

What if he was sent to a far more authoritarian church; one where he wasn't allowed outside contact with anyone, where he couldn't write his mother or—connect with anyone like he had here?

Michael's grip on the book in his hand grew iron tight. Surely, Bishop Franklin wouldn't say anything about him?

Michael was strolling down a darkening path. The book in his hand was discarded back to the shelf, and in replacement, his hand clutched the wood. His fingers pulled and loosened at his collar, trembling and drifting down to paw at the middle of his chest, directly above his knotted scar.

Always to that spot.

He shook his head and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, knowing that he had no other choice. Out of everything, every decision that he faced and was expected to make, that morning's answer came the instant he thought about Walter.

Father Marshall and all of his grand successes, the hundreds of lives that he has touched, and the dozens more that he improved. Michael knew of his accomplishments, his extraordinary career that he built throughout his life.

He was not going to sacrifice a lick of that. And still, how could he have been so reckless, so dumb and dismissive of their secrecy?

The letter, now residing in his pocket—he could feel it press against his thigh whenever he bent down. Why did Mike leave it in such a vulnerable place? He knew that Bishop Franklin found it in this very room. Why didn't you do better? Mike asked himself.

You were always a fuck-up anyway, you can't keep anything good in your life.

All he could do was bite down hard, almost injuring his tongue. His head sank and he pressed his forehead against the edge of the bookshelf.

His fingers slipped from their previous places, one hand went to his hair.

Mike's body tensed up, and he steadied against the support of the self, but he could feel his fingers tighten. Painfully and almost as a distraction, he pulled until he felt that burn return in his eyelids.

He let the moisture slip down his cheeks. He decided to stay there, blurry images racing through his mind that were hastily becoming more distant.

➽─────────────❥

The entirety of his closet had been packed, save for the clothes off of his back. The pictures and pages on his wall were placed neatly into a folder, sitting on top of the clothes. Any remaining objects fit into the side pockets, ornaments and other gifts given to him.

His room was almost bare, close to what it looked like when he first arrived. He didn't bother taking everything.

The suitcase was heavy in his hands, and he found himself exerting much of his energy into transporting it. He sighed as he thought about how he squandered breakfast that morning.

Even if I'm still not hungry now. It never hurts. Maybe he will be able to find something on his way out.

Michael sat the suitcase down at his doorway, fingers dancing along the side of his thigh. He glanced around the room one last time and pondered his next step.

Walter's room is just next door. All morning the door had been closed. Mike knew the man was most likely in there, or maybe even out for the day. His nails dug at the fabric of his pants.

There was no way that he could say anything right now, he would never trust his voice and his composure with that deed—not here.

He needed to feel ready.

Mike felt the note poke his thigh, and without another minute wasted—before Walter could possibly leave his bedroom, the young man rushed to his desk and tore a sheet of paper in half.

In pencil he quickly scrawled a message, folding the paper back up and signing Walter's name on the top of the fold. With his distinctively messy handwriting, he knew that the man would be able to recognize who the writer was.

Mike did not waste any more time, on his way down the hall, he bent down and slipped the paper under the door. He gathered his suitcase again and swiftly returned walking.

➽─────────────❥

It was colder outside than Mike originally thought. His sweater was layered. Under the material, he had his button down and undershirt, but he could feel a chill creep up his back.

While Michael was bidding his friends farewell, and conversing with other acquaintances, he was biding the weather. It may appear rude of him to not exactly remember what his friends said. With his eyes watching the windows and his mind already filled, he only could tell what everyone's mood seemed to be.

To his surprise, the people were forlorn. They were under the impression that the young man was to be transferred to continue his studies.

Even though this was a very common occurrence, Mike was going to be missed at this church.

He couldn't grasp that.

The rain seemed to be done for the rest of the day. From his position on the stone bench, he could see the fog increase throughout the property.

His suitcase sat next to him, leaned against the bench. His hands, chilled and the knuckles on his fingers flushing pink had been shoved into his pant pockets.

Michael liked the cold, despite being so easily affected by it. He was drawn to the grey and the rain that would cost everything in its path. He supposed that the image of the outdoors today very well fit everything happening.

But with all of that comfort, with all of the genial faces he said goodbye to and his seemingly calm demeanor, Michael's pulse remained striking in his throat.

He shut his eyes and inhaled the moist air, working in increments to steady his racing heart. His ears pricked up, barely catching the sound of soft footsteps to the left of him.

Through a cracked eye, he peered to the tall, dark figure standing on the sidewalk.

He had on a near-black sweater as well, thicker than the clouds materializing around them. His handsome face, partially hidden under that beard of his was tense. His lips pursed, and the way that his eyes watched Michael told the young man just how mystified he was.

Mike’s breath still hitched, even at what felt like the millionth time his eyes would see Walter.

The older priest had his arms crossed over his broad chest, and he tilted his head to the side,

“Michael, what’s going on? Why did you want to meet in the...garden?”

His eyes drifted from the green and the stone around them to Michael’s body. How the young man appeared drained, none of his spirit seeming to reside inside of the vessel.

Mike didn’t say a word. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and steadied them onto his knees, pushing himself to his feet. The younger male hesitantly closed the distance between them.

The watchful eye of Walt moved down to the black suitcase leaning against the mossy stone.

“Michael...what...”

Walter’s eyes grew pillow-soft. Those shadowy brows frowned at the young man and only deepened with each passing second.

It was easy, effortless to see how the tension in the air was affecting the older man. And the way that Michael’s eyes were dimmed erupted chaos to his insides.

He stopped a foot away from Walt, back hunched and his face not meeting the priest’s look. Mike could feel them and in a way he wanted to lean closer, to feel that ghostly touch, but he visibly distanced himself away.

His voice was scratchy coming from his throat.

“Walt, I...” Michael cursed, the knot in his jaw working once more. He hadn’t thought this through, how could he?

The man in front of him reached out, with one of those unbelievably large hands. Those hands that could smash and destroy if they wanted to. They could break Michael, as his vision smeared together the color of Walt’s skin, he thought of just how powerful.

And, all the young man could remember was how soft they felt against his body, in his hair, on his face.

He sniffled and choked out, “I-I have to go, Walter. I have to leave. I’m uh, I am going to be sent away...”

Michael interrupted Walter when he heard the man begin to speak. He let the pressure spill over in his head and that familiar moisture trickled down his cheekbones. When he met the man’s eyes he could see the anguish, the astonishment coating his face.

“—Walt fuck, please. Bishop...” he lowered the tone of his frustration and sighed,

“Bishop Franklin pulled me aside this morning, and he presented me with this—”

Mike reached into his pocket and ripped out the wrinkled note, holding out the item to the older man. Walter inhaled and fell deathly silent, eyes scanning Michael’s opened palm.

“He told me...” Michael began to force the words out of his mouth, gritting his teeth through the venom. In all of those thoughts that he was trying to lasso, Walter’s fingers began to delicately inch along his palm, picking at the worn paper.

“Walter, he told me that I am to be sent away, that he knows about us. H-he must have found this in my room and he had to have read this and he...he was appalled. He was disgusted at us, at me. He told me that if I don’t leave, then you were going to be suspended from your title as a priest.”

He felt the salt mix onto his tongue as he wet his lips. Mike let Walter take the note into his hand and watched him study the crumpled contents.

“If I don’t leave, then he will tell everyone about us."

He began to shake his head.

"I shouldn’t have ever been brought in here, you shouldn’t have taken me in. I don’t belong here and...I-I’m just a waste of space. All I do is ruin everything. Walter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The tears were starting to soak the collar of his shirt, it caused a chill to pierce his face and his throat under the autumn air. Walter shushed the younger man, letting his palms surround those red-tinged cheeks.

Michael, in all of his hysteria, hadn’t noticed Walt move closer to his body. He also hadn't noticed how the priest slipped that note right back into his pant pocket.

The heat soothed the bite of the cold air. Michael quieted down soon after the sudden touch. His head and his body leaned closer, wet lashes fluttering shut.

“My darling please breathe for me, that’s it please just...just breathe.”

He dipped down somewhat and touched his forehead to the curate’s, feeling the shiver below his skin. Walter breathed, in and out, to show Michael. To guide him through.

Truthfully, Walter needed that demonstration more than he realized. He couldn’t believe, couldn’t understand—everything was moving far too fast.

Still, he held the younger man in his hands and he felt his labored breathing against his lips.

“You are not a waste of space, Michael. You never ruined anything...”

He opened his eyes and gazed into him, making sure that he was seeing him.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. There's nothing, nothing wrong with you. You understand?”

Michael’s hands wrapped themselves around Walter’s wrists, not pulling away but merely resting there. Walt observed the liquid persistently falling down the young man’s face, and he was sent back to that night in the abandoned office.

The night when he knew that he could be there and stay there as long as Mike needed. This time wasn't sure if he would be successful, what could he do?

Before he could think of anything else, he guided Mike’s face to his and slanted their lips together.

The curate hiccupped and struggled with returning the kiss. He pressed weakly and put more effort in fisting at the fabric of Walter's sweater.

Walt dragged him closer, flush against his chest. Yet, the distance never seemed to close enough. He wanted to drink him, desperate and dying of thirst, none of this was enough.

The younger man whimpered into Walter’s mouth. When he relaxed his hold on Mike, Father Marshall's thumbs remained under his eyelids, murmuring on his lips,

“Dry your eyes, My Love...Hey? It’s going to be okay. Just breathe with me.”

While he wiped at Michael’s cheeks, the younger man continued to shake his head morosely.

The older priest grew hushed and kept his eyes on Michael. For a long minute the sounds of crickets could only be heard, chirping in and out between them. With one hand staying on Mike’s skin, he reached below the collar of his own shirt to pull out an old, silver necklace.

Michael's interest piqued at the movements and he watched the man remove that jewelry from his body. Walt took both of his hands to carefully place it around Michael's neck, adjusting it's sizing and how it sat on his chest.

His thick finger followed the end of the silver to the tiny crucifix hanging at the bottom. When Walter reached where the charm on the necklace sat, he noticed that the weight rested over the bundled up skin at the center of Michael's chest.

Mike recognized this cross from the times he saw Walter without a shirt on, he never really asked about it, and, truthfully thought it was something the man got and wore under his clothes.

"I want you to have this. This cross was something I've had since I began the priesthood, a long time ago."

Mike hadn't said a word but watched inaudibly, breath slowing the instant that cross grazed the area his scar sat.

"Michael? Look at me—" He gently placed his finger over the charm and pressed into him,

"It doesn't matter what happens, I will always be here."

The younger man's attention returned to where Walt's finger was, blinking rapidly and a few more tears slipping down his cheeks.

Walter clenched his jaw.

Oh, how he loathed it, that he was beginning to agree with his impassioned beloved. He could never sacrifice Michael’s privacy, his safety. He thought nothing of his title and each of those accomplishments.

If he could forget all of that, and just keep him safe, keep him right here he would.

Walter gripped the curate in his arms and held him against his chest, inhaling the scent of his hair. The man fought back the itch at his eyes as his hands began to tremble on his lover's back.

For the first time, the man didn't know what he could do to make it better. He couldn't relax his arms to left go of Michael's body.

“Walt, I have ten minutes left. I-I meet the bus out front…”

Walter blinked and slid his palms down Michael’s arms. A glance at his wrist displayed five after eleven. Michael wiped at his eyes and tried to make himself more presentable.

“I...I don’t know if we could while I’m on the bus I-Walter...

He returned his glassy eyes back to Michael's bloodshot ones. Not finding any more words in his throat. "I...think this is goodbye.”

Goodbye.

He could feel his eyelids droop downward when the young man wrapped his slender arms around him. Mike could hardly do so with how large Walter was, but in some way he managed.

Walt's attention was far off in the clouds when Michael's cheek pressed against his. And, when the curate pressed a kiss to his lips it was him who was left breathless.

"I love you."

The younger man backed away.

He attempted to reach out and grab the curate. Walt thought that he was close enough, but the young man already had his suitcase in his grip. Michael was making his way through the garden and disappeared into the thick fog.

➽─────────────❥

The bus’s engine was loud and rattling over the hushed conversation. Standing outside by the gate was a small group of church workers, each were friends to Michael or people he had been close to since his arrival.

Mike peered into the distance and saw the Greyhound bus emerge from the low clouds. Soon following, he felt the many warm touches of the people around. He released his hold on the bag and turned to hug each person close by him.

After a glance around, Mike saw the image of Walter standing adjacently to a few other people, jaw hardened and his folded arms back to covering his chest.

Mike met Walter's eyes and both men burned weakly under each other’s gaze, the younger man gave a forced smile and pushed his hair off his forehead.

Walter returned the favor with a tight-lipped smile, offering to help him in storing his luggage.

The suitcase was lifted by Walt with no strain. The both of them walked toward the storage unit on the bus and began loading it.

Deep rumbling of the engine was felt under the men’s hands and between both of their bodies. Through the window, the driver gave Michael a look, and tapped at his watch.

This prompted the younger man to turn and wave toward the people of the church. He shared a look with Walter, lingering longer than he wanted to, and slowly stepped around him to trek to the door.

The weight of a hand found its way to Mike’s shoulder, softly, and he momentarily stopped.

On the shell of his ear was the scratch of familiar facial hair and the muted whispering of final words. Michael could be seen nodding, patting that hand and pulling away to climb into the bus.

Walter stepped from the vehicle and backed toward the people of the church, hands deep into his pockets and his breath steaming the icy air. The people waved, and observed the bus pull away from the church.

A few workers picked away from the group as the bus moved further and further from the property.

When the tail end disappeared into the fog, and the sound of the engine was no longer audible, Father Marshall was still in that spot. His eyes watched the swirling fog.

That day, he stood on the stretching, gravel driveway for as long as he could stand it. Walter’s lids fluttered closed when the moisture broke through and fell down his cheeks.

He took in a long breath, but collapsed to his knees, fisting the dirt and tremoring.

Walter had been out there long after the ring of the church bells.

➽─────────────❥

Following after that day, all piling together into months, the church continued their services.

Events were planned. Many popular ones brought money to the church and aid to the citizens. Services were held by all of the leaders and the spirit of the Lord seemed to be felt strongly through the town.

Father Marshall gave his teachings, clearly and elegantly. The man still pulled fully seated pews and many more people's hearts with his warm nature. He seemed to be more righteous than all the years he'd been there.

Nonetheless, people amongst the crowds took notice of his peculiar lack of vigor behind those words.

The people in attendance would say that the man's spirit had been weakened in some way.

The father graciously brushed away those concerns, and remained adamant in his teachings. Walter delved himself more into the work. He spent much more time in his office and placed his attention on various things surrounding the church

One late evening, while the man sat in his room, he watched the candlelight dance on his papers. The moon was low in the sky when he heard a knock at his door.

Upon opening he was greeted with a young assistant, her face laced with a bright smile and crisp white items filling her hands. She gently spoke to the man about the mail being delayed for that day, and that he was to finally have been delivered his postage for the week.

She placed several envelopes into Walter's hands and bid the priest goodnight.

Father Marshall found his way back to his desk, sighing profoundly when he sunk into the chair. The letters were dismissed on the surface of the desk. Many were labeled from other churches and financial institutions.

Walter rubbed at his drooping eyes, deciding that he would pick up those tomorrow and deal with them first thing. Sleep was the one thing on his mind.

As the man loosened his collar and sat up to gather his nightclothes, he left the candle flickering on his desk.

Under that warm amber light, the letters were illuminated, each one layering over the other. If one gave a closer look at that stack of mail, it could be noticed that a singular letter stood out from the rest.

On the surface, barely showing under the side of another envelope, there was the appearance of scribbled black ink where the return address laid.

'Westbridge, MI 56087'

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard @littlefreya @zealoushound @luna-aestas @feralrunaway @tuckersgirl (So sorry I forgot to add you love!)

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- Unfortunately, these tags didn’t work :(

➽─────────────❥

Thank you to everyone who was interested in this! I know I've said it before but this story is dear to my friends and I. We constantly think of scenarios between M and W. Let us know if there should be more!

➽─────────────❥

#Walter Marshall #Mike: Hellraiser #Hellraiser: Hellworld #Night Hunter #Walter Marshall x Mike #Walter Marshall x Mike Hellraiser #fanfiction #angst #mlm #Levamentum

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stahlop · 4 years

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Once Upon a Time 2x21 “Second Star to the Right” Review

Reviews 1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06 1x07 1x08 1x09 1x10 1x11 1x12 1x13 1x14 1x15 1x16 1x17 1x18 1x19 1x20 1x21 1x22 2x01 2x02 2x03 2x04 2x05 2x06 2x07 2x08 2x09 2x10 2x11 2x12 2x13 2x14 2x15 2x16 2x17 2x18 2x19 2x20

Oh, man! What the hell just got unleashed on us! Bae lived with the Darlings and got taken to Neverland and found himself about Hook’s ship! Tamara killed Neal! Regina actually killed Greg’s father! And this is all going to be tied up in the next episode?

Summary: After going through the portal, Bae finds himself in Victorian London and ends up living with the Darling family. David and Mary Margaret go to extremes to find Regina, while Emma is still convinced that Tamara is up to no good.

Opening: Big Ben turning to 8:15

New Characters:

Wendy Darling: She’s not afraid of Bae when she first meets him. She comes after him with a statue before realizing that he’s just hungry. She starts hiding Bae in a crawl space in the wall of their nursery. Bae asks if her parents suspect and she makes the statement that all kids think is true, ‘they’re grown ups, they can’t see anything that’s not right in front of them.’ Which of course is when her parents show up and demand to know who Bae is. When they find out he’s an orphan, Mrs. Darling invites him to stay with them. Bae wakes up that night while Wendy is waiting for the Shadow to come. She and her brothers are very excited about the Shadow coming. She tells Bae that the Shadow started appearing around the same time Bae appeared and it’s so wonderful because it can change shape and travel between worlds. And it’s so wonderful because it has magic. This instantly sets off Bae’s alarms, since he came to this land to get away from magic. He tells them not to let the Shadow in and Wendy is disappointed. John accuses him of not believing, but he tells them he comes from a land that is full of magic, which makes Wendy excited again. Wendy, when the boy from the magic land tells you to stay away from magic, listen! Bae tells Wendy and her brothers that magic destroyed his family and Wendy finally looks chagrined about entertaining the idea of going with the Shadow. Bae makes Wendy promise not to let the Shadow in, and she unhappily agrees. The next day Wendy is sitting out by that damn open window (someone needs to teach her to respect an open window!). the Shadow comes back and Wendy is as excited about it as she always is. She claims that this magic is different, it’s from a place called Neverland where there are no grown ups and you can fly. Bae tries to keep her in the house, but she’s determined to go. She comes back the next morning and while she’s telling Bae about all the wondrous things you can just see that she is trying not to cry because her magical adventure was not all she thought it was going to be. She tells Bae that once nightfalls you can hear all the children crying for their parents and they aren’t allowed to leave. It’s called Neverland because once you step foot on the soil you can never leave. She’s in tears now. Then Wendy reveals that the Shadow wanted a boy and that’s why she was allowed to go home, but he’ll be back for one of her brothers. Wendy finally admits that she should have listened to Bae about magic. That night the Darling children booby trap the nursery so the Shadow can’t take John or Michael. Ok, I get the lights and the matches, because that can make a shadow disappear, but what exactly were they hoping to accomplish with jacks on the windowsill? Seriously? It’s a shadow, not a burglar. The Shadow gets through all their traps, because it’s a shadow, and Bae herds everyone into the crawl space, except for Michael. Wendy’s freaking out because the Shadow’s going after her brother, but then Bae offers to go instead, and Wendy’s even more upset because this is all her fault (yes, it definitely is, listen to Bae next time). So, yeah, Wendy made some bad decisions and now Bae is off to Neverland.

Character Observations:

Bae/Neal: First of all, I loved how seamlessly they transitioned from Bae falling through the portal in the previously ons straight into the opening scene. Also, the actor playing Bae’s voice has changed since last season, so there’s that. So, Bae pulls himself up on the other side of the portal and immediately starts calling for his Papa :(. And then, he almost gets run over by a horse and carriage, but jumps back in front of a sign that says Kensington Gardens. And then, if you still weren’t sure where we were, Big Ben starts ringing. Bae has found himself in merry ole London, England, and from the shadows of the people we see, Victorian London, England. Six months later Bae is living on the streets of London and looking like Gavroche from Les Miserables. He’s not having much luck finding food until he sees a window open at a very nice house. He sees some fresh bread laid out on a table and just goes to town on it and stuffing some in his pockets. And then a big St. Bernard starts barking at him from under the table and Wendy comes out. But once she discovers he’s hungry she gives him more food. And apparently lets him live in the crawl space in the nursery. That seems really cramped. The Darling parents discover him and Bae is quick to tell them both his parents are dead and he can’t go back to the workhouses. Mrs. Darling takes pity on him and lets him stay. Bae is so excited to have found such a loving family. Wendy wakes up Bae that night to inform him about the Shadow that’s been visiting them. At first, Bae is entranced by Wendy’s wonder and excitement about the Shadow, until she mentions magic. Then he is all business, making sure they don’t open the window for the Shadow. John accuses him of not believing in magic, but Bae tells them he came from another realm where magic ruined his life and it’s not to be trusted. He makes Wendy promise not to go with the Shadow. But, she doesn’t listen. Bae awakens a few nights later (he has a bed now), and Wendy is waiting for the Shadow. Bae tries with all his might to keep her in the nursery, but she’s convinced that Neverland will be wonderful and she goes off with the Shadow. Bae has slept on the windowsill (of an open window that he literally could have rolled off of) and is there when Wendy returns. She tells him of all the wonderful things in Neverland. He questions why she came home then. She tells him of the children crying for their parents and how the Shadow doesn’t let them leave once they’ve touched the soil. She tells Bae that the Shadow wants a boy and is coming for one of her brothers. Bae is determined not to let magic destroy another family. They set the nursery up to ward off the Shadow, but it doesn’t do any good. Apparently the Shadow can blow out candles and open locked windows. Michael doesn’t make it into the crawl space where they’re all hiding so Bae goes out and offers himself to the Shadow as long as the Shadow promises never to bother the Darlings again. He thanks Wendy for letting him be a part of her family and the Shadow takes him. the Shadow flies Bae through the London rooftops (and Bae looks like he’s in danger of hitting those chimney’s more than once). Once they start getting close to Neverland, Bae can hear the children on the island crying and he remembers Wendy’s words about not being able to leave, so he struggles against the Shadow’s grip. He remembers the matches in his robe pocket and lights one and that finally gets the Shadow to let go of him and he falls into the ocean. The Shadow can’t find him in the water and gives up (pretty easily). Luckily, he’s pulled out by one Captain Hook and aboard the Jolly Roger. And that’s the story of how Neal met Captain Hook!

At six in the morning, Tamara is going out for a run, so that wakes up Neal. He then hears a fight happening outside and hears his father’s voice. Neal breaks up the fight and then berates Gold for essentially ignoring him since he’s been in town since the whole reason for the curse was so he could find him. Neal is upset that Gold hasn’t even met Tamara yet, but Gold thinks Neal is still hung up on Emma so she’s not important. Neal tells him he hasn’t changed and he’s not worth his time. Gold wonders why he’s still in town then. Neal has to remind him of Henry, and then tells Gold to stay away from both of them. Emma comes by Neal’s room to search it. She thinks she has something to do with Regina’s disappearance and Neal can’t believe Emma is still on the Tamara is evil kick. Emma finds sand in the closet after Neal tells her that Tamara likes to run in the woods. She thinks that Tamara is lying to him about other things if she can lie about this so easily. Neal doesn’t think it’s a big deal. Neal and Emma are on the beach searching for Tamara. Neal thinks Emma is letting her emotions get in the way and that’s why she’s trying to break up him and Tamara. Emma tells him that it hurt that he didn’t come after her in jail and that he found Tallahassee with someone else. Neal is about to defend himself again when Tamara runs up. After she runs off Emma decides she needs to search somewhere else, but Neal finally, FINALLY apologizes for letting August convince him to send her to jail. And he’s sorry that he never searched for her because he was afraid she’d never forgive him since he never forgave himself. This is completely contradictory to what he told August in Selfless, Brave, and True where he was worried about Emma breaking the curse and his father finding him. Neal tells her there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret leaving her. Well, that may be true, but you were too much of a coward to find her again because you were afraid of your father. Too bad you’re exactly like him. Look, it’s great that Neal finally apologized to Emma, because he needed to do that, but the fact of the matter is that he never would have come back to find her if she hadn’t found him first. He knew the curse was broken and he was still too pissed at his father, 100 and some odd years later, to go find Emma in Storybrooke. So, I still can’t forgive him, but I guess I can understand why Emma might. After a phone call from David, Emma and Neal go into the cannery looking for Tamara and Regina. Emma wants to make sure Neal has her back. He tells her he does if it turns out to be Tamara, even though he doubts that it is. David radios Emma that they found Regina with Greg and Neal immediately does an ‘I told you so’, but then Tamara comes up behind Emma and knocks her down with a pipe. She takes Emma’s gun and points it at Neal and goes on about how magic is a poison and needs to be gotten rid of. Neal seems to be focused more on the fact that she lied to him rather than the gun pointed at him! He finally gets her to admit that she’s been lying to him from the beginning and she never loved him. Neal is devastated, but tells Tamara he can’t let her leave SB, so she shoots him! Neal is just like WTF! But he still doesn’t realize how serious she is until she points the gun at his head. Luckily, Emma, finally recovered from the pipe to the back, kicks the gun out of Tamara’s hand to save Neal. Emma and Tamara fight and Neal isn’t doing so well. Emma gets the upper hand and then Tamara throws a bean and both Emma and Neal are pretty much screwed. Emma is holding Neal by his hand, but he tells her that she won’t be able to hold on to what she’s holding onto and him at the same time. He insists she let him go even if it means his death. He doesn’t want Henry to grow up without parents like they did. Emma tells him she loves him. He says it back and then lets go. Ok, I have to assume that all this is said in the heat of the moment because just five minutes ago Neal was in love with Tamara and accusing Emma of being jealous. Neal thought he was going to die so that’s why he tells Emma he loves her back. Unless he’s still loved her all these years. But, it’s also been 11 years since they’ve seen each other and they are two totally different people so Neal could be in love with 17-year-old Emma, but he doesn’t know 28-year-old Emma at all. He lets go of Emma’s hand (a nice juxtaposition to when his father let go of his hand in Desperate Souls) and falls into the portal, most likely to his death. RIP Neal.

Gold: He is continuing to be a complete asshole. Honestly, what the hell is Belle going to think when she gets her memories back? The guy that I love decided to be everything I hate just because my alter ego decided she liked power better than being good. I have no idea if they’re having sex, but would it be considered consensual, and how would Belle feel about it since Gold is pretty much using her body just because the person in it looks the same? The whole thing is repugnant. But onto the actual plot. Neal interrupts Gold telling Whale to kiss his boot for daring to look at Lacey. Neal stops him from kicking Whale’s face in and Gold is pissed. He sends Lacey off to the pawn shop while Neal berates his father for spending all this time looking for him and now barely acknowledging his existence. True statement. Neal gets hurt that his father isn’t even trying to have a relationship with him and that he’s never even attempted to meet his fiance, Tamara. Gold tells him that he’s obviously still in love with Emma. Neal tells him he hasn’t changed and he’s not worth his time. Gold fights back saying that Neal is still in town for a reason and Neal reminds him of Henry, and that’s the only reason he’s still there. Gold at least looks upset about that. Did Gold really forget about Henry being Neal’s son and that’s the reason he’s in town, or is he so self-centered that he thought Neal was there for him and Emma? Like, I don’t even understand what’s going on in his head anymore. David and Mary Margaret go to cash in the favor Gold owes David by having him help them find Regina. Gold happens to have one of Regina’s tears which will help them find Regina by combining it with one of Mary Margaret’s tears and dropping it in her eye. Weird. Lacey comes out after they leave seeing that he really can do magic and is impressed. She wonders why he never told her about this. Gold tells her about magic coming with a price and how it drives people away. Lacey tells him he’s hanging with the wrong kind of people then. She wants to see what else he can do, so he makes a necklace appear out of thin air and gives it to her. Lacey asks if he can make her immortal like him, he tells her yes. Okay, Gold, you know Belle wouldn’t want that at all. He tells her about the prophecy that foretells his undoing. He tells her that it’s complicated when she tells him to get rid of whomever will be his undoing. She thought nothing stood in his way. And then he pulls her to him in what would be a really sexy and seductive mood if it were any other two people in this situation, and he tells her he is that man. Gross.

Emma: She’s on the hunt for Regina. She, David, Mary Margaret, and Henry realize she’s missing, and most likely not by her own volition since her office is unlocked and the security system has been overridden. David suggests that she took a portal back to the EF, but Emma, rightly so, says she wouldn’t leave without Henry. David and Mary Margaret think Gold overpowered Regina, but Emma says he’s too preoccupied with Lacey (I’m glad someone in this town notices these things). Emma is convinced it’s Tamara again. David and Mary Margaret don’t think it is and think she needs to get off that train. Emma points out that Tamara came to town the same day August was killed, but David and Mary Margaret still aren’t on the same train as her. Emma tells her parents to go to Gold and find something that will help them and she’ll look at Tamara’s room again. Emma tells Neal she’s there to search his room for real this time. Um, that usually requires a warrant, but small town and emergency, I’ll allow it. She tells Neal that Regina is missing and Neal can’t believe she suspects Tamara. Emma finds sand on the floor of their closet and since Neal tells her Tamara runs in the woods that’s proof in her eyes that Tamara is a liar and has probably lied to Neal about other things. I mean, it’s true, but it’s also a big stretch. They go looking for Tamara on the beach and Neal thinks that Emma is jealous. Emma asks him what he wants to hear. How it killed her that he never came looking for her? That he found Tallahassee with someone else. Thankfully, Emma knows how to hide her emotions well because she plays this off as if it doesn’t bother her much when we know she’s constructed high walls around herself so that it will never happen again. Tamara interrupts their moment with her jog and Emma starts to realize that maybe she is jealous since Tamara kind of just proved that she was jogging along the beach and Emma doesn’t pick up a single lie . God dammit, Emma! You really need to get that super power under control. Neal gives a big apology speech that Emma doesn’t want to hear at first, but by the end she’s kind of okay with it and starts looking at Neal like he might not actually be a villain in her story. But I still think she’ll never be able to forgive him completely because he completely changed the trajectory of her life and not in a good way. Later on, Emma and Neal are walking along the docks when David calls her and tells her about Mary Margaret smelling sardines, Emma figures out pretty quickly that Tamara played them because the cannery is right there. Emma questions Neal’s loyalty when he comes with her into the cannery, but he says if Tamara is the bad guy he’s got her. She and David almost shoot each other, but he gives her a radio and they go their separate ways to look for Regina. When David and Mary Margaret find Regina and Greg, they radio Emma and tell her. She’s shocked that it’s Greg, and Neal basically tells her ‘I told you so’, except that Tamara then bashes Emma with a pipe and takes her gun. Emma wakes up in time to save Neal from getting shot a second time and fights with Tamara. She gets the gun but Tamara has a magic bean and she uses it to create a portal so she can escape. Emma is holding onto a pipe for dear life so she doesn’t go down the portal. Neal eventually helps her down and they’re about to leave when the portal opens up a little bigger and Emma is once again holding on for dear life while trying to keep Neal from going down the portal. He wants her to let him go, but she knows he’ll die because he’s been shot. He goes for the Henry angle so she’ll let him go, but she can’t let him go. She doesn’t want him out of her life again. She tells him she needs him and loves him. Neal tells her he loves her too and then lets go. The portal closes and Emma is left on the cannery floor with a big hole beneath her. Emma is devastated. Now, I know this seems like Emma has been jealous and that she wants to be with Neal again, but I disagree. I think this is Emma trying to be a comfort to him because she knows he’s going to die. She does care for him, but he was engaged to Tamara not five minutes ago. He barely apologized to her. This is teenaged Emma telling him these things, not the Emma of now. Present day Emma would never lay her heart out like that unless she knew it wasn’t going anywhere. And yes she’s crying over him, but he was still a big part of her life and he’s Henry’s father so regardless of her feelings for him now, she’s still mourning the part he played in her life overall and whatever the future may have brought them (though I still don’t believe it would have been an intimate relationship). Emma comes back to the loft completely shell-shocked and informs her parents that Neal is dead and Tamara killed him. David tries to comfort her and Emma doesn’t know how she’s going to tell Henry. David gives her the most fatherly kiss and this is just a real good father/daughter moment right here.

Mary Margaret/David: They annoy me a lot in this episode. David wonders why Regina would need to override her alarm code. Well, David, you’re supposedly an officer of the law, figure it out. Luckily, Emma is there to help him out. Mary Margaret is at least smart enough to figure out someone broke in and stole the beans, but when Emma thinks it’s Tamara, she gives that condescending mom stare to her. The ‘we’ve already talked about this, honey, and you were wrong’. They think Gold took Regina, but Emma’s apparently the only one observing the town nowadays, because she knows he only has eyes for Lacey. David and Mary Margaret both think Emma is wrong about Tamara and don’t want to go down the wrong path looking for Regina. Emma tells them to go to Gold and find something to help them find Regina while she looks into Tamara again. They go to Gold and remind him that he owes them a favor, so he reluctantly helps them find Regina. He wants to know why they want to help her, and Mary Margaret says she owes Regina after killing Cora. Interesting choice of words instead of saying she feels guilty. Gold wants a tear to mix with Regina’s, that he so happens to have, and Mary Margaret quickly thinks of something to make herself cry. Gold mixes it and tells them to drop it in Mary Margaret’s eye and she’ll basically see and feel everything Regina does. David tells Mary Margaret she doesn’t have to do this, but she thinks if she helps find Regina it will help heal her darkened heart. David just looks at her like there isn’t anyone more good and selfless in the world, and he drops the potion into her eye. At first it looks like it isn’t going to work, but then Regina starts getting electrocuted and Mary Margaret starts convulsing. David isn’t sure what to do, but he’s freaking out about it. Mary Margaret seems to pass out for a minute, and when she comes to she tells David that it was the worst pain she’d ever felt and that Regina is strapped down and powerless to fight back. Mary Margaret couldn’t tell where Regina was, just that she was cold and that it smelled like sardines. David relays this to Emma who figures out Regina is at the cannery and tells David and Mary Margaret to meet her there. David and Emma almost shoot each other because apparently David can’t sneak into someone’s supposed secret hideout without making a ton of noise. They split up and eventually find Regina with Greg. David and Mary Margaret catch Greg about to kill Regina and David shoots the machine that was administering the electricity (why didn’t he shoot Greg instead? At least shoot him in the leg or something so he couldn’t run off?). Greg manages to get away (because David is incompetent), and Mary Margaret won’t let him go after Greg because Regina needs medical help from Mother Superior. Um, can’t you just call for her and she’ll appear? Isn’t that how it worked back in the EF? Isn’t that what basically happened in Selfless, Brave, and True when they needed her to help August? Why can’t Mary Margaret stay with Regina and call Mother Superior (hell, call her on the phone and get her to come over) while David goes after Greg? Anyway, at least he’s smart enough to tell Emma that it’s Greg they caught with Regina. Mary Margaret and David have brought Regina to the loft and Mother Superior uses her magic to remove the cuff and heal her (again, why couldn’t this have happened at the warehouse?). Emma comes in and they immediately know that something is wrong. They are in shock when she tells them Neal is gone and ‘she’ killed them (they know it’s Tamara, she doesn’t have to clarify, they know). David does the fatherly thing and comforts Emma, while Mary Margaret is watching over Regina. She is shocked that David and Mary Margaret saved her. David says they’re family, regardless. Regina is worried because Greg and Tamara still have ‘it’, and Mary Margaret has the good sense to be worried about what it is they have. They are appalled about the fail-safe. Especially since her plan was to take Henry with her to the EF and leave them all to die. But they have bigger things to worry about since Regina no longer has the trigger.

Regina: She is bound to a medical slab. We start with her trying to see where Hook stands on this whole matter. He just wants to kill Gold and Regina scoffs that he doesn’t even know who he’s working for. Greg comes in with his electrocution machine and she sarcastically asks if it’s part of his mission, but he’s clear that this is personal. Greg starts putting electrodes all over Regina and it’s clear he wants answers about his father, and he’s willing to hurt her to get them. She’s adamant that he left town, but Greg still doesn’t believe her. He turns the machine on and Regina is her normal, sarcastic self, asking if the machine is supposed to frighten her. But you can see that she’s nervous when Greg starts attaching the wires to the electrodes. He once again asks where his father is. Regina rolls her eyes and gets electrocuted for it. This goes on for a while. Tamara comes in after distracting Neal and Emma and Regina calls them fools who go around stealing magic. Greg tells her they’re there to destroy magic and Regina looks confused. I don’t blame her because she told Henry in Welcome to Storybrooke that magic can’t be destroyed when he tried to blow up the well. But I’m sure Greg and Tamara wouldn’t believe her anyway. Regina laughs at Tamara when she tells her that they’re there to cleanse the world of magic. She thinks it’s ridiculous that the two of them could destroy magic. But she sure as hell gets nervous when Greg tells her there’s more of them all over the world. Regina tells them that it’s not going to work, but Greg tells her it’s been done before, that Storybrooke is not the first bit of magic to cross over. Later on, Tamara sees Emma and Neal on the monitors and tells Greg they have to go. Regina is not looking so smug anymore. Her eyes are red and teary and she looks like she’s praying Emma finds her soon. Greg puts the dial up to a 9 and you can see Regina visibly wince before he even asks her where his father is for the last time. She finally tells him before he can electrocute her at such a high level. She killed his father the minute he left town and buried him at the campsite. She says this with such venom in her voice. I suspect she’s pretty sure she’s going to die at this point. Much like when she said she told the kingdom she regretted not being more evil when Snow and Charming almost executed her in The Cricket Game. She tells Greg to go ahead and kill her. She just wanted to see the look on his face when she told him. So he electrocutes her at a level 9! He does it two more times before David finally he comes in and shoots the machine. Regina is pretty much out of it by this point, so she doesn’t get to see David and Mary Margaret rescue her. She wakes up in their loft and is astounded that they saved her. They tell her she’s family. She tells them Greg and Tamara have the fail-safe. They can’t believe she was going to kill everyone with it. Regina’s pissed they were going to abandon her in Storybrooke, because that’s the same thing as killing everyone. Again, Regina is playing the victim when she was going to do something much worse. But that’s all to say that she doesn’t have it anymore and that’s a big problem.

Greg/Tamara: Tamara pretends to be training for a marathon so she can meet with Greg in secret at the cannery. Tamara shows Greg the magic portal beans that she found in Regina’s office. Greg gets jealous that she knows what they are because Neal told her. She tells him that as soon as this is all over she’ll be taking off the engagement ring. Greg gives her the fail-safe diamond they found on Regina and she says she’ll send it over to the Home Office to look at. Greg sets Regina up to be electrocuted so he can get information about his father from her. Regina tells him he left town, but Greg refuses to believe that his father never came to find him. He wants Hook to lend him a hand (with his good hand), but Hook isn’t so much into torturing the Evil Queen as he is killing Rumplestiltskin. He tells Greg to find him when that part of the plan is happening. Greg asks Regina where his father is and when she refuses to answer him, she gets her first dose of electrocution. Tamara ‘runs into’ Neal and Emma on the beach to throw them off the track. She tells Greg they believed her. Greg ups the dial and electrocutes Regina some more. She calls them fools for stealing magic but Tamara tells her that’s not what they’re doing. She talks about magic being unholy and needing to be cleansed from the earth, and it feels like Tamara is talking about The Crusades or something. Tamara and Greg are pretty confident that they will do what they’ve set out to do. Regina doesn’t believe the two of them can destroy magic, but Greg informs her that there are more of them everywhere. After he ran away he talked about the magic he saw and magic believers found him, believers that don’t believe magic belongs in their world and are willing to do something about it. They also sound like they’re in a religious cult. Regina tells them destroying magic won’t work, but Greg tells them they’ve done it before. He tells her they are there to stop magic and electrocutes her again. Tamara sees Emma and Neal on the cannery monitors and tells Greg they have to go. Greg still hasn’t got the information about his father. He and Tamara argue, and he tells her they wouldn’t even know about Storybrooke if it wasn’t for his father, so Tamara tells him to meet her later while she runs off. Greg turns the dial up to 9 and this scares Regina enough that she finally tells him that his father is dead and she buried him near their campsite. Greg doesn’t believe her and electrocutes her again. Greg tells Regina she’s never going to hurt anyone ever again, but David comes at that moment and shoots the machine. Greg runs off because Mary Margaret is insistent that they save Regina instead of go after the guy who tried to kill her. David tells Emma that it was Greg, but then Tamara hits Emma with a pipe. Neal focuses more on the fact that Tamara was lying to him this whole time rather than the fact that she just hit Emma with a pipe! She grabs Emma’s gun and tells him that she is working with Greg and they’re there to get rid of magic, something he should be familiar with. Neal again is stuck on the lying part. He finally puts together that their whole relationship was a lie. I see how Tamara managed to dupe him for so long; he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Tamara tries to get him to understand that it was her job, and he finally realizes she never loved him (dude, get off this track), and that’s when he tells her he can’t let her leave. She gives him a warning and then shoots him about one second after that. Cold-blooded. Damn! She’s about to shoot him point blank in the head when Emma kicks the gun away. Tamara and Emma fight (and Tamara’s a good fighter, definitely trained) and Emma thinks she has the upper hand when she gets her gun back, but Tamara pulls out one of the beans and throws it at them and runs off. Greg is digging at the campsite and finds his father’s skull. He’s completely devastated. Tamara finds Greg reburying his father and tells him she’s sorry. She tells him the Home Office has gotten back to them about the diamond. She tells him he’ll never believe what it does, and that the Home Office wants them to move to the next phase of their plan. Greg is shocked that they want them to move so quickly, and even Tamara is a little wary. They have to blow Storybrooke off the map.

Questions:

Why does it look like Gold, Lacey, and Whale are having their fight after a night of drinking? Are they just leaving The Rabbit Hole at six in the morning?

How does Tamara send over the fail-safe diamond to the Home Office and get the information back all in one day? Does she actually send it to them, or do they just know what it is from a picture?

How long was Bae in the crawl space before the Darlings discovered him?

Is the Shadow there for Bae since it started coming to the Darlings window at the same time he arrived?

How did magic kill Bae’s mother? Didn’t Rumplestiltskin just tell Bae she ran away and died? Or was kidnapped by pirates and died? (I know he told Bae she died)

Really David, this is how you want to use your favor? To find Regina?

How the hell does Gold have a tear from Regina?

Why doesn’t Gold make a locator potion to find Regina? Why do they have to use a potion that makes Mary Margaret see, feel, smell, touch, and hear what Regina is going through

What magic did Greg see in Storybrooke as a child? His father mentioned that it seemed as if the town had dropped on top of them, but all Greg saw was a storm. And then he couldn’t find Storybrooke when he brought the cops, but that could have been the hysteria and fear that just prevented him from finding it. So really, Greg never originally saw any magic. He just knew that Regina tried to steal him from his father.

How does Wendy know so much about where the Shadow is from? It doesn’t talk. How does she know it’s realm is different from Bae’s and that you can fly and all that?

Ok, I get that Neal happened to be with Emma when she went to go search the cannery, but why is David bringing Mary Margaret along on police business when someone potentially dangerous is there?

Why is Mary Margaret still wearing her coat when she’s caring for Regina? Or did she change out of the blue sweater and is now wearing a trench top?

How did Greg happen to find the exact spot his father was buried in? Besides not having been there for 28 years, they had a pretty big camping area when they were there.

How did Tamara find Greg where his father had been buried? They were supposed to meet at a rendezvous point.

How do the folks at the ‘Home Office’ know what the fail-safe is? Is there a Curses 101 book that they can look these things up in?

Observations:

Kensington Gardens is the setting of the prequel to Peter Pan, titled Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. It is also where a statue of Peter Pan is currently located.

Gold tells Whale to kiss his boot and Neal says he’s surprised he didn’t turn him into a snail. Rumplestiltskin did this to the man who tried to take Bae in Desperate Souls when he became the Dark One.

Neal doesn’t think it’s odd that Tamara takes several hours a day to go running since she’s training for a marathon. So, I looked it up and Google says that you should cap a run at three and a half hours while training, so I guess it’s not that odd.

Bae goes from sleeping on the floor to having a bed within a day, unless it takes the Shadow a lot longer to come back.

There is no mention of Peter Pan on Neverland.

Gold gives Lacey the same necklace Belle dreamed of him giving her in The Crocodile.

Emma tells David and Mary Margaret to look for Regina in the cannery basement, but there are windows all aroundwhere Greg and Regina are with the sunlight shining in when they are found.

Big Ben is at 8:15 when the Shadow takes Bae past it.

The Shadow takes Bae toward the second star to the right.

Yeah, Tamara hitting Emma with the pipe would definitely have broken her neck. No way she could have survived that.

Timeline Issues:

I’m pretty sure we’ve established that Gold is a few hundred years old. He became the Dark One when Bae was 14. So, let’s say he’s been the Dark One for 200 years. If it is currently 2013 in the timeline, and since we’ve seen that the EF and our realm run concurrently, that should mean that it was at least 1813 when Bae dropped into London. Except that the story Peter Pan was published in 1904, which means Bae would have had to have dropped into the Darling’s lives at least a few years before the book was published. Let’s put Bae coming to our world in 1902. That would mean it would have been 111 years since he dropped through the portal. Now, he may feel like he’s been around longer since Wendy says time works differently in Neverland, and it would also account for how long Hook has been around, but that doesn’t explain why Gold says he’s a few hundred years old when he’d really only be around 160 or so (and no, his time stuck during the curse doesn’t count toward his age).

So Greg and Tamara know that the diamond is part of the fail-safe, which means they are going to try and destroy Storybrooke themselves. Hopefully, Emma finds them before that happens. I’m looking forward to Bae and Hook discovering that they have a connection with Milah. Tamara and Greg keep referencing the Home Office, which seems pretty ominous. And we saw the true version of Wendy in Neverland, and it was not all it was cracked up to be. Neal is gone, but at least Emma got some closure before it happened. The final episode is next!!!!

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#once upon a time #once upon a time review #once upon a time rewatch #once upon a time 2x21 #once upon a time second start to the right

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fandumbstuff · 4 years

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The Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ranked Best to Worst.

Why watch a movie when you can experience it? And that’s what the MCU demands you do. These films are less about settling in to watch a movie. It’s about getting together your family, your friends and making an entire event of them. Marvel Studios has forever changed cinema going, and boy am I eager to get back to them. So with that, let me break down the franchise and my take on the best and worst it has to offer.

1. Iron Man 3 Directed by Shane Black

Iron Man 3 still holds up as one of the MCU’s strongest screenplays. It’s their first (and one of their only) real character study of a superhero, and the psychology behind being one. Tony Stark suffers from PTSD and struggles to understand his relationship with Iron Man. He is forced to contend with human issues and find what it is that truly makes him a hero. It’s also a movie chock full of incredible action set pieces- the Air Force One scene still holding up as one of my favourites- and wickedly funny dialogue. It continues to be my most satisfying re-watch out of the MCU.

2. Black Panther Directed by Ryan Coogler

Marvel’s best villain, best score, best production design, and best picture candidate. It’s the movie that forced Hollywood to take them seriously. Ryan Coogler showed the world that he can perform even within a studio system that had largely been criticised for being too overbearing. The world may have always known that Black Panther existed, but Coogler showed us why he matters so much. The story is the MCU’s most inspiring yet. Killmonger forces not just T'Challa, but every audience member to consider his motivations seriously. It shows humanity that heroism doesn’t come from superficial acts, but from overcoming our own flaws and learning hard lessons from our history.

3. Thor: Ragnarok Directed by Taika Waititi

In letting Taika Waititi have free reign over Ragnarok, Marvel is given their most unique film yet. The movie feels very much like Waititi’s own vision, chock full of his signature wit and charm. And its within this vision that we finally see Chris Hemsworth come into his own as Thor. Finally at ease, he’s allowed to be funny, and absurd, and play the emotional scenes without any melodrama. Waititi really makes the character dynamics in this film memorable, introducing us to the Grandmaster and Valkyrie, and fleshing out Banner and Loki. It’s a cast that charms us enough to consider staying with the MCU and seeing where they go.

4. Captain America: The Winter Soldier Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo

Chris Evans finally comes into his own as Captain America, as Winter Soldier gives him a captivating character arc to work through. Steve Rogers is placed in a conflict that makes him question his own motivations. The morality that he stands for is in direct opposition to the authority he serves, leaving him to question what it means to be Captain America. We also see him learn from his relationships with the supporting cast- with a franchise best portrayal of Nick Fury and Black Widow and a particularly strong introduction of Falcon. The Russos create something truly remarkable by taking a character that has been criticized for being too traditional and show him learn and change significantly. But in addition to all this they direct what is easily the MCU’s best pure action movie yet, showcasing the franchise’s best car chase (Fury vs Cops) and its best fight scene (THAT knife scene).

5. Avengers: Endgame Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo

Stunning, momentous and joyous, Endgame is the theatrical experience that Marvel has spent over 10 years honing to perfection. Just one year after Infinity War, the MCU brings together their iconic, colossal cast for their grandest, most ambitious adventure yet. And while Endgame is chock-full of some stunning action sequences and gleeful references, it carries a genuine heart to it. These heroes struggle with PTSD from the events of Infinity War. We see them at their very lowest, and watch their desperation mount and grow to determination. This epic struggle is what has made superheroes so compelling for so many years. By breaking these characters down, the Russos show us just what makes them great. We’ve witnessed writers, directors and certainly the actors take these characters on journeys that have seemed at times thrilling, at time out of touch, but in Endgame, they’re at their very best. The moments of reprieve in the action where we simply sit with them to listen in on their banter are the best. Building to it’s inevitably emotional ending, Endgame winds up being one of the most wholly cathartic experience I have had with a film.

6. Guardians of the Galaxy Directed by James Gunn

At the time of it’s release, Guardians was the franchise’s best-looking movie yet, and it still holds up. The slick space opera designs set to the now iconic soundtrack made the first Guardians an aesthetic marvel. It’s the substance that comes with this that makes the movie one of the MCU’s best. The ragtag group are misfits who find their purpose by banding together, and while the sequel may have drawn this out to nauseating lengths, the first movie made it succinctly effective. It found the right balance of humour and sentiment, endearing us to a cast of characters that seemed too obscure to be popular- and guaran-damn-teeing that Marvel can do whatever the hell it pleases moving forward.

7. Avengers: Infinity War Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo

To handle ten years of storytelling and world building and bring it to such a satisfying crescendo is commendable. The Russo brothers handle each character well- each new introduction is a pleasing moment of familiarity and excitement to the fans that have stuck with this franchise. It’s a perfect match to the comic book format. And ultimately Infinity War is as good as any major comic book event. A chance to see our favourite characters interact with each other with conceivable motivations, and face a threat that is alarmingly critical. Its in this respect that Infinity War outshines its predecessors. For the first time, the Avengers face real emotional consequences if they fail. The Russo’s pull no punches to make this clear and despite a fair amount of signature MCU levity, Infinity War winds up being their darkest film yet.

8. The Avengers Directed by Joss Whedon

There’s no questioning the milestone achievement that The Avengers accomplished. As a superhero ensemble, it never once feels congested or jarring-something that most blockbusters consistently suffer from. Instead the protagonists are given clear goals, and their obstacles make real sense. Their hostility towards each other stems from their innate character flaws that they need to address to face the true antagonist in Loki. It highlights what Marvel does so well- offer us adventures that don’t tie up all their loose ends but rather leave them dangling to set up more ambitious stories.

9. Spiderman: Homecoming Directed by Jon Watts

I’ve long considered Spider-Man an uninteresting superhero, so it is highly commendable that Homecoming manages to change that. We skip the origin story and meet a Peter Parker that is inexperienced and has a lot of growing up to do. He contends with Michael Keaton’s Vulture- a villain that is simultaneously charismatic, intimidating, and relatable. Supported by what is probably the best supporting cast in any MCU film. Martin Starr, Hannibal Burress, Zendaya, Jacob Batalon, Jon Favreau and Marisa Tomei flesh out Spidey’s own universe of Queens- wholly believable and charming.

10. Captain America: Civil War Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo

In all respects, this should have been the second Avengers film. The Russo brothers do what Joss Whedon couldn’t. They show these characters change and clarify their motivations based on the 8 years that we’ve been watching them. They introduce new characters like Spider-Man and Black Panther in seamless fashion. They provide exciting action set pieces and compelling moments of drama. The payoff at the end truly shows us how much of a battering these heroes take- emotionally and physically. We see their vulnerability more clearly than any other MCU film, forcing us to address the question that they can’t keep doing this forever.

11. Captain Marvel Directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck

The biggest issue that this movie suffers from is that it seems very episodic to a larger MCU. Its hard to get around this though, with it’s release date being less than 2 months away from Endgame. It feels like there are some key world building details that had to be gotten across. Had this not been the case, perhaps they could have explored Carol’s character a bit more. She does seem interesting, and Brie Larson does an expectedly great job, but it seems like we’re only getting a taste of a much larger character study. From what we see though, it is refreshing to see a female character who simply goes out and kicks ass without ever being sexualised, even in terms of costume design. The highlight of the film though, is undoubtedly Samuel L. Jackson’s incredible portrayal of a young Nick Fury, through the most magical of magic tricks in VFX.

12. Iron Man Directed by Jon Favreau

While I do feel like the movie has lost some of it’s lustre since it’s release, there’s no denying that Jon Favreau achieved something remarkable with Iron Man. Forever considered one of Marvel’s B-characters, Favreau brings Tony Stark into a modern era and instantly relevant setting. This is obviously due in large part to his gamble of casting the debilitated Robert Downey Jr. in the lead. Downey Jr. pays off in spades, revitalising his career and sadly typecasting himself forever with a roguishly charming performance.

13. Doctor Strange Directed Scott Derrickson

Doctor Strange is proof of the amazing world-building prowess the MCU has. They introduce key elements to the universe that seem incredibly important, without ever overwhelming the story. Benedict Cumberbatch puts on his best American accent yet and capably sells Stephen Strange as one of the MCU’s more level-headed heroes. The rich mythos of Doctor Strange fits immediately into the greater MCU framework while telling it’s own compelling narrative culminating in my favourite climax to any MCU film- “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.”

14. Spider-Man: Far From Home Directed by Jon Watts

The real standout from this film is Jake Gyllenhaal with his pitch-perfect performance as Quentin Beck/Mysterio. He threads that line of MCU humour extremely well, but also manages to come off as wholly and realistically threatening when he needs to. Far From Home had the tough task of following the monumental Endgame, but it fulfills its purpose of truly setting the tone for the future. A lot rests on Peter Parker’s shoulders and Far From Home shows him having to deal with it responsibly, maturing and growing to fill a greater role in the MCU.

15. Ant-Man Directed by Peyton Reed

If you ignore the fact that this movie was almost directed by Edgar Wright and how amazing that could have been, Ant-Man still delivers as a very entertaining movie and one of the franchises strongest origin stories. Scott Lang is instantly the MCU’s most relatable character- not a god, not a spy, just a thief with no powers and no resources (initially). And there is no one who could have played this character better than Paul Rudd. Bringing his signature charm and impeccable comedic timing to the franchise is a breath of fresh air and a brand-new dynamic.

16. Captain America: The First Avenger Directed by Joe Johnston

Ultimately my biggest problem with Captain America has always been his origin story, so I have some natural issues with this film. It is also bogged down with some cliched romantic drama between Steve and Peggy which takes away from its otherwise engrossing plot. Hugo Weaving proves to be an effective Red Skull, showing us a deeply disturbing quest for power. The movie excels in its WW2 setting, laying down real consequences and motives behind Captain America’s heroism. It takes a few movies for Chris Evans to settle into the role, but this is a strong start.

17. Iron Man 2. Directed by Jon Favreau

Iron Man 2 consistently threads the line of poignant storytelling. Ivan Vanko’s vengeful motives, Tony Stark’s descent into alcoholism and the nature of war profiteering. It’s especially unfortunate then that the movie gets bogged down with a persistent need for levity. More than any other film in MCU, the humour in Iron Man 2 seems particularly cumbersome- taking away from what would surely be strong performances from Mickey Rourke and Sam Rockwell. As a result, we’re left with villains who don’t seem to be a threat at all- mere caricatures for Iron Man to dispatch without ever really pondering their motivations.

18. Ant-Man and the Wasp Directed by Peyton Reed

My initial reaction to this movie was pretty positive, but given time I realise it’s totally forgettable. While it does feature some integral world building to the larger MCU, there’s very little done to explore some of their characters, particularly the Pym/van Dynes. There are still a lot of great aspects, including some clever action set pieces that explore Ant-Man’s powers more. Scott’s relationship with Cassie is expanded on and Paul Rudd and Abby Ryder Fortson do a great job selling this, making it seem truly endearing without ever being corny. Also Randall Park is in it and he might be the greatest actor of his generation.

19. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 Directed by James Gunn

More of the same, but not nearly as fresh is what Guardians 2 serves up. It rehashes a lot of its predecessors joke formulas, action montages and even the basic emotional tone. It’s hard for any of this to seem anything other than repetitive and I’m left wanting these characters to go on real adventures rather than wallow in their own angst. Without offering any new developments to these characters and a rather uninteresting plot, the movie is another totally dismissible filler episode in the MCU.

20. Thor Directed by Kenneth Branagh

It’s really baffling that with as big of a name as Kenneth Branagh attached to it, Thor winds up being one of the MCU’s most poorly directed films. Poorly constructed shots framed on a dutch tilt and coloured with a gaudy high contrast palette make this movie a downright eyesore. It’s especially unfortunate because it’s got some great moments of storytelling in it. While the first three quarters of the movie seem tedious, it pays off in the last 30 minutes- exposing a complex family drama that drives most of the film. While Chris Hemsworth took a few films to polish his acting chops, Tom Hiddleston and Anthony Hopkins provide strong performances to really sell their characters and make us care.

21. The Incredible Hulk Directed by Louis Leterrier

This movie has easily become the sore thumb in Marvel’s formula. It seems entirely different from the rest of the movies. This is due in large part I believe to make it similar to the original TV series. None of this is a good thing. The movie has a largely meandering plotline, with no sensible character development. Bruce Banner goes back and forth between being tortured by the Hulk and accepting him. In a world populated by poor villains, Tim Roth’s Abomination might be the worst one. At no point do his motivations make sense or seem clear at all.

22. Avengers: Age of Ultron Directed by Joss Whedon

It seems like Joss Whedon decided to make a sequel to The Avengers without taking into consideration the four other movies that came out after it. Ignoring most of the character development and brushing aside key plot points, Whedon instead tries to explore their team dynamic by sewing seeds of hostility and testing them against a new villain. However, as good as James Spader is, Ultron never feels like a real threat. The real antagonist for the Avengers winds up being themselves, constantly bickering over right and wrong- and while this isn’t necessarily bad, Civil War would do a much better job of this just a year later. This makes Age of Ultron a dispensable entry in the MCU, and Whedon’s extremely poor handling of Natasha and Bruce’s relationship make it an arduous rewatch.

23. Thor: The Dark World Directed by Alan Taylor

The Dark World suffers from some bizarre shifts in tone and horribly forced humour. They reduce Jane Foster and Thor’s relationship to a cliched romantic comedy and then use it to add unnecessary comedy to the family dynamic established in the first Thor. Even the performances seem poor here- as if the actors never truly felt comfortable in their role. They posture and exaggerate to sell a script that offers them very little to work with. With a caricature of an evil villain and a generic McGuffin to chase, The Dark World is everything you could criticize the MCU of, rolled into one movie.

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years

Text

A love that never leaves (11)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Descriptions of depression. Some pretty heavy sads.

A/N: Flashback time. Grief can be all consuming and overwhelming. This time, we follow her while she tries to learn how to live again, before a night in 1946 changes everything.

And again...I am sorry.

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

February 1945

The telegram informing her of Bucky’s death, written in Steve Rogers’ messy, cursive scrawl, sits on her kitchen table for a week. Across the creamy white paper are crinkled watermarks and trickles of black ink, where the paper swallowed her teardrops and bled out the sorrow of Steve’s words. One night, in a fit of anger, she tears it to shreds and feeds each piece to the hungry flames licking up the stone wall of her fireplace. There is immediate relief at the words disappearing, but even without their physical presence, the grief always returns.

March 1945

The plush wool feels soft in her hands. A week after his last visit, she saw the bundle in a storefront and bartered two of her old dresses for it; the color was a simple heather gray, but she knew it would look perfect against the deep blue of his coat. Every evening, she would knit until her fingers ached, but in a few weeks, she had a thick wool scarf, one of her old hair ribbons tied around it for a bow. She thought she would keep it as his birthday gift. Now, on what would have been Bucky’s 28th birthday, she wraps it around her neck and crawls into bed. Sleep doesn’t come, but every memory of him arrives like a fresh bullet, punched clean through her chest.

May 1945

Over! The war is over! Relieved cries reverberate through the town when VE Day arrives, children running down streets screaming with excitement, mothers and widows weeping joyously in the streets. Healing will take decades, but with those words, the world begins to plan for what comes next. Life is breathed back into the village and in the crowded town square, she lifts her face to the sunshine and closes her eyes. Fingers the chain around her neck holding the St. Michael medal Bucky gave her for their engagement, and wonders if she will ever be warm again.

July 1945

Wildflowers grow in riotous bursts of yellow and red and purple, filling the space behind her chicken coop with color. Laying amid the blooms, she sits in the baking summer sun, tracing her fingers over the colorful images on the postcards Bucky gave her. She thinks about traveling. About visiting those places, seeing them with new eyes, free from war. When she looks at the Brooklyn postcard, she wonders about visiting his family, but then she sees the crooked hearts he drew on the back, and she knows it would be too much. She puts the cards away.

September 1945

Leaves begin to fall, carpeting the grassy bank near the stream. Going through the motions, she dumps clothes from her basket, dunking them in the gurgling water, scrubbing them clean under crystal clear moonlight. Humming under her breath, she sings to pass the time, but the only words she can find are the ones she sang the first night Bucky found her by the creek and walked her home. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. It hurts too much, so she just stops singing.

October 1945

Soldiers have been returning for weeks. Gaunt and haunted, new men arrive every few days, and do their best to pick up the threads of their old lives. One Saturday morning, she walks through the stalls of the market, examining produce and talking with the vendors. A young soldier steps aside to let her pass, quickly pulling off his hat and smiling. Offering a quiet hello in response, she finishes her shopping and leaves; the soldier jogs after her and nervously asks, could he perhaps walk her home? The earnest look in his eyes is so familiar, it makes her sick. She gently tells him no.

December 1945

Taking a sharp kitchen knife, she goes into the trees and cuts an armful of pine boughs. She spreads them through her house, taking deep breaths of the sharp, piney scent. In the white vase on her table, she tucks them carefully in place and adds a small sprig of holly, the red berries shining brightly. Curled in the armchair beside her fire, she drinks tea and listens to the staticky crackle of Christmas hymns on her new radio. It’s a daily battle, but it happens. Life really does go on.

February 1946

Coming home late one evening, she unlocks her back door and hangs her coat in the hallway. Rubbing chilly hands together, she walks into her kitchen and turns on the light. She skids to a stop. Filling the small space, are two hulking men dressed in black. One steps forward and quickly grabs her arms, while the other plays with a length of rope and smiles at her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Someone wants a word.”

There’s a cursory struggle, but she doesn’t fight hard. She thinks to herself, if they kill her, maybe she’ll see Bucky on the other side.

That thought makes her smile, before the world goes dark.

*****

For the second time in her life, she awakens in a cold cell. Stretching her aching limps, she knows immediately this most certainly isn’t heaven.

Hell has a very specific look to it. One she knows far too intimately by now.

The small cell is clean, containing a lumpy bed and a worn blanket; in the corner is a pitcher of water and a bucket, and high on the wall is a small window letting in slivers of light. Her hands are bound in front of her, rough pieces of rope looped so tight around her wrists, the skin has rubbed itself raw. Blood soaks into the bristly rope fibers, staining it with streaks of black.

Where is she this time?

Leaning back against the wall, she blows out a long breath and there’s a strange satisfaction in her realization.

She just doesn’t care.

*****

Hours or maybe days later, her door creaks open. Outlined in the doorframe, is a tall Hydra guard dressed all in black, a mask over his face, a pair of reflective goggles covering his eyes. When he sees her, the gun in his hands trembles the slightest bit, before it steadies once more.

So, she thinks. Here it comes.

Motioning with the gun, the guard indicates she should stand, but she mutinously stays on the bed. If she has to go, she will be defiant to the end.

Stepping forward, he hesitates briefly, before grasping the rope and jerking her to her feet. Balancing his gun at the back of her neck, he pushes her forward.

Down a long hall they go, moving through a set of wooden doors. With a mute resistance, she refuses to walk, forcing him to physically drag her instead. Finally, he simply picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway with a series of breathless grunts.

She kicks him the entire way.

When he arrives at a heavy oak door, he bangs three times and throws it open.

The room is surprising. This is no torture chamber, filled with metal tables and metal chairs and the metallic taste of electricity on her tongue. It is warm and cozy, a roaring fireplace on one wall, armchairs strewn casually around, tall shelves lined with books.

In the middle of the room, stands Colonel Richter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Please, come in,” he says cordially, laughter in his voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The guard dumps her in a sprawling heap and departs. In the flickering firelight, she struggles awkwardly to her feet and readies for battle.

“You again. What do you want? You know I won’t help you,” she snaps, her eyes roaming around the room, searching for threats.

Richter looks amused. Sipping his whiskey, he comes slowly closer until he is only inches from her face.

“First things first. Before, when you stole away in the dead of night - that was a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The quick crack of his backhand sends her stumbling sideways. The heavy ring he wears rips open a fat gash on her cheek and she instantly feels blood begin to ooze.

“Such language for a lady. Did you learn that from him? Let’s try again, shall we? I have a story for you and I’d like you to listen,” he says. “A few months ago, we were working on him and in the middle of one of his delirious rants, I hear something interesting. Can you guess?”

Glaring at him, she remains silent.

“No guesses?” he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Alright then. Through all the screaming and crying, I hear him say your god damn name. Imagine my surprise.”

The first prickles of confused fear skate up her back. “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out.

“It took some digging, but we managed to trace the path he and that wretched group of assholes from his unit made the last couple years of the war. I sent a few search parties out, and low and behold - here you are.”

Bucky told her once, how he and Captain Rogers parachuted from an airplane. She remembers him laughing about the free-fall, how it made his stomach swoop in a million directions. That feeling of free-falling sweeps over her now, turning her blood to ice.

“What do you mean? Who?”

Richter smiles widely, his eyes gleaming. Grabbing the bloody ropes around her wrists, he yanks her forward and pushes her into the shadowy corner of the room.

“Wait here. I have a surprise for you.”

Outside the door, she hears voices arguing. The scuffle of feet and the sharp bite of an angry voice. Suddenly, the door swings open and four guards enter, dragging a fifth man.

From the dark shadows, she muffles a scream.

Bucky looks exhausted. Dressed in a long-sleeved green shirt and ragged brown pants, he’s thinner than the last time she saw him. Rings of black circle his eyes, the vibrant blue now dull and listless. All his beautiful dark hair has been buzzed short and she can see bloody sores scabbing over along his temples. The left sleeve of his wool shirt is empty, pinned up at his shoulder and his right arm is tucked behind him, a leather strap looped around his wrist and stretched across his chest, keeping his good arm immobile.

“You didn’t tell me it was a party,” he rasps mockingly. “I would’ve put on my fancy clothes.”

One of the guards grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags him closer. “Jesus Christ, I am so fucking sick of your fucking mouth,” he sneers and Bucky shoots him a cocky grin.

“Sweetheart, you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he stage-whispers. In the blink of an eye, the guard draws back his arm and smashes his fist into Bucky’s face. Dropping to his knees, Bucky’s mocking laugh turns into a rattling cough that comes up with a spray of blood and he spits strings of red on the floor. “Like being kissed by your mom,” he says weakly.

Swearing ferociously, the guard moves to kick him, but Richter holds up his hand.

“For god’s sake, every fucking time. You know he does this, why do you let him get to you?”

The guard is visibly furious, but he says nothing. Instead, he grabs Bucky by the back of his shirt, hauling him roughly to his feet. Bucky sways precariously, before he finds his balance. Taking several deep breaths, he fixes his mouth back into that mocking smirk and lifts his chin.

“Evening boys. What the fuck can I do for you today?”

Richter gives him a congenial smile. “We have a visitor tonight. I thought perhaps you’d like to meet her.”

Bucky barks out a hollow laugh. “I sincerely fuckin’ doubt that.”

Richter’s smile grows impossibly larger. “Well, let’s see, shall we?”

Pulling her from the shadows, he throws her forward and she stumbles into the light.

Here’s the thing.

Bucky Barnes is so weak, he can barely stay on his feet. For the last five days, he’s eaten nothing more than a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. When he walks, he greatly favors his right side, still unbalanced by the loss of his left arm even a year later, and when he speaks, his voice has a perpetually guttural sound, his vocal cords shredded from months of screaming. Sprinkled across his shaved head, are a mess of pink scars where the dull razor blades they used bit cruelly into his scalp.

He looks exactly as one would expect. A prisoner of war.

For weeks, he’s been on the verge of collapse, but the moment he sees her, none of that matters.

Horrified disbelief fills his face and his eyes flick from the tears on her face, to the trickle of blood down her cheek, to the blood-soaked ropes around her wrists.

With a feral howl, he lunges toward her.

Throwing off the shocked guards at his side, he head-butts the man in front of him, sending him flying back. With a well-aimed kick, he knocks the legs from under the fourth guard and the man falls hard, before Bucky levels a savage kick to his head.

Richter laughs delightedly as he watches the show, until Bucky rushes for him. Lifting his gun, he sets it casually against her temple and cocks it. At the click of the hammer, Bucky skids to a stop, his mouth still twisted in a vicious snarl. Sweat dripping down his face, blood dripping from his busted lip, his chest heaves furiously.

“You god damn motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit, you let her go. Let her fuckin’ go, or I’ll fuckin’ gut you.”

“I thought so,” Richter says smugly. “So, our Soldier has something to fight for. How utterly inconvenient.”

“You’re god damn straight I fuckin’ do,” Bucky hisses, staggering under the rush of adrenaline. “Hurt her and I swear to god, I swear to fuckin’ god, I will slit your fuckin’ throat.”

With a dramatic sigh, Richter keeps his eyes on Bucky and bends down to speak in her ear.

“Apparently this one’s special, fights harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. Every time we wipe him, every memory comes back in a couple days. I don’t know what Zola did to him, but his brain fixes it too fast. Basically, he just won't fucking stay down.”

“Fuck no I won’t,” Bucky interrupts.

“See what I mean? You know what happened last time,” Richter says softly, his breath hot in her ear. “I don’t care if he is Zola’s little pet, he’s a wild fucking animal and I’m not above putting him down. So here we are. You fix him or I kill him. Your choice.”

“What the fuck is he talking about,” Bucky asks, looking directly at her now. “What - darlin, what the hell does he mean?”

Looking into his eyes, she thinks about that lovely blue. For the rest of her life, she knows she will see it everywhere. In everything.

Behind him, the guard he head-butted lumbers to his feet and manages to get his forearm locked around Bucky’s neck.

Richter stands behind her, waiting. Against her skin, he presses a light kiss and she shudders at the hideous feel.

“Come now. You love him, don’t you? Do the right thing.”

Clasped in a tight chokehold, she can see Bucky’s face turning red as he splutters for breath.

“No,” she chokes out. “I won’t. I won’t.”

Cruel fingers dig into the back of her neck and he hisses in her ear. “If you say no, I will put him in that chair and fry his fucking brain every single day for the rest of his life and I will make you watch. Even if he heals fast, he still screams like a baby. Trust me on that one.”

Bucky is still fighting, his throat working uselessly as he tries to draw a breath.

Every scenario, every choice, every possibility, flies through her head. Trying desperately to come up with a solution, with a way to save them both, she thinks and thinks and thinks.

And she comes up empty, because the answer is simple.

There is no solution.

Then what choice does she have?

She remembers the parade of men from before, the sound of their screams as the chair rocked bolts of electricity through them again and again. The thought of Bucky strapped in that chair, his body convulsing as the electric currents wrack his body, as he screams for her to help him - it is inconceivable. She knows what she has to do. She knows.

What choice does she have?

“Yes,” she sobs, her eyes filling with tears. “Fine, yes, I’ll do it, please just - let him go.”

Motioning to the guard, Richter points at the floor. The man releases his death-grip on Bucky’s throat, kicking his feet from under him and Bucky falls hard to his knees. Wrenching herself from Richter’s harsh grip, she rushes to catch him before Bucky’s face hits the floor.

“You have one minute,” Richter warns, fading into the shadows of the dark room. “And then you do it. If you leave anything behind again, I will kill him.”

After everything, here they are. Together.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, the warm light cocoons them in their own world, one last time.

Bucky rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes when she cradles his thin frame against her. In the quiet room, his short, shallow breaths echo raggedly. Carefully, she runs her fingers soothingly up his neck, over the spiky tufts of dark hair and his body wilts in her tight embrace.

Sighing wearily, he picks his head up and touches his forehead to hers. Cupping his face, she brushes her fingers over the scratchy stubble lining his sunken cheeks and he gives her a rueful smile.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking. You okay with a one-armed husband?” he breathes. “Promise I can still love you just as hard.”

Tears streaming down her face, she returns his smile. “I love it. It makes you look dashing.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he replies, pushing his nose against hers. Precious seconds slip by as they sit in silence, breathing each other in. Both trying their damndest to remember everything about the other, before they lose it all. Finally, she whispers her favorite words in his ear.

“I love you, Bucky.”

He hums contentedly and smiles. “I love you too. Don’t ever forget it, okay? I know I won’t.”

It takes every last drop of willpower for her not break down. Because he will forget. He will forget, and she will make certain that he does.

Rubbing her cheek against his, she presses her lips to the shell of his ear, giving him one more thing that the rest of the world cannot take. Something that is theirs, and theirs alone.

“You’re everything for me, Bucky Barnes. You’re the love of my life,” she murmurs, and he leans his head against her. When he opens his eyes, she finds an endless ocean of sadness pouring from the blue depths and he speaks quickly under his breath.

“Listen to me. Whatever happens, I need you to do something for me, okay?” The desperate urgency in his voice makes her heart skip. “No matter what happens, don’t you dare stay here. I can see it in your face honey, don’t you stay here, stuck in this room inside your head, thinking you could’ve done something different. You understand me?”

Swallowing hard, she tries to answer, but he cuts her off. The words are full of fear, holding a message he needs her to accept. “Please, I’m begging you. When you get out of here, you find a way to go on. Find a way to live.”

Losing him again will break her. That fact is as certain as the sun rising in the east.

There’s no way she can do this again, but in her heart, she knows that’s not what he needs. He needs her to agree, he needs her to try, and if she has to send his mind into a graveyard of buried memories, at least she can do this one thing for him.

She owes their love that much.

“I will,” she says. “I promise, I will.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers with a tired smile. Staring into his eyes, she does everything she can to memorize the love she finds there, before Bucky gives her a crooked smile and tells her one more secret. “You know what? I don’t regret anything that happened. If I had to do it all over, I wouldn’t change one damn thing. It all led me to you, and I’ll remember every piece of us to the end. Because this kind of love, it never leaves. Right?”

“No, it never leaves,” she echoes. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she kisses him full on the mouth, tasting blood and salt and love, trying with her whole heart to carve even a small bit of herself into his bones.

Breaking the kiss, her heart plummets at the sight of his sweet smile.

Blinking away her tears, she takes a deep breath.

And then she tears her entire world apart.

Surprise fills Bucky’s face when he feels the heat begin to pulse from her hands, when he sees the soft glow of white light from her fingers. Watching her in confusion, his lips part as though he wants to say something, but no words come. Concentrating harder than she ever has before, she gathers everything, all those beautiful memories that make Bucky Barnes the man he has become and she wipes them all away.

All his stories about the Howling Commandos. That spring day he caught a foul ball at a Dodgers game. Steve Rogers’ floppy blond hair shining in the summer sun at Coney Island. The way his mother sang while she baked, and the fairytales he read his sister before bed. How he felt looking in the mirror the first time he put on his uniform, pale and scared to death. Watching a brilliant red sun sinking in the ocean, the day he sailed for England. Every memory he has of her. The thrill of their first kiss and the way she held his arm when he walked her home from church and the first time they made love and how nervous he felt asking her to marry him.

How god damn much he loves her.

Every colorful memory he owns, she siphons away. Nothing is left behind, because this time, she can take no chances.

The white light burns hotter, so bright Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and still she watches him through it all, until finally, finally, finally -

She lets go.

Bucky slumps unconscious, his chin tucked to his chest. Pressing one final kiss to his forehead, her silent tears splash to the floor. She wants to stay forever, to be there when he opens his eyes, to force herself back into this new life, to make him remember her. To make him remember who they are together.

My god. Oh my god, what has she done.

Before she can say a word, the guards rip him from her arms. Dragging him away, his head lolls to the side and the last thing she sees, before they exit the room, are Bucky’s eyes beginning to flutter open.

“Wait -“ she says, panic filling every last cell in her body, “no, please wait, don’t - please, where are you taking him?”

“He has work to do,” Richter says dismissively.

Sick with heartbreak and drowning in regret, she remains kneeling on the floor, and every last piece of her soul shatters.

*****

Day later, there’s a screech of metal, and her door bangs open.

Richter saunters in, a length of cloth folded over his arm. Behind him, is the Hydra guard who escorted her from her cell last time, his gun cocked and aimed.

Caked in dried mud and an obscene amount of blood, the bright blue of Bucky’s Howlie jacket is nearly unrecognizable. The left arm is mostly torn away, the thick material hanging in ragged strips below the elbow. With a grunt, Richter tears away a piece of fabric at the shoulder and tosses it at her.

“Here. Thought you might want this,” he says coldly.

At her feet, the cloth looks dark and dirty, but in the midst of grimy blue, she sees the gray wings Bucky had sewn into his jacket sleeve. She remembers tracing her fingers over them, asking what they meant. Bucky had grinned, his chest swelling with a bit of pride, before he wove tales for her about the Howling Commandos. He glossed over their missions and focused on the men instead, and she remembers how wonderfully he could tell a story. The small bits of humor he found amid the bleakness of war painted a bright world for her to see.

Now, she picks it up, touching the rusty-red smudges lining the edges of the wings. She looks up at him.

“Why?”

Richter says nothing, but a grim smile pulls at his lips. He draws out the pause, savoring the expectation in her face, before carelessly dropping a bomb.

“Zola lost him during a routine experiment. He coded on the table. Guess we haven’t made our soldiers as durable as we need just yet.”

This bomb, it finishes the job Steve’s telegram began. For the second time, she learns the love of her life is dead and now there is nothing but cold emptiness where her heart used to be.

“We no longer require your services. We have a new machine that should work just fine,” he tilts his head, looking down at her. “But thank you for your help.”

Spinning on his heel, he shoves the remains of the blue coat at the guard still waiting in the doorway.

“Burn it,” he orders. “And leave her here to rot.”

The door bangs shut and the lock clicks with a sickening finality.

*****

No food. No water.

For two days, she hears footsteps marching back and forth in front of her door. Something seems to be happening, but through it all, no one pays attention to the woman locked in the cell at the end of the hall, waiting to die.

In her dreams, she sees Bucky strapped to a table exactly like the one they used for her. Was he scared? Did he go willingly or did he fight? Did it happen quickly? Did it hurt? Did he realize what was happening before his heart stopped?

Was there any part of him, maybe buried deep down, that loved her to the end?

She dismisses that last thought. No, of course there wasn’t. She made sure of that fact.

In a strange way, she finds a perverse relief in Bucky’s death. At least this way, he will never know how she betrayed him.

Perhaps if there is an afterlife, someday she can find him there and beg his forgiveness.

On the morning of the third day, sunlight flows through the rectangular window near the ceiling and she waits on her bed. For someone to come. Anyone. To save her. To kill her. Either would work, she’s not picky. Watching the slow crawl of sunlight move across the floor, she counts the minutes, until she notices something peculiar.

Silence.

Sitting up takes a massive effort and rising to her feet almost knocks her out. Knees wobbling dangerously, her sweaty hand presses to the wall for balance, and she stumbles to the door.

“Hello?” she croaks, but it comes as nothing more than a rough whisper. Wrapping her fingers around the bars of the door, she rests her forehead against the cold metal. Summoning her strength, she tries again. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

No one answers. No lights illuminate the hallway. There is no hum of electricity, no sound of a distant radio playing, no raucous laughter. There is no one there.

So. They left her to die then.

Angry tears fill her eyes, and she bangs a weak fist on the door. Without expecting a solution, she grabs the door handle and rattles it, hot tears spilling over and streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.

But miraculously - the door opens.

Stepping cautiously into the doorway, she scans the hallway and finds nothing. Perplexed, she looks down and her confusion grows. Outside the door, a cloth bundle is propped against the wall. Crouching down, she hesitantly pulls at the loose knot and it falls open, revealing a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, two apples, and a cracked leather canteen full of water.

Common sense screams at her to think, but she throws caution to the wind. Grabbing the canteen with trembling fingers, she flips the lid and chugs the cold water. It has a dusty, alkaline taste, but she cries with relief. Tearing off a hunk of bread, she stuffs it in her mouth, her eyes drifting closed at the taste. It hits the hollowness in her belly so fast, she almost retches, but she manages to keep it down.

The rest, she wraps up in the cloth sack and hugs it to her chest.

She walks down the hall. Through a small office, down another hall.

With every step, she expects to be stopped. But nothing happens.

At the end of the hall, is a heavy black door. When she opens it, sunlight spills in and she takes a deep breath of fresh air.

From the outside, the base looks like a series of old buildings, but there is literally nothing else. No people. No vehicles. Nothing but the peppy chirp of birds warbling in the trees. For one brief moment, she stands in the morning light and thinks about giving up. Such a soothing thought.

But then the sound of Bucky’s voice fills her head.

Find a way to live.

The years that follow will be filled with devastating sadness, but beneath it all, she will hold these words close to her heart. She can do this for him.

So, she starts walking.

Down the ruts of the narrow access road leading away from the building, one foot in front of the other. She anticipates bullets hitting her from behind, but nothing happens. On she walks, through a forest of trees, one step after another. Into the open, where the access road joins up with a small country lane. She turns left and keeps going. Five slow miles she traipses along, until a town appears.

On the edge of the main street, she sees a small grocery store and walks inside. Covered in grime, shivering from head to toe, she tries to speak, but instead, she collapses. An older woman looks up from behind the counter, and her curls of thick black hair bounce when she rushes around the front counter shouting in Italian for help.

For two weeks, she stays there recovering, but no one comes.

In that sleepy Italian town, she finally understands.

After everything she has done, after everything they stole from her, after they broke her one last time - it appears that Hydra really was finished with her.

With freedom should come relief, but that is an emotion reserved for saints, not sinners like her. What she has done, she can never undo.

She will live with that fact, from now until the end of her days.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #altnl

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chiefnooniensingh · 5 years

Text

I Won’t Hesitate (For You) Chapter 6

Chapter 6: I can’t breathe (until you’re resting here with me)

In this chapter: We get a peak at the night of the murder. In the present day, things kick into high gear and Alex faces a few of his own demons.

a/n: This is one of my absolute favourite chapters. I reread this so often after finishing it just because I love it so much. I hope you'll like it as much as me!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

The title of last chapter was Linger by The Cranberries, guessed by hmd23! Congratulations!

Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

Also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

20th of October, 1953, somewhere between 3am and 5am.

Alex eyes snapped open. His heart was beating faster than it should, and for a moment he didn’t understand why he’d woken up feeling startled. Then it came back to him.

He’d been sure he’d heard someone yell out. The sensation had permeated straight through his uneasy dreams and had startled him awake. He scrambled for his pocket watch. 4:31am. Why in the world would anyone yell out in the middle of the night?

Half-groggy, but on high alert, Alex stumbled out of bed, his bad leg protesting heavily to the sudden weight put on it. Limping heavily, he made his way to the door, opened it a crack and peaked out. The corridor was dark and empty, the long-since extinguished lamps swaying lightly with the train’s movements. The certainty that he’d heard someone in distress fading with every passing second, Alex looked up and down the carriage. He looked down the long end, just in time to see a small figure slip into cabin number 4.

Perhaps that was all he heard; someone visiting the bathroom.

Deciding that his traumatized brain made a case from something that wasn’t anything, Alex closed the door, crawled back in bed and soon went back to sleep.

Present day, 21st of October, 1935

“Alex! Come in!” Maria DeLuca had opened the cabin door at his knock and her worried frown quickly changed to a lovely smile as she realized who was at the door. “My mother is resting; it’s been a very tiring day.”

Alex stepped inside the cabin, and indeed saw Mrs DeLuca asleep in her bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms DeLuca,” Alex said in a soft voice, as he took a seat next to the window. Maria took the seat next to him. “But I have some questions that I need answered.”

“Of course,” Maria said with a kind smile, “ask away.”

“Do you and your mother have identification on you?”

“Naturally.” Maria rummaged underneath her mother’s bed for a while, and produced two sets of identification papers, which he handed to Alex.

Alex copied all of it down in his notebook. “Maria DeLuca, 22 years of age, resident of New Orleans. Occupation…singer?”

“Quite famous, too! I’ve even got a record deal coming up! People line up for blocks to hear me sing every Mardi Gras.”

Alex nodded, slightly impressed. He resolved to look up some of her music upon returning to America. “Your mother’s name…Margaret DeLuca, resident of New Orleans, retired.” Maria nodded as she took the papers from him.

“I’ve seen her looking varying degrees of ill. Is there something wrong with her?”

Maria’s smile vanished abruptly. “We…we don’t know. She’s starting to lose bits of memories. Some days she’s as sharp as she used to be, then the next she’s convinced Rosa Ortecho is standing next to her, having entire conversations with her.”

“Your mother knew Rosa Ortecho?”

Maria nodded, tears filling her eyes. “The poor girl. My mom was the Ortecho’s house maid until a few weeks before the kidnap. My dad had gotten very sick and we had to move closer to a hospital that could help him, you see. When my mother read of the case, weeks after her body had already been discovered, something broke in her. She was still my loving mom, and she took good care of me even after my father died, but there was always a kind of sadness surrounding her.”

Motive, Alex wrote down, but in his mind, he doubted it. Mimi DeLuca was barely strong enough to lift a hand of cards, let alone plunge a knife into a man’s chest. Still, it was pertinent information. “How is it that you came to be on this exact train, the same train that the murderer was on?”

Maria looked desperately upset. “I don’t know! I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. The only logical answer is some cruel twist of fate!”

“And you don’t think you or your mother…?”

Maria’s dark eyes suddenly flashed angrily, and Alex saw, for the first time, that he was better off not underestimating this woman. “Are you suggesting I or my mother had anything to do with this horrid business? Because my mother is sick enough as it is, and planning a murder is certainly not on the top of our priority list!”

“Of course. I’m sorry I asked.” Maria kept her eyes narrowed at him for a while, and Alex felt another possibility for friendship slip away from him. But he wasn’t here to make friends, he reminded himself. He had to solve a murder. Whatever it took. “Where were you around 3AM, miss DeLuca?”

“Asleep. My mother woke at around 4 to request a glass of water from the conductor. I woke up briefly because of the scuffle, then fell asleep again. We did not hear about the murder until we arrived at the scene after everyone was already awake. I did not commit this murder, Mr Manes,” Maria said fiercely, “and neither did my mother. Frankly, I’m insulted you find us capable.”

Alex rose to his feet, having gathered all he needed right now and cast Maria a sad look. “Ma’am, in my line of business, I’ve learned that everyone is capable with enough motivation.”

With that, he left.

En route back to his own cabin, with every intention of having a lie down for a while, to really mull this case over, he ran straight into Michael. “Hey, you okay?” Michael asked once more, looking concerned this time.

I swear, Alex thought privately, this man is going to give me a whiplash. “This case is giving me a headache,” he said, instead.

“Can I help?”

“That’s very kind of you, Michael, but I – ” He was cut off by a sudden loud squealing sound, a violent lurch as the train suddenly braked hard and another crash as it came to a sudden stop. Alex, already very unsteady on his feet, fell right into Michael when the train started to brake, and the force of the crash caused them both to tumble to the floor. The noise was deafening, and instinctively, Alex buried his face in Michael’s chest and covered his ears. It was excruciating to listen to the screaming of the breaks, the thudding of luggage falling over all up and down the train and then the frightened yells and screams of the passengers.

And suddenly he was on the battlefield again. The air smelled of gunpowder, blood and death and everywhere around him, his brothers were dying. Alex was barely 20 years old and not in any way, shape or form prepared for the violence that was an actual war. Clinging tightly to his weapon, he waited till he heard the enemy’s fire subside, then emerged out of the trench and fired at his faceless foe. The more people died around him, the more he realized how futile it was. How many men had laid down their lives for the simple fact that the US government wanted control over Nicaraguan waters? But it was too late to turn back now. If he stopped shooting, he would die. And he did not want to die. He came up from the trench once more but had miscalculated. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his knee in tatters and every nerve aflame. Michael’s face floated in front of him as he screamed in agony. “Alex,” he said softly. Alex smiled and reached out. “Alex. Alex!”

“Alex!” he heard Michael yell, and he felt two warm hands grab his face and pull him up. Alex gasped for breath as if he had been drowning and the reality of today came back to him in an instant. He wasn’t at war. He was on the Orient Express, which had apparently just crashed, and he was in Michael’s arms once more. Though nothing romantic was about to happen, for Michael was looking at him in alarm, scanning his face for injuries. Alex automatically did the same. Other than being severely startled, having had a pretty serious flashback, and having developed an even worse twinge in his leg, Alex didn’t think he was injured. Michael looked shaken, but otherwise unhurt as well. “You okay, love?” Michael asked softly, running his thumbs down Alex’s cheeks. Alex nodded.

“What the hell was that?” he said, his voice extremely shaky.

“I think we crashed. Come on, let’s get you up.” Michael helped Alex to his feet slowly, and when Alex put weight on his leg, it hurt less than he had expected. Thank goodness.

People were coming out of their cabins, looking ruffled and wide-eyed and some of them spotting some minor bruises or a split lip. Everyone seemed unharmed otherwise.

Michael looked at Alex again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, who still felt pretty shaken up, “I just…had a flashback.”

Michael’s eyes flashed with understanding, and without hesitation, he dropped the tiniest of kisses on Alex forehead. Just a brush of the lips, but Alex felt it and a warmth surged through him. “After this is over, we’re going to have to catch up,” Michael said with a half-smile. Alex nodded in agreement, not voicing his very real fear of having to put Michael in jail.

Jesse Manes came bursting in through the door, looking quite the worse for wear, his mouth bleeding profusely. It looked as if he had slammed his face into something as the train crashed. “Is everyone alright?” he asked to the crowd in general, and, not waiting for an answer, he continued, “I need Dr Vale!”

Kyle came hurrying forward with his med kit, looking harassed. Behind him, Ms Beth’s arm was in a bandage. Raising an eyebrow at Director Manes’ less than impressive visage, he opened his case and rummaged in it. “Hurry up, won’t you?” Director Manes snapped, obviously forgetting he was not in the army anymore.

“Dad!” Alex said loudly, as Kyle stopped what he was doing and looked up slowly.

“Excuse me?” Kyle said softly.

Jesse Manes stilled, only now realizing his mistake. “Oh, I am so terribly – ”

“Mr Manes, you might be the Compagnie director, but these people are your passengers, who have paid for your services and your hospitality. Now I understand this day has been stressful, but I will not permit anyone to speak to me in that tone. If I hear you speak to me or any of the people on this train in that way again, I can guarantee you will never find work this side of the pond again. Do I make myself clear?”

Alex’s mouth dropped open, and he felt Michael’s shoulders shaking with barely controlled laughter even as he was still supporting Alex. There was a very tense silence, in which Alex watched his father go through several emotions including ‘murderous’ before landing on forced remorse. “Of course, Dr Vale. I forgot myself, my apologies. It’s been stressful, as you said. If you would be so kind, would you mind helping me stem the bleeding?” He was still bleeding rather profusely, and with the public dressing down he’d just received, he made a very pathetic sight indeed.

“That was the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” said Alex in a low voice and Michael snorted.

“Karma is a bitch,” Michael muttered, causing Alex to cough out a laugh. He looked at Michael, those piercing brown eyes filled with mirth, and felt his heart skip a beat. The man was still holding him upright, even though Alex was sure his leg was able to support his weight.

Just like 10 years ago, Michael was there to catch him if he fell. It had taken them a shockingly small amount of time to fall back in sync with each other. Alex opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but wanting to talk, to touch, to really reconnect with Michael…but suddenly the outer door burst open and Beth screamed. Cold air blasted into the train, snowflakes bursting in from the cold and a large shadow exited the train into the snowy wild.

Without thinking, Alex took off.

“Alex, no!” he heard Michael yell from behind him, but Alex scarcely heard him. He was only vaguely aware of his leg protesting to this sudden sprint so soon after having taken the brunt of a very violent fall, but Alex had only one thought. Someone was running. The murderer was trying to escape.

It was freezing cold outside. Alex spared a glance to the front of the train, and his heart sank. They’d been about to pass through the Simplon Pass, but an avalanche had blocked the entrance; the Orient Express had rammed straight into the thickly packed snow.

They were stuck.

Alex’s gaze snapped around to the back of the train, where the escapee was still running. They were clothed in a big coat, making it hard to make out who this was. Alex tore after them, just as Michael jumped out to keep everyone else in. “Alex, be careful!” he yelled.

Alex called upon all the speed he’d built up in the army and sped up. No matter why this person was running, Alex couldn’t let them get away. “Stop!” he yelled, but it was useless. The wind was whistling around them both, and he only barely heard himself.

His knee protesting violently, Alex gave it everything he had and saw the distance between him and the escapee closing. The snowy landscape was hard to traverse, and they could barely see five feet in front of them, but Alex noticed the distinct change in landscape a few feet to the right; a ravine. And the other person was drawing very close to edge, Alex could already see snow beginning to crumble underneath their feet. “Careful!” he yelled. The other heard him, looked around, and lost their footing. “NO!” Without hesitation, Alex leaped for the person and pushed him away from the edge. The man – for Alex’d seen the glimpse of a beard – fell backwards, safely away from the edge, but Alex was less lucky. The snow was slipping underneath him, carrying him ever so slowly towards the edge. Oh, for the love of… He felt one foot already passing over the edge, and panic leapt into his throat. I don’t want to die, Alex thought frantically, as Michael’s face flashed before him, and he tried to scramble back up the slight slope.

“Mr Manes!” he heard, and the man jumped forward, trying to catch his hand. Their fingers touched, slipped and Alex began to slide in earnest.

“NO!” Alex was surprised that the yell hadn’t come from his own throat, but behind the man appeared Michael, like a god damn angel send from heaven. “Alex!” Michael lunged and grabbed Alex’s hand, just as Alex tipped over the edge. They both yelled in fear, but Alex felt a yank on his arm. Michael had gotten hold of him and had stayed his death a little longer. Not that it helped. Alex felt himself slowly falling again, and he saw the snow underneath Michael shifting again. Michael was slipping as well.

I’m gonna die, Alex realized. And he was taking Michael with him.

“Let go, Michael!” he yelled in a panic.

“No!” Michael looked panicked himself, but his grip remained firm as he tried to find footing. “And don’t you dare let go, Alexander Manes!” Then he directed himself to the guy behind him. “Grab my god damn legs!” he bellowed.

Alex couldn’t see what was happening. He stared up in Michael’s eyes, sure that if he was going to die, those were the last thing he ever wanted to see. “Michael,” he said softly, as he felt no change in his slow descent, “Michael, please.”

“NO!” Michael yelled, his voice cracking. “I’m not letting you go again, Alex! I don’t look away!”

“Michael, please!” Alex said, tears threatening in the corner of his eyes. “Please, don’t do this!”

Michael’s eyes were blazing with fury. “If you go, I’m going with you!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, you two!” a third voice added, and Isobel Bracken-Evans’s face appeared over the edge. “We got you, we’re pulling you up!”

And miraculously, even as Alex hardly dared to believe it, they suddenly began to rise, Michael disappearing back over the edge, but never letting go of Alex’s hand. Alex’s free hand grabbed the edge when he could reach it and two pairs of hands appeared to grab hold of his arm.

Isobel and Kyle were there, pulling him up, while Mr Otto was pulling on Michael’s legs.

His heart pounding, Alex was pulled back on solid ground, away from the edge. When finally, finally, they were safely away, he collapsed, gasping with adrenaline, against Michael, who caught him and wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” Michael muttered against Alex’s temple.

Alex could only clutch to Michael’s jacket tightly, pressing his face in his chest as he tried to stave of the beginnings of a panic attack. All the horrible things that could’ve happened were flashing before his eyes. His own bloody, mangled body two hundred feet below on the snowy plains. Michael’s broken, lifeless body next to him.

“Michael, are you okay?” Alex barely registered Isobel’s soft voice as he inhaled Michael’s scent in an attempt to calm himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Other footsteps. Several shocked voices as they took in the scene before them. Alex aware that he and Michael were being far too affectionate around a far too unfamiliar crowd. But he didn’t have the strength to push away and stand up. He’d been at death’s doorstep. And he would’ve never gotten a chance to tell Michael all he wanted to – to make up, to apologize. Ten years, wasted, because they’d been so scared and cowardly.

“Michael.”

“I got you, private,” Michael whispers softly, his hands stroking Alex’s back. “You’re safe, you’re alive, I got you.”

“You really wouldn’t have let me go?” Alex finally gasped out, looking up at him. The world was slowly coming back into focus, and Michael was at its centre.

Michael smiled and the last bit of panic faded from Alex’s system. “I never look away, Alex. I told you before. I just found you again. I’ll never let you go again. And if that means following you over the edge of a damn cliff, so be it.”

“Jesus, Michael.”

“What the hell happened?!” Another voice joined the murmurs and Alex and Michael both looked up, the spell between them broken. The world was freezing again and he was alive and there was still a murderer in their midst and his father just appeared, looking disgustedly down at Alex and Michael. Alex could only imagine that he looked like his father’s worst nightmare; broken, teary-eyed, in the arms of another man. If only Alex could bring himself to give a fuck.

“Alex almost went over the edge,” Isobel said, stepping in front of Michael and Alex with her hands on her hips. “Michael saved him. They’re catching their breath.”

Jesse Manes blinked in surprise. “Did they at least catch the person who ran?”

The silence became rather frosty, a very impressive feat seeing as it was snowing. “Yes,” another voice said, “they did.” Everyone turned around. Arthur Otto stood next to his daughter, who was holding his arm and looking extremely stern. “Why did you run, papi?”

Jesse Manes didn’t wait for an answer. “Only a guilty man runs! I always knew to never trust your kind and I was right! I’m going to make sure you never see the sun again, you murderous spic!”

Alex was on his feet at once. The exhaustion, the pain in his knee, all but forgotten. “Shut up!” he yelled. Jesse became very still, a stance Alex still recognized as a first sign of trouble. “You are not in charge of this investigation, Mr Manes! I am, and you will not threaten anyone on this train while I am in charge, or you will be very sorry indeed!”

“How dare you speak to me in that tone?!” screamed Jesse Manes, getting into Alex’s face, any sense of where he was and who was surrounding him forgotten. Alex didn’t back down. “I am still your father, you ungrateful, arrogant piece of shit, and I will have respect!”

“Respect is earned, and you have done nothing in my entire life to earn it!” Alex yelled back.

“You have never done anything to warrant giving you respect!”

Dr Kyle stepped forward, looking extremely angry. “Your son is a decorated war hero!”

Jesse Manes didn’t even seem to hear him, he just raged on, with the air of a man who was finally letting out what he’d been holding back for years. “You didn’t even have the decency to be normal, you had to be a fucking faggot to boot! You are disappointing, disgusting, despicable – ”

It happened in a flash. Alex was pulling back his fist to plant it firmly in the face of the man who called himself his father, but Michael had beat him to the punch – literally. Alex hadn’t realized how strong Michael had become in the ten years since he last saw them, but Jesse Manes went down with a single blow. Alex was convinced he saw a tooth flying. “You can no longer speak to Alex that way, not as long as I have anything to say about it!”

Jesse Manes looked shocked at this turn of events. He was cradling his jaw and Alex was looking forward to seeing a bruise form there in the next few days. He looked up at Michael, his eyes flashing with the same hate he always reserved for Alex. “My, my, you’ve finally learned to throw a punch. Lucky for you I didn’t get your good hand last time, huh?” His eyes flicked down to Michael’s left hand and Alex saw it spasm violently.

“You’re a fucking child,” Michael spat, his voice dripping with disgust and hatred. “You think respect and control come from violence. Yet these people, the people Alex is investigating for murder, respect him more than they do you. You are nothing. You have always been nothing. The only difference was that you were stronger than either one of us. That has changed. Touch either one of us again, and you will be very sorry indeed.” He stepped forward, his fist raised, and Jesse Manes flinched violently.

“Michael!” Max Evans stepped forward, looking stricken. “Enough, man. He’s got the point, I think.”

To Alex’s surprise, Michael dropped his fist, his fingers unclenching, a sharp breath exploding from him. Then he turned to Alex. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, then immediately felt his knee give out. “On second thought, not so much.” He buckled and Michael caught him effortlessly. “Alright, now that that’s dealt with,” Alex said, casting a disdainful look at his father, still bleeding on the ground. “Mr Otto, I would like an explanation, if you please.”

Mr Otto looked extremely white from all the excitements, and his daughter nudged him hard in the ribs to get his attention. “Oh! Ah. Yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, when the train crashed, I knew it was my only chance to get away…”

“Aha! See, escaping the scene of the crime…!” Jesse Manes began.

“I swear to God, one more word out of you…” Michael snapped, who did not finish his sentence, but Director Manes got the point. He lapsed into grudging silence.

“Yes, to get away. But not to flee the scene of this crime.” He looked at Alex intently. “I did not murder that man, Mr Manes. But I overheard your father talking to one of the other staff one day…said he could only suspect me, as I am the only person who could’ve done it; the DeLuca women and Beth being too weak, and Dr Kyle having taken an oath. I ran because I knew if it was up to Jesse Manes, I would be convicted on the word of a racist white man. And I’d rather live out here in the middle of nowhere than go to prison as a Latino man.”

Alex sent his father an absolutely hateful look, but his father seemed unremorseful in his racism. Alex could murder him. “Alright, everybody inside, to the dining carriage. It’s getting too cold out here. Dr Kyle, if you would escort Mr Otto.”

Everyone started towards the train, leaving Manes in the snow. Michael supported Alex all the way, and Alex was glad off it. His leg was aching worse than ever, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to put his weight on it for a day or so. Michael carried him singlehandedly up the stairs and into the carriage, and they laughed about it for a moment, before continuing to the dining carriage, where it was, mercifully, warmer.

Beth was standing next to her father, her arms crossed, looking extremely cross with her father. “Alex!” she said, when she saw him, waving him over. He and Michael made their way to their table. “I want to apologize for my dad. He shouldn’t have run. He panicked, thinking Jesse Manes had maybe called in the cavalry to arrest him.” Next to her, her father nodded.

Alex sighed. “Look, I get it. My father is…yeah. But I have to consider all the facts…”

“Mr Manes, I swear my father couldn’t have done it. I was with him all night – ”

“Beth – ” Max Evans tried to step in, but Beth continued, without missing a beat.

“– after I came back from Max Evans’ – ” Alex registered Max relaxing slightly, “ – I was reading some medical journals for most of the night and checked on my father periodically because he has heart issues, and my father was asleep until we were awoken by Isobel, I swear!”

Alex glanced from her to Max for a second and saw their eyes jump to each other for a fraction of a second. Something was going on between the two of them, but Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Beth’s story only barely held up under the lightest scrutiny. But even if she wasn’t telling the truth about seeing her father, at least her and Max’ story seemed to match up. And that covered her for the murder. His head was aching. He pinched the bridge of his nose and lights swam behind his eyelids. That couldn’t be good.

“Alex?” he heard Michael whisper.

“Mm,” Alex merely muttered. “Alright. Well, it seems that we are stuck here for a while. Nobody leaves this train without my supervision, is that clear?” Everybody nodded mutely. “Michael, can I have your master keys?”

“What, why?” Michael asked, looking startled.

“Because I’m the only one not a suspect in this case so I need those keys somewhere I can keep an eye on them, please, Michael.” He didn’t mean to sound desperate, but his vision was getting blurry, his head throbbing more and more by the second. He had to lie down, and soon.

“Alright,” Michael acquiesced, looking startled and handing over the keys. Alex limped towards the outer door, locked it, and put the keys in his pocket.

“Go to your cabins, everyone. I need to rest, and we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

People moved past him, murmuring and shooting him concerned glances. Michael stayed close to Alex, looking concerned. “Michael, can I speak to you for a moment?” Alex managed to say through gritted teeth. Without waiting for an answer, he limped towards his cabin and entered it, Michael following close behind.

“What is it – ?” Michael began, but it became very clear what. Alex nearly collapsed and it was all Michael could do but to catch him. “Wow! Alright, I got you, private, I got you.”

“Can you help me?” Alex asked, his voice weak and trembling. “I don’t – I don’t think I can – u-undress mys-self.”

“Of course, Alex. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He helped Alex to his bed, set him down and started undoing the laces to his shoes. Alex slumped against the back wall, his eyes closed. Michael’s hands were gentle as he helped Alex out of his shoes, his socks, his pants and shirt. At any other time, the atmosphere between them would be charged, but Alex was near in a coma and Michael understood exactly what Alex needed. He helped him into his pyjamas. His soft touches lulled Alex into something resembling sleep and he felt warm and safe for the first time in a while.

“Alex,” he whispered, and Alex forced his eyes to open a fraction. “Lay down, love.”

With gentle pressure from Michael, Alex managed to swing his legs onto his bed and rest his head on his pillow. A very ungentlemanly groan passed his lips as his entire body began to ache into the mattress. Suddenly, Michael’s hands were on his bad leg, rubbing it softly, warming the aching muscles in his calf and knee. Alex hummed appreciatively and closed his eyes again. He slowly felt his body relaxing into Michael’s touches. His body was exhausted, the adrenaline from nearly dying finally wearing off and he was sure he was asleep. That is, until he felt Michael’s hands leave his leg and his lips against his forehead. “Sleep tight, Alex.”

Alex’s hand shot out, grabbing Michael’s arm as he made to leave. “Please don’t leave,” he muttered. His eyes opened slightly, looking up at Michael through his eyelashes. Michael’s face was soft, and a small smile played around his lips.

“Alright, Alex.” Michael shed most of his uniform, leaving him only in his boxers. Then he climbed into bed, settling himself behind Alex and slinging an arm over him. Alex’s eyes closed again, and he burrowed himself against Michael’s chest. Michael’s arm tightened around him, pressing a kiss to the back of Alex’s head. “Go to sleep, Alex. I’m here.”

Alex dropped to sleep faster than he ever had before.

#malex #malex ff #malex fanfic #rnm ff #roswell new mexico #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #a disaster bi and a chaotic gay #what could go wrong #otp:I Don't Look Away #motoe au #my malex ff #only got 2 comments on my last chapter and i didn't write this to make anyone happy but also #i love comments

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years

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Michael After Midnight: Duke Nukem Forever

I like to kick off each new year with a truly magical review. Remember when I kicked off 2018 by reviewing a Jesus porno? Let’s be real, I peaked with that one. I’m not even gonna try to top it. What I will do, however, is talk about something I’ve wanted to discuss for a long time: Duke Nukem Forever.

This game almost needs no introduction; its stay in development hell and its tumultuous development is the stuff of legends, second only to Half-Life 3 in infamy among gaming vaporware. And it somehow managed to stay in infamy because despite releasing, UNLIKE Half-Life 3, most people who bought it really wished that it hadn’t. It turned out Duke was in the oven a bit too long, and the game we got was a mediocre shooter that was already out of date by several years when it finally released, not helped by its potshots at better series and use of extremely dated memes (Leeroy Jenkins? Really?).

Thankfully, I was divorced from this decade-spanning drama, being barely aware of the game until a few years back. Being a fan of Duke as a character - he is a loving spoof of the kind of action heroes I enjoy after all - and curious about the game after reading the fascinating history behind its development, I ended up playing it and… I thought it was okay. Yeah, I was expecting a lot more from this game in either direction, but it ended up being a rather middling, decent experience.

So let’s talk about what’s unironically good first: the interactivity. There are a LOT of little things Duke can interact with around the world, from a whiteboard you can doodle on to a functional pinball machine. None of this is groundbreaking by any means, but there is a certain childish thrill from picking up a turd from a toilet and flinging it around or from smacking some alien wall titties. There’s even an enjoyable dream sequence where Dukeis at a club that has tons of interactive elements in it! The fact that a lot of these interactive elements can lead to increases in Duke’s health is an added incentive to spend time doing them.

I actually enjoy some of the level design in the first half of the game, in particular the segments where Duke is shrunk down. I don’t know about you guys, but there’s something I really find charming about hopping over fryers and climbing through conveniently placed holes in the walls of a shitty fast food joint. It’s the sort of stuff I imagine when I’m bored at work. If the whole game had been as creative and fun as these parts and had expanded on the interactivity more, I think this would have been worth the wait a bit more… but unfortunately there’s more to this game.

After the first couple of segments, the level design plummets. The portions where Duke has to drive through the desert are especially jarring as they are incredibly barren with little to do or discover. This is then taken to the opposite extreme when you get to the final area, the dam, which is downright labyrinthine at parts and absurdly difficult. You will likely not die any place more than in this level due to the ridiculous number of enemies they cram into the tight corridors and underwater sections. It makes you wonder if this area was made so difficult to hide how short the game is - things wrap up after the dam level ends, with one ridiculously easy final boss left once you escape.

Then again, you may be thanking your lucky stars this game is mercifully short, because Duke and the world he inhabits are pretty intolerable. The entire world has become a monument to Duke’s ego, with just about everything revolving around him. Duke is like a Mary Sue escapist fantasy - a huge macho man who kicks ass, takes names, gets blowjobs from twins and his genderbent counterpart (apparently it is Bombshell’s model behind the glory hole in Duke’s dream, so he can literally go fuck himself), and is adored by literally everyone. And yeah, Duke was always kind of like this… but somewhere along the game’s journey somebody forgot that the tongue of the writers is supposed to be firmly planted in their cheek. The issue here is that the game is taking everything about Duke DEAD SERIOUS. We’re supposed to see Duke as the supreme god-tier badass who makes Master Chief and Gordon Freeman look like pussies, but it’s hard to buy into that idea when we are only told this while playing as him is just an unfun chore.

And maybe this would be better if they had polished up Duke’s character a bit, but he’s really inconsistent. Jon St. John is still absolutely fantastic with the voice and the delivery, there’s no denying that, but he unfortunately is portraying a really lame iteration of this beloved character. I think the point where I lost faith in this Duke is when, after finding the blowjob twins trapped in alien cocoons and begging him for help, Duke’s response is to just tell them they’re fucked. This is in stark contrast to him going apeshit when the aliens stole his babes, and is yet another sign the writers just didn’t GET Duke. Duke is an overly-macho chauvinist, yes, but he DOES care about babes. He’s more Johnny Bravo, less conservative pro-life blogger. Here though? This is just an uncharacteristically misogynistic response, and it is never commented on again. It’s just so jarring and bad that it kind of hampered my enjoyment of the game.

Still though, there is something halfway charming buried under the garbage. There are flashes of fun here and there that show promise of a better game, but they are always ultimately crushed. I feel if this game had come out in a more timely fashion with the innovations it does have, it would be considered revolutionary, but alas, we don’t live in that world. Half-Life 2, Halo, BioShock, and countless other franchises came and redefined what an FPS could be while this game was floundering between studios, leaving it so that when this game finally dropped, there really wasn’t anything special about it save for its protagonist, who himself felt like a relic from a bygone age who had become in earnest the very thing he once parodied so effectively.

It’s hard to really recommend this game; even among first-person shooters, which tend to age like milk, this game has aged very poorly. If you’re curious about it like I was, well, there are worse things to pull out of a bargain bin; the game is dirt cheap on most consoles. Generally speaking though I’d say just get the equally cheap yet infinitely better Duke Nukem 3D; it’s frankly amazing how much better that game has aged despite it being a game released in the wake of the original Doom.

What the future holds for Duke is rather unclear; at the end of this game he says he’s gonna run for President, but I dunno, the idea of an overly macho, violent, misogynistic celebrity becoming president is pretty far-fetched, riiiiiiiiiiight? Let’s not end this on a depressing note that reminds us of the bottomless stupidity of American politics, though. Let me tell you the one genuinely good thing this game brought to the world:

I brought the cover insert of the game to be signed by Jon St. John at a convention, and when I presented it he said in a tone that clearly was used to being dunked on for the game “Be honest, what did you think of the game?” And I told him, “There were a couple parts I didn’t like, but overall I thought it was fun,” and the guy just lit up. It just made me really happy that someone liking this dumb game brightened his day like that, and honestly? It wasn't a lie. I did have fun with this game, despite its flaws, and if it let me brighten the game’s star’s day by saying I enjoyed it even a little, I’m glad it exists.

#Michael After Midnight #Review #Video game review #Duke Nukem #Duke Nukem Forever #FPS #development hell #Jon St. John

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pastelbatfandoms · 4 years

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Pick 14 OC’s

1. Roxy (WWE) 2. Michelle (Riverdale) 3. Renee (The Flash) 4. Rika (NOES) 5. Carrie (Gotham) 6. Helena (AHS) 7. Rihannon (HP)

8. Amara (Marvel) 9. Meghana (Descendants) 10. Esme (Descendants) 11. Marianna (TW) 12. Suzanna (TWD) 13. Mandy (ST) 14. Ashlee (AVTED)

1. Would you rather date 5 or 12?

Suzanna. I feel like Carrie might kill me if I pissed her off....

2. A man wearing a thong and boxers on his head comes up to 8 and demands their money. Their reaction? Amara would taken aback and just look at the guy weird. “Earth has some strange customs.” She mutters as she hands him some Asgardian coins.

3. 6 comes home and finds that 2 has broken into their house and is stealing their possessions. What happens? Ah hell...literally. Michelle,I’d run.

4. Would 13 ever have sex with 9? lol their is no way they’d meet,but if they did I mean Meghana is a Demi God so probably.

5. What would 5 and 10’s lovechild look like? Well She or he would definitely have dark hair,and striking Romanesque features with bright eyes. In a word,stunning.

6. What would 7 never ever admit to the world? Other then not telling Muggles she’s a witch...I’m not sure.

7. Do you think that 1 is sexy/cute? um yes lol

8. Is 9 or 14 more likely to commit murder? Ashlee,I mean she kills Deadites all the time.

9. What is the last thing that 14 would ever wear? Anything too frilly and princess like.

10. Why would 13 hate 7? I have no idea...maybe jealous of her because one she knows magic and also she can have the men in her life at the same time!

11. Is 4 a virgin? No

12. What would 2 get 3 for their birthday? Michelle would probably get her a gift card to a Restaurant or a jewelry store.

13. Does 9 go to church? No,doesn’t exist in Auradon.

14. 12 and 1 go scuba diving. What happened? Skipping,because I have no idea.

15. Would 6 survive a zombie apocalypse?

Dang wish this question had been for 12...but Helena would be fine,chances are her Husband made The Apocalypse so....

16. Who’s taller, 4 or 14?

I think Rika.

17. 5 and 8 get in a fight. Who surrenders first?

The Carrion Crow vs The Valkyrie...That would be some battle! I can only seeing Carrie surrendering first because Amara has powers.

18. Does 13 trust 3 enough to drive with them during a heavy rainstorm in heavy traffic? yeah sure,just don’t let Mandy drive.

19. Could 8 ever win a swimsuit competition? YES

20. What scares 7 more than anything? Losing her loved one’s,especially to He who shall not named...

21. How long could you stand to be around 10? A good while,she’d be fun.

22. Your old high school enemy comes up to you on the street and punches you in the face. What would 13 do? Mandy would beat the crap out her.

23. What would 2 say/do when extremely drunk? I’m just going to put this gif here...Remember Michelle starts off with Jughead...

24. Would 1 ever crossdress? like wear a suit? Sure I guess.

25. 1, 8, and 14 are playing tug-of-war against 7, 9, and 12. Which side would win? Roxy,Amara,Ashlee VS Rihannon,Meghana and Suzanna.

If Amara couldn’t use her powers I’d say Meghana would win for her team because she is the daughter of Hercules.

26. 11 and 3 are arguing. Who resorts to violence first? Marianna she is a Wolf...Good luck Renee.

27. Does 9 or 4 have a worse temper? Meghana,She got pretty pissed after Hades broke up with her.

28. Who would you least want to meet in a dark alley, 14, 11, or 6? Helena,Definitely...

29. If 10 got drafted for the army, would they go for it or dodge the draft? She’d dodge it like a thief in the night ^_~

30. What is 13’s worst memory?

Billy’s death.

31. Why would the government be after 3? Because of her connection to Reverse Flash.

32. You run into 2 on a busy street? What is the first thing you notice about them?

Her Gothic attire

33. Would 11 ever get cosmetic surgery?

34. Does 5 love or hate themselves?

She does to an extent,but I feel like she regrets some of her past actions and who she associated with/dated.

35. 13 gets hit on by someone of their own gender? Their reaction?

Ok,I mean she’d be flattered but she doesn’t really swing that way. That I know of....

36. What is 14’s worst habit or addiction?

This might change,since I haven’t written her into a story yet. But I think Ashlee has a tendency to think she can go it alone,she’s very stubborn and doesn’t forgive easily either.

37. What kind of movie would 11 go see? An Action movie

38. Does 10 still live with their parents? Technically Esme lives at a boarding school,so no.

39. Does 6 dance?

Yes,usually to entice Michael or to entice someone to their side. Helena is also very good at swing dancing as well.

40. 3, 5, 12, and 14 are playing poker. Who is the most likely to cheat?

Carrie.

41. What would be the main thing standing between 1 and 10’s love?

the fact that there in 2 Different stories, Michelle is with Juggie and Esme is with Charming. Michelle would remind Esme too much of what she was trying to escape from the isle.

42. Is 2 or 4 more mature?

Rika,she is older.

43. Does 1 or 8 have a bigger ego?

Amara,though Roxy does know a thing or two about ego’s,dating wrestlers...

44. Would 12 rather drive a small, environmentally friendly car, or a huge Hummer with bad gas mileage? A hummer,because at that point it wouldn’t matter. A vehicle is a Vehicle in The Apocalypse,though she’d prefer a Motorcycle.

45. Does 6 care about their appearance? Yes,she’s spent years not being able to see it as a Ghost,so now she can be quite fussy at times. But given who she’s dated in the past that’s not surprising....

46. 5, 7, and 14 go into a haunted house. What happens?

Carrie wouldn’t be phased she’s seen worse,so has Ashlee but she hopes there’s no ACTUAL evil dead here,which would be what Rhiannon would try and find out.

47. 13 is walking along and gets pulled aside by a prostitute. Do they accept the offer? omg what is with these questions...poor Mandy lol honestly living where they do she’d probably be used to it,she’d just brush her off and walk away. She has Billy,she doesn’t need to PAY for it.

48. Does 10 have or want kids? No she’s too young,though I’m sure Chad will want an Heir at some point.

49. How will 13 probably die?

omg! Easy answer probably by a Demogorgon!

50. Why was 6 picked on at school?

Helena was actually...because she was different then the other kids,an orphan Witch,no one dared pick on her after she met Dandy though.

51. For what would 11 worship 4?

Marianna would look up to Rika because she’s “fought” a dream demon and survived,even though she’s only human.

52. 3 and 14 are running against each other for president. Who do you vote for?

Probably Renee she seems a bit more level headed then Ashlee but then Eobard might become Vice president...I suppose it’s better then Ash! lol

53. 1, 8, 12, and 14 gang up on 5. How long does 5 last?

Quite awhile and this must be when Carrie is bad again,otherwise Amara would have no reason to fight her.

54. Who would 11 rather take to the prom, 2 or 9?

Mari would take Shelle to the prom,she’s a bit more low key.

55. Would 7 ever wear a leopard-print miniskirt in public?

Maybe

56. Who has a more normal weight, 4 or 10?

I have no idea,I suppose Esme.

57. Why would 13 be arrested?

For Beating up someone or stealing or underage drinking/smoking.

58. 3, 6, and 11 go to the movies. What happens?

Renee would be watching it,Helena would be bored and Mari would try to enjoy it but would get irritated at the group of people talking to loud and kicking her seat,that she’d promptly get up and tell them off.

59. 13 is trying to escape from a burning building, but sees 1 trapped in the corner. Would they try and save 1?

Yes bad girl or not she’s still not going to leave someone to die.

60. 14 and 8 are exploring an abandoned tomb, when 14 suddenly falls through the floor and barely manages to avoid the spike traps. How would 8 save them?

With her powers,she’s levitate Ashlee back up.

61. Would 2 rather marry 6 or 14?

Probably Ashlee.

62. Does 10 smoke or drink?

:: Nope.

63. The house is about to explode, and 9 can only save 3 or 12. Who do they choose?

Suzanna...Hopefully Renee could get herself out or Thawne could come to her rescue.

64. Would 11 ever deal drugs?

:: No, never.

65. Did 13 graduate high school?

she’s still in school

66. 7 tries cooking a new icky looking dish and invites 4, 9, and 13 to dinner. Who eats the dish? Mandy,she don’t care. Its better then nothing,she’s not as picky as she used to be.

67. Would 3 ever pierce their tongue?

:: No

68. What about 9 annoys 14?

That she’s a God yet she can’t fix The Deadite problem...

69. Does 1 or 5 sleep more?

Roxy

70. Who does 14 like most out of 2, 8, and 12? Who do they like the least? Suzanna,they can relate to each other more,though I feel like Suzanna would be the mother figure,Amara would be the cool big sister and Michelle would be like Ashlee’s twin or BFF.

#oc tag #my ocs #riverdale #stranger things #ash vs evil dead #Nightmare on Elm Street #loki #the flash #the walking dead #wwe #gotham #ahs apocalypse #teen wolf #descendants #harry potter

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fruit-teeth · 5 years

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American Boy

Alternate title: The Day Soldier Realized what He Was Going to do With His Life

/(Yep Soldier’s up next! Just wanna give everyone a quick warning: this one gets pretty violent at points, so read with caution. Hope you enjoy!)/

The year was 1932, June 1st, and all the school children were waiting anxiously in the hot sun to present the projects that they’d worked on all year long. Their parents were all gathered in the gym, fanning themselves or checking the clock to see how much time they had left in that sweltering gymnasium. Of course, they wanted to see the children they were so proud of say what they had to say, but no adult is exactly thrilled about having to sit through speeches written by children that are not their own.

Finally, the principal graced the stage, and he took the microphone, beginning with, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! The Roselake County children are all very excited to present to you their projects! This year, we instructed the children to write about things they are passionate about, and then to tell us all how their passions will benefit society. So, in alphabetical order, we will begin!” he cleared his throat. “First up is Jonathan Apperly!”

The adults applauded, and one by one, the children came up to the podium and nervously read their papers out loud to the room of adults. Jonathan wrote about his passion for airplanes and how they were important to society, Ella spoke about the importance and benefits of gardening, and Rick stumbled through an essay about water systems. There was applause each time and the occasional whistles or shouts of support from the child’s family.

However, when the time came from the principal to read the next name, he grimaced. “Uh…um, up next is…Jane Doe,” he shuffled away quickly, glancing over his shoulder a few times as if he were fearful of what was about to come.

Jane came stomping onto the stage—he was well-known around town, for all the wrong reasons. At eleven years old, he was already tall for his age and rather muscular, and this was the first time he’d ever been allowed to present a project.

His blue eyes scanned the room, silently taking in every face he saw, and he leaned forward into the microphone to begin speaking.

“The kids from the high school,” he began, very focused on what he was saying. “Are very rude and mean and nasty. I don’t like them at all! But one day, they followed me home and made fun of my hair and clothes…I was very mad. So, I punched one of them! I kicked him to the ground and pulled his hair, and the other boys tried to stop me but I just punched them too! I gave one three black eyes—”

“You can’t give someone three black eyes, dummy!” another boy from backstage snarked in a loud voice.

When Jane whirled around and angrily waved his fist at whoever dared to make that comment, the principal cut in. “Jane? Jane, please, for the love of God…just—what is it you are passionate about and how does it benefit society?”

Jane turned back to the audience, his eyes still hard and focused. “The point is I got in trouble for defending myself! I was the bad guy—but that’s why I think we all have to fight against the system!” he suddenly leaped up onto the podium, proclaiming, “Fight the system! Fight it! Punch mean people! Fight them! I’m tired of being nice—let’s all fight back! Let—”

He was cut off when the podium flew out from under his weight, and he crashed down into the row of seats before him, yelling as his face met the floor.

The principal gasped, jumping up and rushing to check on Jane, shaking his shoulder. “Jane! Jane, are you all right!?”

Jane sat up, touched his nose, pulled his hand away to look at it and when he noticed blood he began to wail pitifully, sobbing out in pain. The principal looked around helplessly until the math teacher came running over to gently lead Jane away from the scene.

The math teacher left Jane crying in the hallway, clutching a rag to his bloody nose. He could hear the other children giggling about him backstage, and he just wanted to curl up and disappear.

Just then, the gym doors came flying open, and a large hand grabbed his collar.

“Damn it, Jane!” his father’s voice came booming into his ears. “Why can’t you be a normal kid!? For Christ’s sake—I dunno why I even try with you!”

Bess came peeking over his shoulder, watching in concern. “Pa, another kid is reading,”

“Do I look like a give a shit!?” barked Michael Doe, and he yanked his son to his feet. “Come on, Bess, let’s get this idiot home,”

Michael shoved Jane into the truck, and Bess climbed in beside him. As the truck started up, Bess reached around to carefully pat Jane’s shoulder.

“Aw, come on, now,” Bess assured, smiling as sweetly as she could at Jane. “I thought you did very well,”

Jane sniffed, wiping his nose, smearing his blood all over his face. “R-really?”

Michael snorted contemptuously from the driver’s seat, and Bess shot him a look. “Pa!”

“Bess, he was awful!” Michael growled. “Don’t lie to the kid’s face!”

My Country ‘Tis of Thee began to play over the radio, and Michael turned the volume up. “You here that, Jane?” he called back to his son. “Your paper was supposed to be about benefittin’ society—you know who benefits society? The soldiers who fight for this country!” he sighed, looking out the window out at the road. “You’d make a fine soldier…you could finally put all your rage and shit to use. You ain’t succeeded in much, let me tell you, but you’d probably kill a few fellas pretty well!”

They pulled up to their house, where the shutters were rotting from the windows and the hounds barked outside. As Michael stepped out of the car, he yelled at the dogs, “Shut the hell up, you bastards! You make so much damn noise!”

Right away, Jane seemed to forget his bloody nose as he ran to the dogs, taking turns petting each other them and telling each of them how special he thought they were. Michael just rolled his eyes at the sight and went into the house, while Bess stayed behind to watch.

“You’re a good friend to them, Jane,” she remarked gently, coming up behind him and wrapping her plush arms around his smaller body.

Jane paused, but he didn’t stop stroking the dogs. “Animals are better than people,” he muttered.

“Well,” Bess considered the statement. “That ain’t totally true…there are good people, and there are bad animals. You ever see a baboon? I’ve seen them on the television, they’re nasty things! They could rip you up,”

“Baboons don’t say I ain’t succeeded in much,” Jane murmured bitterly.

Bess paused, and she sighed, rubbing at her younger brother’s back. “Yeah, yeah…I know,”

After a moment, she stood up, taking Jane’s hand. “C’mon, let's go inside. Ma probably wants to see you,”

Jane just nodded. “Okay,”

Their mother sat in the living room, draped in her shawl as she sat in the rocking chair, just as she always did. Like always, she didn’t say a word, but she smiled at Jane when he approached her, and he laid his head in her lap.

Her hands caressed his scalp lovingly as she hummed to him, and Jane knew she didn’t need words to say she loved him. Jane tilted his head up to look at her, and he sniffed, “Mama…they laughed at me. What’s wrong with me? Am I ever gonna benefit society?”

His mother still said nothing, and she rubbed his cheek, still humming. There was always a sadness in her eyes, one he couldn’t understand. His father spoke about she used to talk, and how she used to be ‘normal’, but then after one bad day, she just shut down and never said another word. Jane didn’t get it: he had bad days all the time, but he could still talk.

“Jane!” Michael shouted from the kitchen. “Go feed those damn dogs, will you!? They won’t shut up!”

Jane’s head popped off his mother’s lap, and he patted her hand, assuring her, “I’ll be back, Mama,”

He grabbed the bag of dog food and lugged it outside, scooping out some to pour into the bowls. The hounds swarmed eagerly, each wanting to get a taste of the dry dog food and occasionally licking Jane’s hands. Jane smiled as he watched them, yet it wasn’t long before something else caught his attention.

Several feet away, in the yard, a small creature moved in the grass. Jane squinted, trying to get a good look, and it wasn’t long before he realized it was a kitten.

Jane gasped a little, and he moved closer, but he went slow as he didn’t want to startle the kitten. The kitten, a little orange thing, eventually noticed Jane and acted as if it were about to run away.

“Don’t run!” Jane begged, kneeling to make himself look smaller. “I like you a lot—do you wanna be my friend?”

The kitten seemed hesitant, but Jane extended his hand, showing he was friendly and meant no harm. After a moment, the kitten stepped forward to sniff him, and Jane began to pet her gently.

She purred, moving closer and rubbing against him, her eyes falling shut. Jane couldn’t stop grinning, and he picked up the kitten to get a better look at her. “You’re my friend, now! We should go inside, I can get you some chicken. Cats like chicken, right?”

The kitten only mewed in response, and Jane stood up, scooping up the little thing in his arms. However, it wasn’t long before he noticed someone way out by the fence, and they were coming closer.

It was Matteo Cancio—a boy from an Italian family who had moved next door just a few weeks earlier. Jane had never spoken to him, but he knew his father didn’t much care for him or his family.

Matteo noticed Jane, and he approached, hands in his pockets, a smug grin across his face. “Hey, are you Jane?” his accent was so odd to Jane’s ears, like nothing he’d ever heard before. “I thought you would be a girl…”

Jane scowled. “I’m not, I’m a boy. Can’t you see?”

“Whatever,” Matteo focused on the kitten in Jane’s arms. “What do you have there, Jane? A kitten?”

“Yeah,” Jane nodded. “She’s my new friend, she—”

Without warning, Matteo yanked the kitten out of Jane’s arms and bolted away, laughing. Jane gasped, about he gave chase, screaming, “Get back here! That’s my kitten, dummy!”

Jane chased Matteo through the field behind the houses, which was very overgrown but not hard to get through. Eventually, Matteo stopped at the dirt road beside the field, panting, holding the bewildered kitten in the air. “I got your kitten, Jane!”

Growling, Jane, tried to snatch the kitten back, but Matteo held it away from him, still giggling like a madman. Matteo then held the kitten down on the road, kneeling but grinning wickedly up at Jane. “Give me all the money in your pocket, or I crush this kitten!”

Jane felt himself panicking as the kitten mewled helplessly, and he rooted through his own pockets. “I-I don’t have anything! Give me the kitten back, please!”

Matteo’s wicked grin got wider, and he poised to strike his hand down. “Wrong—”

Something then came over Jane—something snapped in him. He tackled Matteo to the ground, pinning him there and beginning to mercilessly pummel him over and over, smashing his head into the dirt road beneath him and beating down on him.

Matteo shrieked something in Italian that Jane didn’t understand, and he tried to fight back, but Jane was much bigger stronger than him. When Jane took a moment to catch a breath, the beatings ceased momentarily, and Matteo took that moment to spit blood up in Jane’s face.

“Fuck America!” Matteo yelled, tears rolling down his face. “I hate this stupid country and everyone in it! I hope all you stupid Americans die!”

Jane glared down at Matteo for a moment, just thinking over what he’d said, and then he smacked him across the face. “No!” Jane barked, almost as loud as his father was when he yelled. “Our country isn’t stupid—you’re the stupid one! We live in a land of freedom and happiness, and we are the best! But you’re too stupid to see that! You just wanna hurt people who did nothing! Well, do you know what I’m gonna do!? I’m gonna hurt you and everyone like you who hates freedom and wants to hurt the innocent! I’m gonna kill people like you—and I’m gonna do it to fight for America!”

Matteo just started up at him, his eye bruised, blood pouring from a split lip. “You Americans are all the same,”

Jane gritted his teeth, and then he stood up, only to grab Matteo and flip him up and over his shoulder, dropping him directly on his head. He landed with a smack, directly on his head, and he lay limp in the dirt, his breathing labored, his eyes pressed shut.

Jane just watched, before leaning down to spit on him. As Matteo tried to inch away, Jane knelt beside a nearby stone, calling, “Kitten? Kitten, where did you go?”

The kitten appeared out from behind the stone, unharmed but terrified, and Jane gently picked her up. “C’mon, we’re gonna go home,” he assured softly, folding her in his arms. “Let’s go,”

He left Matteo alone in that field, and he didn’t look back. What happened to Matteo is something this story doesn’t tell, but it is safe to assume that he was forever changed by that incident.

Jane, however, went home with his kitten (who he later named Liberty) and a mission in his mind: he knew how he was going to benefit society and that was by fighting for his country.

He wanted to protect the innocent and destroy the guilty, and he vowed to himself that he was forever going to be an American soldier.

Jane opened the door to his front porch, Liberty tucked in his arms, and he went inside. He didn’t notice the woman staring at him from across the street, and he also didn’t notice how she smirked at him, her golden eyes glowing in the hazy light.

“Good work, Jane,” she murmured, turning and walking back down the sidewalk.

#this one is probably my least favorite so far but #maybe you guys will like it #writing #my writing #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 soldier #tf2 administrator #child abuse tw #animal abuse tw #blood tw #violence #origins

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

Text

Stranger Danger

Warnings: Blasphemy, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, knifeplay, scarification, masks, face slapping, object insertion AO3

Maybe visiting Satanist family members was a bad idea. Going to a Satanist party was an even worse idea.

Michael Langdon had spotted you from across the room. He could smell your soul. Untouched. You weren’t one of them. You weren’t clawing for his attention like the rest of the room. You looked more like a tourist, here to see the sights but not stay for long or participate in the local traditions. He watched your curious eyes wander over the pentagrams and the strange décor of the room. Your eyes roamed over the crowd, not looking for anyone in particular.

Then you made eye contact with him and his swore he stopped breathing. You gave him a shy smile and raised your glass; Michael returned the gesture.

He watched you the entire night, admiring the quiet confidence you had about you. He admired the way you declined anything you weren’t comfortable with, the way you engaged in polite conversation despite the difference in beliefs with people in the room.

He licked his lips as he made his way over to you, wanting to do nothing more than corrupt all that was good about you. He wanted to be the one to stain your soul, to cover you in his marks, to drag you down into the depths of hell with him.

“I hope you ladies are enjoying your evening,” Michael asked.

“Oh? Yes, my lord, we are, thank you for the party,” replied your cousin, but Michael wasn’t talking to her.

He turned to you, “I haven’t seen your face around here before, enjoying yourself so far?”

“I’m just visiting my cousin so I just tagged along, but thank you for asking it's been quite … interesting,” you replied.

“I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Michael Langdon,” he held his hand out for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you Michael, I’m Y/N,” you took his hand in a firm handshake, instead Michael brought your hand up to his mouth, placing a light kiss upon it. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue.

As he put your hand down, he noticed the signet ring on your pinkie finger. A dove with a dead snake in its mouth, the words ‘stamus contra malum’ (we stand against evil) inscribed onto it. Michael knew this symbol, he had been looking for it for months, thinking it was a myth at this point. It signified the family that stood between him and his purpose, the final obstacle before the end of times.

It is said that your family had been keepers of the sword of St Michael for generations. To have the sword in his hands would prevent any sort of divine intervention in his plans.

This was perfect. What a way to celebrate the end of the world, he would corrupt you and the holy relic.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise you had left until he couldn’t feel your soul nearby.

////

Your hand felt like it was burning when the blue-eyed man held it. Your ring felt like it would melt into your skin. The rumours were true, the anti-Christ had risen, the first seals would be broken. You had to get back to the family and tell them the news, for the sword you had protected to be kept extra secure. It may be the only thing that stood in the way of the apocalypse.

You were lucky that your flight was booked for tonight, you’d be out of sight in a few hours and no one would suspect a thing. You hoped that you had flown under the radar.

Unfortunately for you, the antichrist was determined, and nothing could stand in his way.

////

You woke up after feeling your arms were at an awkward angle. Your mouth moved to yawn but something was stopping you from doing so. As you snapped awake, you realised your mouth had been taped shut, the awkward angle was caused by your wrists being duct taped together behind your back. You began to wriggle, attempting to move, but you were taped together at the ankles too. You attempted to scream, to make any noise.

“No one’s home tonight, remember?” a smooth voice rang through the room, you shuffled trying to get a look at who it came from.

The sounds of heavy boots getting closer to you made you shiver. He finally stopped near you, his gloved hand turning you on your back. All that could be seen were his blue eyes and a single blond curl. You knew who this was.

Michael Langdon.

He had figured out who you were and your location.

You began to shake in fear, you were powerless against someone like him, you saw his smirk underneath his mask, as if he had heard your thoughts.

“You’re a very deep sleeper you know, it could be dangerous.”

You began to thrash around, hoping you could kick him, but you stopped seeing the flash of a very sharp blade. You whimpered as you felt the coolness run down your cheek and rest on your neck. He pushed down a little bit, just enough to nick the skin.

“I only have to push a little further to slit your throat.”

He brought the blade up again, studying the red that now stained the blade, He lifted his mask just enough, so that he could run his tongue over the blood. He then moved to lick a stripe along your neck, collecting droplets along the way.

He pulled his mask back down, “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

You didn’t reply, just tears welling up in your eyes. You saw the annoyance in his eyes before he slapped you.

“I asked you a question!”

You quickly nodded.

“Good.”

You had gone to bed in only a t-shirt and panties, not expecting anyone to come into your room; they were still an obstacle for Michael.

He brought the tip of the blade down your breastbone, before moving it over your breast. He circled your nipple with the tip, until it got hard through the shirt. You whimpered as he did the same to the other.

“Hmm? What’s this? Enjoying yourself already?” he taunted. He brought the knife to the hem of your top, slicing through it and exposing you to the cool air of the room.

You hissed at the sudden sting you felt on your stomach. He was cutting little nicks into the skin, all the way up to your neck. He then moved his mask again, to lick all the way up, following his knife.

The tears forming in your eyes began to fall.

“Poor baby,” he laughed, giving your cheek a condescending pat.

He finally got on the bed, moving you onto your stomach. His blade ran down your spine, causing Goosebumps to rise.

“But your face isn’t the only thing wet about you, is it Y/N?” he asked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

The blunt edge of the blade teased your slit through your panties, causing you to soak the fabric. The blade finally moved, trailing the hemline all the way to your hip, before he swiftly cut them away, leaving you fully bare for him.

“look at this,” he teased you with his gloved fingers, “you’re absolutely soaked.” He pushed two fingers into you, making you groan at the intrusion.

“Disgusting.”

One hand pumped in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit. His other hand had the knife, leaving little cuts down your thighs, that were followed by his wet tongue.

Your walls began to clench around him, signalling your oncoming release, but he stopped just before you could reach it. You cried at the loss of his fingers and he just laughed.

You heard the jingling of his belt and the sound of his zipper. He groaned as he finally released his cock, giving it a few pumps. He spat on your already weeping cunt, just to remind you where you stood. The tip of his cock teased your clit, before he entered you in one swift thrust, the stretch making you see stars. He began to thrust into you at a rapid pace. He wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling you up against his fully clothed chest.

“You’re enjoying this far too much. Your tight little pussy stretches out perfectly for me,” he jeered, right into your ear.

You shook your head in denial. But his hand around your throat got tighter, the leather making you clench around him and drip all over him.

The house was silent, save for the wet sound of skin on skin and Michael’s grunts. His knife cut little nicks in your back, his plump lips licking the blood and sucking hickeys all over, marking you as his.

“Do you want to cum angel?”

You nodded the best you could, too lost in pleasure to answer him properly.

He smacked your ass, “then beg for it,” he painfully ripped the tape from your mouth, letting you speak again.

“Please please please let me cum, I- I’ll do anything just please,” you begged, not thinking about the words you were using.

“Anything huh? I’ll hold you against that,” he said, letting go of the knife, his fingers circling your clit instead.

A few little circles of his fingers is all it took for the earth shattering orgasm that washed over you, losing all sense of self in that moment. Michael followed not far behind, your walls milking him for all he was worth, his cum painting your insides.

He finally stopped thrusting and pulled out of you, letting you slump face first back into the mattress, your ass still in the air. Michael watched his seed drip out you, satisfied at how thoroughly he had corrupted you.

You heard him zip himself back up, expecting him to finally untie you, instead, he moved you back on your side, facing towards him, he had finally removed his mask. His curls clung to his skin, his face flush with exertion, but an utterly sinister grin painted his face.

“I think I’m going to keep you as my own little cockslut,” he stated. You couldn’t think of a reply, still fucked out.

“Stay still and this will hurt less,” he said, the glint of his blade making you panic again. He straddled you, holding you down and in place as he brought the blade to the top of your outer thigh. He pressed the blade in further than he had all night, making you scream in agony.

He let out an irritated sigh, stopping briefly to shove his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck on these,” he ordered, you could taste yourself on the leather. He resumed his work with one hand, as the other fucked your mouth, blood and drool dripping out of you.

He finally stopped after what seemed like forever. “There, all done,” he sang. He moved your leg slightly from side to side, admiring his artwork, before licking all the blood that it had produced.

He finally let up, his tongue licking around his red-stained lips and he hummed in satisfaction. He grabbed his discarded belt off the floor, bringing it around your neck and securing it in place. He gave it a little tug to test the tightness.

He finally set you free, painfully ripping the tape off your ankles and wrists. You flexed your hands and feet, trying to get the blood to circulate properly. He didn’t let you rest, pulling you up onto your feet by the belt, choking you a little; he held you by the hip to stop you falling to your knees.

His hand reached for the wound again, still oozing, and swiped the blood, making sure to press into the cuts. He brought his fingers to your lips, staining them with your own blood. He squished your cheeks with one hand, forcing you to properly look at the state you were in. You finally got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you looked utterly debased. You took a closer look at your thigh, it was carved with a heart, a large ‘ML’ in the centre. He had carved his initials into you, marking you like a piece of property.

“If found, please return to Michael Langdon,” he said.

“Now, you said you’d do anything, remember?” he started, you nodded in reply. “Be a good girl and open the door to the shrine for me, you know I can’t do it.”

You went to grab a top, but he slapped your hand away, pulling you out of your room with the belt, like a leash on a dog. He dragged you through the halls, not caring whether you could breathe or not.

You finally got to the door. He raised his brow and looked at you expectantly. You hesitated a little, before placing your right hand in the required crevice, lining your ring up with the lock system. The mechanics of the door began to move around, before the door slid open, revealing a candlelit interior.

Michael walked to the far centre of the room, where the sword sat upon an altar, gleaming in the candlelight. Michael grabbed the hilt and inspected the blade. He closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. You gasped as he opened them, they had turned black, and his skin white. You watched as the sword corrupted in front of you. You watched the gold and silver tarnish to black and red, becoming useless for its intended purpose. You felt a shift in the air.

The world would end smoothly now.

You stayed by the door, feeling ashamed of the state you were in. Michael held his hand out.

“C’mon, no need to be shy now, I don’t think god minds you coming in here with your cunt dripping everywhere.”

He sat you on the altar in front of him, teasing your skin with the tip of the now obsolete sword. You shivered at how cold the blade was.

You looked at him in confusion as he turned the hilt towards you.

He only smirked, running the hilt through your sensitive lips, making you hiss.

“S- stop it!”

“Hmm? I don’t think I will,” he said, slowly pushing the hilt into you. You clenched around the foreign intrusion, knowing for sure that your future now belonged in the depths of hell.

“Can you believe it, the very sword that brought my father down is now being swallowed by that greedy hole of yours,” he chuckled, continuing to thrust the hilt in and out of you, the wet sound echoing through the shrine.

He eventually had enough, pulling it out of you and resting it nearby, he was going to take it on his way out.

He pulled you up by his belt. He sat where the sword formerly sat, pulling you into his lap. He pulled his cock out for the second time tonight, pink and painfully hard. He lifted your hips and thrust up into you, holding you in place. You still sensitive walls fluttered around him, aching for some friction.

“Sit still, or I’ll slit your throat,” he ordered, bringing his knife out yet again. He held your neck back so you would have to stare at the ceiling and began to carve where your collarbones met at the centre. You clenched around Michael in pain, trying your hardest not to start riding him. the roughness of his trousers was irritating your thighs.

He finally stopped with his knife, letting your neck fall back into its natural position. You looked down to see what he had done this time. A pentagram was carved into your skin, right where everyone could see it. He began to lick the blood that had ran down your breasts. You wanted to feel that tongue on your pussy.

“All in due time,” he said. He held his bloody knife up to your lips, “Clean it.”

You hesitated before sticking your tongue out, the metallic tang unpleasant, but you cleaned it anyway. Michael finally pulled it away, throwing it to the side. He captured your lips with his, immediately swirling his tongue around your mouth. He began to thrust up into you, assaulting your sensitive walls again.

“Look at you, getting fucked by the antichrist on sacred ground, I wonder what your ancestors are thinking, centuries of guardianship relinquished for some dick,” he taunted, slapping your ass in the process.

“Shut up, you talk too much,” you finally spoke, bringing him into another kiss. You tugged lightly on his hair, making him groan into your mouth.

You pulled away again, and Michael latched onto your nipple, giving both of them equal attention before going to leave hickies all over your neck.

The pair of you were already sensitive from your previous encounter, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly snapped for the second time. The candles around you flared as Michael followed behind. The increased light made your skin glow. Michael’s gloved finger tracing the new carving he made.

“Yes, you’ll do just fine.”

#my writing #Oneshot #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader

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ghargoyle · 6 years

Text

Demon of Hidden Things (Demon x Female Reader) - Part 2

This is late and my pacing is soooooooo rushed but just TAKE IT

Part 1

En route to his destination, Sartael felt his facade start to slip. An involuntary growl reverberated from his chest; the skin on his hands was gradually fading from a golden tan to blood red. When the conductor came by to check his ticket, the conductor’s face dropped.

“Uh. Hello...sir. Got your ticket?”

“Yeah, right here. Thank you.” He attempted to flash the conductor one of his brilliant Wall Street smiles, but it didn’t seem to help his case, and the man hurried along to the next passenger.

Turning to glimpse his dim reflection in the train window, Sartael immediately noticed that his eyes had reverted to a startling neon yellow with slitted pupils. Oh. Well that explains the look. Whatever, he probably thought they were costume contacts or something. Hesitantly, the demon opened his mouth to find a full set of pointed fangs. Well, that’s a bit harder to explain away. Thankfully this is New York, so that’s probably not even the weirdest thing he’s seen today.

Slipping his monthly train pass into his wallet, Sartael paused and smirked at his ID and business card. “Jim Alaster”, it read, in a classy black font with gold detailing. A name he had carefully crafted for himself before moving to America. “Jim” coming from “Jinn” with the n’s mashed together, “Alaster” being an anagram of his own name that also hinted at his demonic identity without being too obvious. The full name, conveniently, was similar enough to that of some Northern Irish politician that Sartael didn’t come up on the first page of Google results. Of course, he had made himself a website and a fairly realistic-looking set of social media accounts anyway. Just in case.

He wouldn’t need the name anymore, but he was still proud of it, in an odd way. He might keep the wallet and its contents as a souvenir when he returned to Hell.

Hell. Did he even want to return? He gazed out the window at the Northeastern landscapes, which seemed to alternate pristine woodlands with sparkling lakes and grey industrial wastelands, all concrete and carbon emissions. Occasionally, the train would pass a quaint town or chic city occupied by the country’s elite--Starbucks and artisan bistros, boutiques selling $200 plain dresses and decor that read “Home is where the heart is.”

He knew which stop was his when the air became thick with a pulsing energy. By that point, his chin and nose had started to protrude and veins of red stretched across the expanses of his once carefully-curated face. He could feel his feet starting to turn into hooves in his polished Italian leather shoes, his tail pressing against the inside of his pants.

Guess Uber isn’t an option.

Thankfully, his destination seemed to be a relatively small coastal town, walkable in a few hours at most. The amulet seemed to call out to him in a soft but insistent humming tone, beckoning him to close his eyes.

When he opened them, he knew. He started toward the ocean, ignoring the stares he got, knowing that humans--especially in this part of the world--were too cynical to believe even their own eyes.

Just over an hour later, Sartael came upon an apartment building on the shore. He breathed deeply for a moment, taking in the aura, reveling in the anticipation.

And he promptly ripped the building’s door off its hinges.

And took the elevator to the 8th floor.

And walked down the hall to apartment #83, where he knocked meekly on the door and waited.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you peeked through the peephole in your apartment door, but what you got was a man who looked like he was in dire straits. You couldn’t make out the details of his visage through the smudged glass, but he looked redder than any normal human should, and he seemed to be huffing and puffing quite a bit. Maybe the elevator was broken again?

You opened the door and greeted him with an expectant “Hi!”, only to have him charge and tackle you to the ground before kicking the door closed behind him.

“WHERE is my AMULET?” he roared. You screamed, and he covered your mouth with one ha--were those claws?! “Scream and I swear I’ll kill you and find it myself. It is a green gemstone with a sigil carved into it. Where is it?”

You furrowed your brow for a moment, thinking. Then you attempted to pry his hand off your mouth, leveling him with a glare.

“The only thing I can think of that matches that description is the stone on the cover of my journal. If you get the fuck off of me, I’ll gladly show it to you.”

The demon let go with a slight shove, and you hurried to your room to fish through your desk. You pulled it out less than two minutes later and nearly threw it at the demon, who glared at you and then gazed down at the cover with a wicked grin. His fingers hovered just above the gemstone, as if he was nervous to finally make contact. When he did, the carved sigil glowed emerald for a moment, and then faded back to normal.

“What….” He swallowed. “What in the name of Lucifer himself did you do to it.”

“Huh?”

“What. Did. YOU DO TO IT.”

“Nothing? I bought this at a flea market. It was already embedded in the cover of the journal.”

He tore the leather cover to shreds with one long talon and held the stone flat in the palm of his hand. After a long moment in which you could see golden flames raging in his irises, he looked up at you.

“I don’t suppose you know where the nearest portal to hell is, do you.”

You stared at him and snorted. “Behind the ramen joint across the street.”

Sartael, as he told you his name was, was a bit surprised to see that there actually was a portal to Hell behind the ramen shop across the street.

“Well yeah, I wasn’t kidding. I figured if any place around here were a portal to Hell, it’d be this one.”

“Well played.” In a split second, he grabbed you and jumped into the gaping hole in the ground. Another split second, and you found yourself at the mouth of a sweltering cave, where masses of downtrodden people groaned and screamed and marched toward their eternal damnation.

You winced. Sartael looked around for a moment before snatching your arm and walking right into the cave, ignoring the protests of the guard-demons, none of whom seemed willing to leave their post to stop him. Inside, you could see tall columns of fire, rivers of blood, and...well. All the things you might expect to find in Hell.

Not thirty seconds later, Sartael was recognized by an elderly-looking demon with glasses.

“Sartael?! By St. Michael’s bastard, that can’t be you! It’s been centuries!”

“Olgrath. Where is your brother?”

“Where do you think? As if that old fool would ever step foot outside that library.” Olgrath laughed. “Goodness, it really has been ages. I--”

“Thank you, my friend. But we really are in a hurry.”

“Leaving so soo--”

Sartael once again grabbed your hand and took off, dodging demons and condemned souls alike. You came to a pair of massive wooden doors engraved with a sigil and guarded by what looked like a hydra. It didn’t kill Sartael (nor you) immediately--did it recognize him? He acknowledged the creature with a nod and started tapping out a pattern on the sigil as though entering a code on a keypad. At last, he pressed his palm to the sigil, and a voice came booming from the other side of the doors.

“Who is it?”

“Sartael.”

The doors opened to reveal a...surprisingly small demon. Smaller even than Sartael, who was not much larger than you. He closely resembled his brother, down to the thick glasses resting on the bridge of his Roman nose. If you had previously been asked what the librarian of Hell would look like, he might have fit the bill, but his voice had thrown you through a bit of a loop.

“Sartael!” The small demon grinned. “Finally returned from your centuries-long vacation with a...living human, I see.”

“We’re here on business.”

“I should hope so.” He turned to you and his grin turned slightly menacing, a glint of something terrible in his eye. “Hello, my dear. You may call me Ilgrath. Enchanté.”

You gulped, forced a smile, and were about to tell him your name when Sartael interrupted.

“I have recovered my amulet, but it glowed green and then nothing happened.”

Ilgrath held out his hand for the stone, which Sartael reluctantly handed over. The librarian held it up to his eye, glancing between you and your demonic companion, let out a pensive hum and handed it back.

“It appears as though she has become the de facto owner of the amulet, although she doesn’t have the capacity to harness its power.”

Sartael shot you a bewildered look. “How do I get it back?”

The librarian laughed and clapped his hands. “By ritual, of course!”

“Blast it! Always with the damn rituals!” He stopped a hooved leg. “What does the ritual entail, then?”

“I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to ask the Master Librarian of Infernal Objects.”

“The bureaucracy here really is awful. Now I remember why I hate this place.”

You trudged off down a hallway to an elevator servicing 666 floors. Great, you thought. We’re probably on 665. Thankfully Sartael pushed the button for the 17th floor and you arrived instantly. Magic, you figured. You started really wishing you had brought a water bottle, although you were pretty sure it would have boiled or melted by this point.

Sartael marched out, gearing up to shout at whoever you encountered. Instead, a stout demon with large, rough hands stood at a desk, tinkering with an object under a magnifying glass. Before Sartael could start ranting, the demon spoke.

“There are two ways in which the ritual may be completed. You may kill her, and use her body in a ritual with these objects.” He tossed a small scroll to Sartael, who struggled to catch it. “Or you may mate with her.”

Sartael unrolled the scroll and let out a string of very angry-sounding demonic words. The other demon seemed unfazed, and when he replied, it was in the same deep, monotone voice as before, although you still couldn’t understand the language. Whatever he said made Sartael whip his head toward you, looking at once shocked, anxious, and infuriated. Without another word, he dragged you to the elevator and pressed the 666th button. You shut your eyes tight, and when you opened them, you were…

Back on Earth.

Sartael turned to you. “You have as long to live as it takes me to gather the items for the ritual. Some of them are found only in the most remote areas of the human world, so we will need to travel. I will cover the costs with Jim Alaster’s savings…”

“Jim Alaster? The Wall Street guy?”

“Yes, and my supposed identity. We will need to be careful, however, because at the moment he is supposed to be missing.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Whatever. I guess traveling the world is how I would want to spend my final days anyway.”

“If it’s any consolation, it will probably be more like final months than final days.”

“Sweet. Where to first?”

#exophilia #terato #Demon Boyfriend #errementari #demon #sfw #mine #The Devil and the Blacksmith

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savingpartoftheworld · 5 years

Text

Saving Part of the World - Part Two - Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Set after G-Rev, the World Championships have come to Belfast, Northern Ireland in the hopes of spreading the interest and drawing in tourists. In between all the teen angst and the team drama, something powerful and hungry lurks on the horizon and with the help of the beybladers, it may just destroy part of the world.

Rated: T for cursing and mild violence

Ships: Hints of Mariah/Rei, Hilary/Tyson, Enrique/Julia

Previous Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

Chapter Summary: Amber runs an errand for a neighbour and then has to run for her life. Hilary and Tyson have a fight at breakfast. Mariam goes shopping and spots some pretty boys to stalk.

Amber woke with a jerk and a groan, remnants of the night’s dream playing havoc with her stomach. She flopped onto her back, threw her arm over her eyes. Her skin was hot, the room stuffy despite the small vent in the window. She’d kicked off the covers before she’d fallen asleep but somehow during the night, they’d tangled with her feet. Toeing them off, she felt them slide off the bed as she looked across at the window where the sunlight was creeping along the floor, bathing the room in warm luminescence.

She rolled off the bed and got to her feet. It looked around ten in the morning but it was hard to tell in the summer. She grabbed her phone off the bedside table, checked the digital display—it was 07:15, ugh—and padded to the bathroom for a shower. Starting the water, she waited for it to heat as she considered her reflection in the mirror above the sink. There were dark circles under her eyes, not surprising given her sleeping troubles. If it wasn’t the unbearable heat, it was the fear of intruders or the terrible dreams. Life sucked.

She took a quick shower and stalked into the kitchen, pulling a comb through her damp hair. She should just chop it off, it would be easier managed, but she liked it long. Her mother always lamented cutting her own hair, so Amber felt it was half her duty to let hers grow long so her mother could plait it. Not that her mother could right now.

She gripped the counter and swallowed back the dizzying feeling of homesickness. She liked Belfast well enough, when she didn’t have to be here on her own and when the visit lasted a week. This mission of hers seemed to be endless.

Slipping into the kitchen, she put on the kettle and switched on the TV. Music blasted from the speakers before she lowered the volume. It always did that. She should probably leave a note for her father. God, he was going to be so pissed with her. Probably ground her and then her mother would do the disappointed face, but they had to know she’d do this. Nana Molly knew and that pretty much meant everything in her family. If Nana Molly was aware of it, things were grand. If Nana Molly laughed at a prank, you couldn’t be punished.

When the kettle boiled, she made her tea and dropped down onto the sofa to switch to the News, which was once again filled with Beyblade stories, mostly centring around Eoin.

She frowned, curling her legs up on the sofa. Who the hell was Eoin anyway? What was his role? He’d attacked her in the changing room without any provocation. She could have been a lost fan, a stalker, and while annoying, neither of those warranted such a violent outburst. What if she told the News or the WBBA? His reputation would be shattered, so why did he risk his championship hopes?

She sipped her tea and thought it out.

That kind of overreaction spoke of privacy being invaded, which meant Eoin had something to hide. Maybe something to do with the tree and her own mission. Not unlikely. Why would she be the only Irish person to know about this? Could Eoin’s bitbeast actually be something like Morrigan? But why was he beyblading with it? Could she beyblade with Morrigan? Was she supposed to? God, she hoped not.

Closing her fingers around her mug of tea, she decided to go to the tournament that night, if only to talk to Hilary and Ian about the tree. They needed to figure out what that meant and see if any of the bitbeasts were affected by it.

She froze as someone knocked on the door. Rising slowly, she crept over and peered out, sagging when she recognised Mrs Mulligan from across the hall.

“Hey Mrs Mulligan,” she called out, as she opened the door.

Mrs Mulligan blinked behind her glasses, then offered a warm smile of welcome as she frailly rested her weight on her walking stick. “Oh Amber, I didn’t know you were visiting. Is your da home?”

Panic flared, was ruthlessly squashed. “No, he’s at the office.”

The woman slumped and pouted, looked away. “Oh.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s just the tap, it’s not working and I called the plumber and he says he’s coming”—she looked down the corridor as if expecting him to appear—“but I have this card and it has to be sent today. It’s my grandson’s 21st birthday tomorrow and I forgot to post it yesterday. I just thought if your father was there, he could wait for the plumber for me while I go post this. It’s just one of those men things, you see, they all seem to understand each other.”

“Well, I can’t help with the plumber but I can post your card for you.” After all, what was the point of trying to save the world for people if you weren’t willing to help them on the day to day things? Good karma and all that.

“Och, would you? That would be such a help, you know. It needs a stamp though. I’ll get you the money for it and sure, you can get yourself some sweeties with it too.”

Amber winced. Good manners dictated she refuse. “No, you’re grand. I’m running down to the city anyway, Mrs Mulligan. It’s not a big deal. Is there anything else I can get you, some milk, teabags, sugar, anything?”

“No, no. No. You just take this”—she reached into her red purse and pulled out a tenner which was far too much considering a stamp cost less than a pound generally—“and get yourself something.”

Taking the money and the card, and making a note to smuggle it back to Mrs Mulligan, Amber stepped back into her apartment. She closed the door, eyed the TV and set about getting ready for her day.

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“So have you heard from Kevin yet, Mariah?” Hilary asked, slathering butter onto her slice of toast and ignoring Rei’s admonishing look. She knew she used too much butter, that it looked like it’d been plastered onto the toast by the time she finished, but it made the toast taste better, especially since it was a little darker than she preferred.

“Mm, a little bit.” Mariah sipped her tea, gold-tipped nails glinting in the bright lights above them, despite the sun pressing against the wood-style Venetian blinds. “He’s not great at writing letters.”

“Does he have email? I could send him one for you. What about Instagram?” Kenny turned his laptop to show Mariah the website and Rei laughed, teasing Kenny about his recent upload: a picture of the remains of their breakfast, mostly empty dishes and discarded cutlery. Kenny was quick to defend himself, claiming the fans wanted to know these things. What Tyson ate was apparently big news.

As they joked and talked, Hilary relaxed into her seat and chewed on her toast. This was good. Being with her team settled her, chased away the frayed edges from the day before. She chuckled, as Mariah pointedly reminded Rei about his own lack of communication while travelling, and studied the dining room. Most of the blading teams had claimed the larger tables, leaving the smaller ones to the travelling business people who were clearly regretting their choice of hotel as they frowned and quickly ate their breakfasts, then escaped the cacophony of teenage conversation.

A waitress slipped through the crowded tables with practised ease to set a coffee pot in the middle of the All Starz’s table. Rick listened to his music, Steve and Eddy pored over a newspaper grabbed from a nearby table, while Michael motioned for Emily to pour him a cup as he leaned across his seat to talk to Enrique. The ex-Majestic had taken a smaller table for himself and Julia, though Hilary hadn’t seen them converse since they sat down. Julia seemed content to watch the muted TV mounted in the corner where a woman was predicting sunshine for the whole of the UK and Ireland, though every so often her phone would flash and she would respond with a flurry of screen tapping.

Taking a sip of her own tea, Hilary waved when she spotted Max and Tyson approaching the dining area with their plates overflowing with food. As she lowered her hand, she locked eyes with Ian for just a second before he quickly looked away. He sat on his own in the corner, furiously typing on his computer, not seeming to mind that his team was AWOL. Though maybe they were just off practising and they’d join him later. Still, she wondered what made him rise so early in the morning to spend his time on that computer. What was he writing? Did it have anything to do with Amber?

“See, Tyson!” Max dropped into the seat across from Hilary and grabbed for the colourful foil sachets sitting in a little white ceramic pot. “You can get brown sauce, ketchup, mustard!” He waved the yellow packet in front of his friend, frowning when Tyson snatched it and began to add it to his sausages. “But there’s no mayonnaise. I think there’s a conspiracy.”

Hilary chuckled, quickly reaching down into her bag by her feet when Max cast her a wounded look.

“That’s not nice, Hils, how am I supposed to eat my food without mayo?”

“Open your mouth and just shove it in.” So saying, Tyson shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Chry mew fwings.”

Daichi pointed a fork in Tyson’s direction. “What the hell did that mean?”

“I don’t want to try new things.”

Mariah screwed up her nose. “Tyson, that’s just gross.”

“It’s wrong, Mariah,” Max retorted with a scowl. “What Tyson is doing is wrong and offends my tastebuds.”

As they bickered, Hilary fumbled around until her fingers closed around the cool plastic bottle. Grabbing it, she lifted it up and presented to Max. “Aren’t you lucky I’m such a good manager?”

Max’s blue-blue eyes lit up. “Mayonnaise? Hilary, you’re the best!”

“Why do you always get Max mayonnaise?”

Hilary turned to Tyson, her smile fading. “Because he likes it.”

Having squeezed almost half the bottle onto his food, Max nodded. “I do.”

“And you get Kai chocolate. But you never get me stuff.”

“Or me,” Daichi piped up.

Hilary ignored the youngest member of her team—she had spent a whole night nursing him back from the brink of alcohol-induced death—and focused on Tyson as he glowered down at his food. “I don’t get you anything because you don’t have any dietary needs. You will eat anything put in front of you.” Which was great, it meant she didn’t have to go out of her way to make him eat or track down certain foodstuffs or find specific restaurants in each city they visited. Tyson was a breath of fresh air when it came to her team at times. Rei was great too, he took care of himself—mostly because he was a food snob; she remembered the mango incident well—and Daichi was happy as long as no one came near him with a tomato.

“So what are you saying? I’m fat?”

She blinked, thrown by the question. “I never said you were fat.” She glanced around the table for support because she never said anything like that. “I never said that,” she repeated firmly.

There was hardly an ounce of fat on him. Since hitting puberty—if that was even the right term since he sure wasn’t showing any maturity—he’d shot up into a skinny rake of a boy.

Rei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tyson, stop.”

Tyson sulked into his food and an awkward silence descended upon their table. Hilary twisted her fingers beneath the table as heat crept up the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure if it was temper or embarrassment.

“You’re a little tubby.”

“Daichi!”

All wide-eyed innocence, Daichi threw his hands in the air. “What? I thought we were going to try that constructive critique thing to be better bladers?”

Mariah frowned in his direction. “That was more destructive than constructive, Daichi.”

“So, Hilary, did you have a nice time with Amber?”

Hilary choked and gaped at Max. With Amber? How did they even know? What did they know? “What?”

“You texted Tyson yesterday, remember, to say you two were going to the park.”

Right. Of course. In case she went missing or ended up dead. Hard to believe all that happened just yesterday. She still wasn’t sure she’d been convinced by Amber, but it was hard to ignore Morrigan. Or the nightmares she’d suffered where she’d been repeatedly chopped down like a tree by an army of tiny Tinkerbell lookalikes.

“Uh, it was fun. I got burnt,” she said, wryly pointing to her still pink nose. She made a mental note to buy some sunscreen, and aloe vera gel—Emily’s had been a lifesaver the night before but she couldn’t continue using it.

Taking Mariah’s empty plate, Rei set it on his and sent her a smile. “It’s nice you’re making friends, Hilary.”

Friends, right. Hilary wasn’t sure you could define her relationship with Amber as friendship. It was almost like her initial interaction with the Bladebreakers. She was the outsider trying to gather information on what was really going on, getting wrapped up in something that didn’t really concern her. Maybe someday she’d play a leading role in her own adventure, but that wasn’t going to be any time soon.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, “but we miss having you around, Hils.”

“So did Kai join you before or after?”

Rei sent Tyson an annoyed look. “Tyson, what is wrong with you this morning?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Hilary forced herself to meet Tyson’s angry eyes. “Neither. I met Kai on the way back to the arena with Amber and Ian. I didn’t see him all day before that.”

“Right,” Tyson said, jaw tight. “What a coincidence.”

“Why were you with Ian?” Daichi demanded, with a sneer that curled his upper lip and wrinkled his nose. What, was she only allowed room for one annoying short person in her life?

“Daichi,” Rei warned, “Hilary doesn’t owe any of us answers about who she hangs out with.” His words were pointed enough that Tyson flinched as they hit their mark.

Tyson shoved his chair back and stepped up. “I’m going to go train. That’s what we came here to do, after all.”

“Oi, Granger, you seen Hiwatari around?” Tala demanded, weaving his way through the tables to stand behind an empty chair, hands closing around the top as he leaned against it. “You might want to remind him what team he’s on.”

“Talk to Hilary, she seems to know more about his whereabouts than the rest of us.”

Tyson stalked off. Rei cursed under his breath and took after him. Sensing he might miss something, Daichi chased after them, and Kenny muttered something about needing the bathroom.

Hilary swallowed thickly, her throat clicking closed as humiliation burned through her. Tala pointed in her direction and she met his gaze squarely, refusing to be quelled.

“Tell Hiwatari we have practice, if he wants to stay on this team.”

Oh, this was so ridiculous. She wasn’t Kai’s social secretary. She wasn’t his manager. She was just trying to be a friend and this was the thanks she got for everything she did? She stood up, slapping her hands down onto the table. “Tell Kai yourself,” she snapped, heading to the lobby.

The cool air stung her cheeks as she scanned the area for any sign of Tyson and catching a glimpse of Rei outside the front door, she crossed to the elevators, jerking up the sleeve of her top to cover her shoulder.

“Hey, Hilary, are you okay?”

Hilary rubbed the back of her neck, her shoulders slumping as she turned to face Mariah and Max. “I’m fine, Mariah.”

“I’m sorry Hilary, I don’t know what got into Tyson.” Max raked a hand through his hair, looking torn between staying and chasing after his friend.

“Don’t you?” She hated how jaded she sounded but it was pretty clear what was going on with Tyson.

“I don’t,” Mariah offered with a sheepish shrug. “Care to tell me?”

Crossing her arms, Hilary stepped forward then rocked back as she tried to compose her thoughts. “Tyson sees Kai as his Senpai, he’s spent so long trying to gain Kai’s recognition, his respect.” She quirked a brow in Max’s direction, feeling quietly pleased with her theory. “Hasn’t he?”

Max frowned but slowly nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“And now he has it, he feels like I’m riding on the coattails of the friendship he worked hard to create with Kai. I mean, really, would I have been able to befriend the Kai you first met? No. Tyson worked hard to befriend Kai and here I am stepping in and bribing Kai with chocolate and he keeps seeing Kai and me together and he thinks I’m stealing Kai’s attention away from him. Daichi would feel the exact same if I did that to Tyson because Tyson is his Kai.”

Max and Mariah exchanged a look and Max grimaced. “Well, uh, maybe? I guess that could sort of be right.”

“It is,” she said, releasing a deep breath, clasping her hands behind her. “And I understand. I do. But when it comes out of nowhere like that, it’s annoying and a bit embarrassing, but Tyson’s entitled to his feelings and hopefully, he’ll realise that I’m not trying to steal Kai, I’m just trying to be a good friend. I am really thankful that you guys let me tag along to these tournaments. If you didn’t, I might not have gained the courage to join the archery club and find my own passion.”

She mustered up a smile, feeling proud of how calm and understanding she sounded. She didn’t sound like her heart was a heavy bruised lump in her chest. Fighting, really fighting and not bickering, with Tyson always made her feel a little sick and sad inside.

“Right,” Max muttered, shaking his head gently. “Well, that still doesn’t mean Tyson gets to be a jerk. I’m gonna have a word with him.”

“No, Max, don’t. Let’s just give him a few minutes, okay? We’ll wait in the dining area until he cools off—” She broke off as Ming-Ming swept into the lobby, iPad in hand, looking cooly in control in a navy dress, cinched at the waist by a thick brown belt, brown strappy heels and her teal hair falling in soft waves down her back. She made Hilary feel underdressed in her wide neck white top and stonewashed denim shorts, her hair in a stubby ponytail.

Behind her, Tyson, Daichi and Rei followed.

“Look out, it’s Queen Ming-Ming,” Mariah muttered, sliding her hands into the pockets of her pink zip-up hoodie and Hilary suddenly felt a burst of camaraderie with the Chinese girl who obviously felt equally underdressed.

Ming-Ming stopped in the entrance to the dining hall and pitched her voice over the din. “Conference room 2, now. I have today’s itinerary and—I don’t care Valkov”—she held up a finger as Tala opened his mouth—“whatever you’re going to cry about, I don’t want to hear it.”

She rushed off as quickly as she entered, leaving a crowd of bewildered bladers shuffling after her.

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Across the city, Mariam was in a foul mood. Her morning had started with a sifting of dust and a spider trying to build a web from her chin to her ear. Even now, an hour later, she could feel it crawling through her hair, over the back of her neck, in her ear—little phantom legs scurrying across her skin. It was enough to turn her stomach and rev up her temper. No way, she vowed, would she remain one more night in that decrepit apartment building with its dodgy ceiling and halfheartedly boarded-up windows.

No, she was on a mission. She was going to find alternative accommodation. One that had solid walls, a firm floor, a roof that didn’t leak, and most importantly, a place that had a shower and an insect free bed—though any bed would be an upgrade.

We’ve managed to work out some of the runes. We’re going to the woods to translate them. Meet us there.

She sent a sharp mental prod in Ozuma’s direction and locked down her inner shields. She didn’t care about the wards. The tree was down and that’s what the wards protected—she doubted that even Ozuma could reinforce the wards or change their purpose. Whatever that tree did once, it didn’t anymore.

It was time to focus on more important things, like getting accommodation that was liveable and checking up on the Bladebreakers. As long as the sacred beasts were protected and used for good, Mariam could rest easy, her mission a success. Besides, she hadn’t seen Max in a while. It might be nice to touch base with him, rekindle an old friendship and see what he made of the vibes in the city.

Deciding he would be at the arena she ducked into the ground floor of a mall that she knew stretched the width of the block. Her scuffed ankle boots slapped against the gleaming tiled floor as women in smart blouses and pencil skirts showed off their wares, spritzing perfume and inviting customers to check out a new anti-wrinkle cream for the whole body.

Mariam snorted. She should bring some back for the Elders; they could bathe in it. Though admittedly, most of those new-fangled creams just took the ancient ways and glamorised them. Mud masks, salt scrubs, aromatherapy oils; yeah they weren’t new and they were less expensive back home. Maybe she should look into doing something like that, take the ingredients and treatments from the village, slap her face on it. Ming-Ming made a name for herself, there was nothing to say Mariam couldn’t do the same.

A kiosk caught her eye and she detoured towards it.

Lipsticks.

Lip stains.

Lip glosses.

She sighed, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t brought any essentials with her—Ozuma had supervised her packing like the megalomaniac he was. ‘Lipstick isn’t needed in Ireland, Mariam. Who are you going to impress? The Spirits?’ There was no point telling him that she wanted to look pretty for herself. She had a damn good set of lips and she wanted to show them off, big deal. She'd managed to smuggle in the eyeliner bought on her last excursion to a city, though it had worn down to a little nub and would need replacing soon.

“Are you looking for something?” The blonde girl behind the counter asked, giving Mariam a quick once over, eyes rounding at her outfit before she dropped her gaze to her phone with a barely suppressed smirk.

“Just browsing.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Mariam hovered over the display and wondered what colour would suit her best. A plum always looked good but you couldn’t beat a sassy red. Though would she really find a chance to wear a sassy red on this quest?

“That red will just wash you out. Try a nice pale pink instead.”

A nice pale pink? She wasn’t trying to be someone’s demure housewife. That was the exact opposite of who she was. “I prefer bolder colours.”

“Mmhmm, whatever. Oh Jacqueline,” the girl called out, waving a bejewelled hand. “I need to go on my break soon; I need to get a dress for tonight.”

“No problem, Mairead,” a statuesque redhead said as she approached. “Liz told me a new batch of dresses just came in upstairs. Might be perfect for tonight.”

They fell into conversation about where they would meet and who was going. After another debate, Mariam chose the plum and a more neutral dark rose gloss. She angled her body to face the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited longer.

Tucking her tongue in her cheek, Mariam tapped her blunt fingernails against the countertop while the two girls continued their conversation, showing no indications of stopping. Another shopper approached the counter, sending Mariam a congenial smile as she scanned a row of bottled foundations.

After five minutes passed, Jacqueline bustled off her to her own counter and Mairead turned to the new customer, with a winsome smile that flashed perfect teeth and a gushing apology for making her wait. The other shopper sent Mariam a curious look, but she jumped at the chance to be served. Mariam closed her fingers tightly around the lipsticks in her hand and, tucking her blue hair behind her heavily decorated ear, stretched to grab a pamphlet while tucking the lipsticks away in the pocket within the lining of her tunic.

“Hey,” she called out with a smile, “is this pamphlet free?”

Irked with being distracted from her sale, Mairead glanced at the magazine and nodded with a tight smile. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Tapping the rolled up magazine against her palm, Mariam sauntered out of the shop, smiling brightly as she passed Jacqueline. The sun blinded her the second she stepped onto the pavement, so she paused, breathing in the scents of sunshine bouncing off the concrete and cookies from the nearby bakery. City Hall stood prominently at the top of the street, its faded mint green dome framed by the bright blue sky. Cars and bicycles zipped by, punctuated by short hiatuses when pedestrians would dart across the road in long loping gaits.

Appreciating the buzz of the city, Mariam turned to leave when her senses went on high alert. She stepped back into the shade of the building and scanned the street, zeroing in on the danger. Two boys, a redhead and a blond, one tall and the other of average height walked leisurely away from her. Nothing stood out about them, the redhead wore a blue shirt, sleeves rolled up exposing white arms that would either burn or freckle and a pair of white linen trousers, while the blond was tanned and showed it off with a black sleeveless t-shirt and grey board shorts. There was nothing unique about them, they wore no symbols, but they both exuded a quiet power, most especially the redhead and when they paused to cross the street, looking left and right, Mariam’s breath caught in her lungs.

“Well, hello,” she whispered. Max would have to wait. She’d found much more interesting prey.

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Having completed Mrs Mulligan’s errand, Amber swung her plastic bag and sucked on an ice-lolly—she bought herself—as she wandered along the busy pavement filled with shoppers, office workers, and tourists.

Exhaust fumes mixed with the scent of melted tar and the sweetly fragrant flowers spilling from the hanging baskets attached to the shop fronts. Overhead gulls screeched and a toddler in a pushchair squealed, outraged that their father had the audacity to smear suncream over their delicate skin.

Ducking around a family capturing memories, Amber slipped down an alleyway and released a sigh of pleasure as the tall buildings eclipsed the steadily climbing sun for a while. Already she could feel the heat rising off her shoulders, a sure sign that the suncream was wearing off. At least she had the good sense to wear shorts with her vest top, though her battered runners were like a swamp. When she got home, she was going to soak her feet in a basin of cold, cold water.

Music filtered from a nearby apartment window and the sunlight gleamed and bounced off the cars sitting in the small squared off space that acted as a parking lot for the workers and apartment dwellers—it also acted as a heat trap, she mused, as she felt the hot air clamp around dampening her neck beneath the heavy weight of her hair.

Screw the basin, she’d soak her whole body in a bath of cold water and ice, lots and lots of ice.

She wondered how Hilary and Ian were coping with the weather. Probably a damn sight better than her. They had seasons in their countries… well, she assumed they did. She actually knew diddly squat about Japan and Russia, bar what the TV told her. Still, she could check in on them, maybe bring them some suncream since she’d all but bought out an entire shop. You could never be too careful with the sun. Her mother was a nurse, she’d had skin cancer talks drummed into her head from an early age.

Part of her considered going back to the park, to where the tree had fallen. Now that she wasn’t so freaked out and the Voice was calmer, though sullenly silent, she might be able to investigate the scene logically. But the idea of going there on her own didn’t appeal. Especially when she didn’t know what that tree did. Was it a gateway or something more? She just didn’t know.

A sound behind her made her ears prick, an itch buzzed between her shoulder blades. She slowed her gait and a smirk began to form.

Ian.

So he hadn’t given up following her. Good. Maybe she could con him into following her to the park, save her having to ask for the company. Two birds, one excellently aimed stone. She still didn’t know how he found her and Hilary in the park.

She turned to ask him, eager to see him sulk when she foiled his spy routine. Her smug grin fell away when she found herself confronted with an empty space. Okay… Bemused, she sucked her raspberry ice pop and rocked forward on the balls of her feet. Where was that little shit? She looked up at the balconies, the dark windows that reflected the sunlight, the slanted slate rooftops where heat rose in distorted waves, but nothing moved. She stepped forward and then she rolled her eyes. Of course. Dropping to a crouch, she peered under the parked cars but, besides the pockmarked cement, she saw nothing.

No feet. No Ian.

Maybe she imagined it, she mused, but her instincts screamed. Someone or something was there. Cold dread began to slither up her spine. The last time she’d felt like this, she’d been attacked by Eoin but as she scanned the alley she found no sign of a beyblade.

A growl, guttural and edged with fury, rumbled through the alley and her mouth turned to dust. She backed up another step, her shopping bag rustling with the movement as the plastic bottles inside knocked against her leg.

Not again.

Breath choppy, she frantically searched the alley. Where the fuck was it?

“Come on,” she muttered. “If you’re going to do this, do it already.”

At least then she’d know which direction to run, and she would run. She sure as hell had no intention of fighting it or calling for help, after all, what could a defenceless human do?

She swallowed hard, cold sweat sprang out along her back.

The dark shadow rose through the cement in the middle of the alley. Amber bit back a groan of dismay, her ice-lolly dropping to the ground, dissolving into a puddle of red syrup.

“Again? Oh, come on,” she whined. “I’m not even a threat to you.”

She shifted her bag to her other hand, her free hand lifting to her throat. Where was the beyblade? More importantly, where was Eoin? Hilary said bitbeasts used beyblades to function in this world, so how was this bitbeast here?

The hooded being finally hovered above the cement though she saw no sign of the beyblade. Not that she could really look, not when it began to come closer, thin silver hands slipping out of the wide sleeves of its black cloak, drawing its scythe back for a swing. Yeah, she was not going to stay for this.

Unlocking her legs, she stumbled back down the alley towards the opening. She just had to reach the street and then she would be surrounded by people. No way would Eoin attack her in front of others.

It zipped out of sight.

Shit.

Amber dropped her bag, spun around and squealed. It towered over her, so close the fabric of the cloak brushed her legs, cold and gossamer. No face could be seen beneath the hood, just empty darkness, like a Dementor.

It howled.

Amber turned and ran back to the cars, her feet pounding against the concrete. She could hear its growls, feel it gaining on her. There were no distortions of air, no heated breaths on her neck, no footsteps and yet her whole back was alive with an electric charge, little snapping bites against her nerves. He was behind her.

Make that in front of her.

She skidded to a halt, then she flailed as she turned and began running back to the street again. She leapt over her toppled bottles of suncream, her skin all but sliding off her bones to escape. Her heart was a desperate staccato in her ears and her breath a hard iron ball lodged in her lungs. She couldn’t inhale fast enough, her head was beginning to spin and the heat squeezed her in a tight sweaty glove.

She was going to die.

When it zipped in front of her again, sheer desperation and an inability to stop had her ploughing through it and then plunging out of the alleyway into blinding sunshine. For a moment white spots flashed in front of her vision, just as a voice shouted, a horn beeped and she was yanked to a halt by a tight grip wrapped around her chest.

#beyblade #beyblade fanfiction #saving part of the world #saving fanfic #chapter seventeen #saint shields mariam #beyblade oc #tyson granger #hilary tachibana

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