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nomorefstogive · 4 months ago

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Our Dearest Sin Chapter 4: To Fix A Problem (Crossposted on Ao3)

Hello all, this is a copy paste of the newest chapter of my PtN fic on Ao3, as well as my way of letting all of you know that I am in fact, still alive.

Summary:

She was born to do this, to fix the mistakes of others so that those she serves could prosper, and now she once more donned that most dreaded of masks to fulfill her horrific duty, all to insure that the woman she loved would be safe. After all, she was born and made to fix problems.

Notes:

Hello again everyone, I am sorry for the rather lengthy delay that has occurred with me posting this chapter, and for my lengthy silence on tumblr, I was working on a variety of other projects, not just my other fics…namely the 40k plus word chapter for my Azur Lane fic, but also a subreddit that has cropped up that I am quite fond of, r/PrimarchGF. Before we begin, let us offer our thanks to JimBoReee for braving this mess of a fic and acting as our Beta for this chapter, they are a wonderfully talented and creative person so please go and check out their works, you will not be disappointed. A link to their profile: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimBoReee/pseuds/JimBoReee That said, today we are going to take a slight detour from the wholesomeness and humorous atmosphere of our previous posts and instead take a few steps down a much darker path. I invite you one and all to take a moment to steel yourselves as this will be quite the departure from has been established as the norm of this story, I will attach some trigger warnings below for what this chapter will contain. TW: Murder. Torture. Attempted Murder. Attempted Suicide. Suicide Coercion. Blackmail. Abuse. Mental Torture. Psychological Torture. Hurt No Comfort. Yandere Themes. Shalom Being Angry. Non Consensual Touching, mentioned in one portion. Racism Against Sinners. Implied Homophobia. Manipulation. Mental Trauma. Physical Trauma. Etc. For those of you who are still here, then we welcome you one and all to this newest act in the play of this fic, with that said- Let the show begin!

To Fix A Problem

There is an old saying that goes, “When it rains, it pours”, and as the young man sat at the candlelit table, blood trailing from weeping gashes and narrow cuts as tears that gleamed ever so faintly amidst the light of the flickering flames of the twin candles that sat upon the table before him, eyes so empty as to be mirrors of the Void itself regarding him with cold disdain, he knew it well to be the case of the saying being more than true.

Dimly the man thought of how this had come to be, how it was that was sat at this table of exquisitely carved mahogany wood, his blood and tears seeping into the plush velvet lining of the chair he sat within as he watched the figure across from him take in his suffering and horror, his cries and screams and blubbered pleas falling upon the sepulchral silence of the room and unflinching face of the one across from him as water upon a duck’s wings, failing to do not but display how futile such actions were in the face of the Absolute before him.

Eyes heavy lidded with caked blood and stinging with tears shed and un-shed, rested upon the case before him, polished onyx metal of origin unknown casting not the faintest reflection of light and instead seeming to hungrily devour it with grandiose delight as it waited with baited breath for what it knew would come to pass.

As his trembling fingers began to move to open the container, many times failing to pop the latches that held fast the case like the teeth of some abhorrent maw despite the almost anticipatory ease with which they popped open when he did manage to lay his fingers upon them, the man recalled with another heaving sob how all of this had begun.

It felt like days ago that waking had come to the man not with gentle caress of promises and wonders unseen, but with the bitter stinging whip of pain, a fog of agony such that it tinted the vision white and black as one neared the precipice of oblivion’s sweet embrace once more that would have served to engulf him whole once more were it not for the sudden jostling of the world around him, his bound hands unable to offer any aid as he was flung upwards, an already battered head connecting with solid metal, causing yet more constellations of agony to form.

Tears had slipped unbidden from his eyes, wetting the dried blood that had crusted them near to shut and allowing for the man’s narrow field of haze ridden view to expand somewhat as he his mind sluggishly tried to process just what it was that was happening, though such thoughts and questions were soon vanished as yet once more the world went white with agony as his body was jolted once more, something which prompted broken bones and cuts that had gone mercifully numb to once more sing out in a choir of hellish agony.

The exquisite agony of what felt to be a hundred-hundred razor thin cuts and several snapped and shattered bones should have made the man scream out, wailing like a child holding fast their parents hands amidst a blazing inferno, and yet instead there came but a low and wet groan, vocal chords unresponsive as the man came to be aware of an unnatural feeling of sluggishness that had seized him fast, the feeling having been hidden away behind the sensation of waking and the pain that had soon accompanied it.

His heart had begun to hammer in more than just pain, a sensation of dread enveloping him as a rapidly spreading slick of oil would upon the sea, lungs tried and failed to take fast breaths as each sudden motion caused supernovas of agony to envelop him, forcing him to slow his breath and to try and still his heart, a whimper slipping past the young man’s lips as he tried to take stock of the situation, though his thoughts were in too much a state of disarray to be anything approaching coherent or cohesive.

Clarity came but ever so briefly, waves of frigid terror enveloping him in an all consuming grasp of such force that the breath he managed to take in left his lungs entirely during theme moments, gasps of horror and despair slipping from torn lips that parted into silent sobs that soon bled way to gasps of pain and then back into whimpers of agony as the clarity vanished once more under the tide of misery.

Why was he here?

What was going on?

Why was he so badly hurt?

Why were his hands bound?

What was he in?

Where was he?

Again and again these question had come to him during those brief moments, though they were ever left unanswered as the man languished in his misery, his silent sobs growing as the jostling became more and more frequent, his body being cast against what felt to be walls of cold metal, his vision soon went black once more, oblivion swallowing him as a particularly hard jostle sent his head colliding with the wall behind him with such force that consciousness fled him.

As yet another latch upon the case came undone, the man thought to himself that it was far too kind that the striking of his scalp upon the unfeeling metal had not delivered him unto the merciful embrace of the most kind Oblivion, and had instead merely been the briefest of interludes for the pain to come, for soon enough he had been awoken again, the jostling having yielded way to the sound of metal doors being cast open.

He had not had time to even open his mouth before hands reached into the space he was housed within and seized him, his body crying out in agony as the towering figure tore him free of the container, manacles snapping under the strain with which they had torn him from them as he was cast into the mud, the Blue-Rain caressing him with frigid needles as he tried and failed to move away from the being that loomed over him, his movements stopping when he felt a hand seize him by the ankle as the figure began to drag him through the mud, his sobs of pain being drowned out amidst the downpouring rain.

His vision swam, dried blood and fresh mud now blinding him such that he could not discern where it was that he had been taken, only that around him loomed monolithic buildings and streets adorned with cracks and gaping wounds of craters and shattered windows and walls, the stench of filth and mud field his nostrils and the taste of dirt and blood flooded his mouth as he tried and failed to cry out for help before his captor began to haul him down the street, dragging him with a lone hand as though he weighed not but a twig’s burden to them.

Faintly he thought he not only heard his captor speaking, their voice oddly muffled as they spoke into what must have been a phone for a moment before they were silent once more, but that he also saw figures moving amidst the shadows of the buildings that loomed around him, empty windows and doorways seeming to form mocking sneers and cruel smirks that regarded his torment with perverse glee, yet when he blinked the figures were gone and only the iron grip around his ankle that drug him over cracked and shattered streets remained.

At times he thought he smelt something over the rain and filth of the streets he was being hauled down, something almost floral that seemed to mock his senses with its ever faint presence, though such a thing was swiftly banished from his mind as his captor paused in their march to lift a heavy hand and bring it down upon a door of cold metal that lay nestled in the shadow of a building.

After administering but a single knock to the door, the towering figure cast open the heavy construct of cold steel with deft ease, the same ease with which they suddenly flung him into the building, his ribs crying out in agony as a series of sickening cracks and pops sang out from within him as an agonized choir, the loudest and most vocal of said agonies there came when his flight at last ended, his body slamming into a metal pillar, the blow making his world turn white as his mouth parted in a silent scream once more.

As the white left his vision, and darkness began to creep in once more, his blurred vision faintly registered the form of his captor, weeping eyes alighting upon a towering figure clad in what seemed to be some form of uniform odd metal contraptions resting on their arms, and a sneering mask covering the lower part of their face, their visage made all the more horrifying by the baleful crimson scar that burned across their face, the glow of which reflected like hell-fire amidst their baleful eyes as they advanced once more.

Oblivion claimed him with the blow of a boot to his head, and the faintest sound of mocking chuckles echoing from the shadows that now loomed to devour him.

*Tap*

His reverie was broken by the sound of a single manicured nail tapping the wooden table, a look of disapproval flickering into those abyssal eyes as the figure across from him regarded him with glacial apathy, yet beneath that apathy and within that void that swirled were a soul should be within their eyes, he saw the faintest flicker of something that bid his trembling hands move with due speed, trembling fingers fumbling the latches once more before he at last managed to pop yet another open.

A flicker of a smile graced the face of the one across from him, sharp and cold, the edge of a scalpel ready to peel through his flesh and let him bleed across the floor before her…no it’s arctic gaze as the figure watched with cruel anticipation as yet another latch came open before the man paused once more, yet more plaintive cries and whimpers beginning to form on his lips as he saw the light of the candle ever so faintly reflect off of a dark amethyst gem that lay embraced in a band of silver.

The sight of it making his heart begin to hammer once more, tears beginning to trail from his eyes as he fought the urge to fall to his knees and beg and plea to the figure before him once more, he had long come to realize that even the most desperate and humiliating of please and cries for mercy would fall upon ears that seemed to be cast from the same glacial stone that the figure’s heart had been for all of the good that they seemed to do.

Indeed, all said please had ever managed to warrant from the figure was a disapproving look before they beckoned towards the towering woman that stood behind him, hands strong enough to pulverize bone lifting him up and then slamming him into either the pillar she had been leaning against or the floor before she tossed him back into his chair, a snarl of seemingly apocalyptic fury scorching its way from her throat as she seemed to be held back from taking his life by some unseen hand or order as she left him there before returning to her post.

Again there came a loud snap to fill the otherwise silent room, the shadows seeming to come alive as they writhed and danced in an obscene serpentine manner, tongues of darkness caressing his body and vision as her looked at the final latch on the case, faintly he thought there came, from depths unseen, a chorus of voices, mocking and derisive, so potent their disdain and contempt for him that his blood ran as ice, though with but a blink the looming darkness and mocking words vanished as his hand hovered over the final latch.

Swallowing down a wave of vertigo and nausea, the man looked up at the figure across from him, bloodshot eyes of dark oaken brown caked in bruises and mud meeting glacial light purple eyes, as the man forced himself to speak up once more, his gaze flickering from the figure’s eyes to the ring that it had sat before it.

“Y-you promise…” He coughed up a wad of blood and flem that landed on his pants, a moment being taken to catch his breath before he lifted his head once more to continue his final plea to the figure before him.

“You promise me you’ll leave them alone? They…they had nothing to do with this…this was all me and those dumbasses, leave my family out of it.” His voice, hoarse and yet oh so faint, weak to the brink of shattering and yet resonating with the last few strands of great strength the man could summon forth filled the room, the stillness that followed his words seeming fit to crush him under its weight even as it deafened him with its intensity.

For a moment there was only the sound of the the creaking of the attire of the figure behind him as he watched the thing in human skin across from him tilt its head in silent thought for several moments, light purple eyes looking down at the ring in contemplation before the figure at last spoke up, that haunting voice, the dulcet tone of the Devil as he purred in your ear, broke the silence as well.

“As I told you before, I will not lay a hand on them, nor will any of my subordinates. So long as you keep your end of the deal, then nothing will happen to them, but should you fail… then I cannot vouch for their safety.” The thing finished its statement with that faux smile, something that would not have looked out of place on a mannequin of porcelain and plaster, yet upon the face of a human did not but lend to it a visage of something alien and horrific, a perverse mockery of human life so naked in its debauched falsity that it was sickening to behold.

With a heavy sigh of relief, the man took a deep breath, the tranquil calmness of someone who knew that they now stood at the end of their journey enveloping him as he popped the final latch of the case, taking a single moment to take in a breath before he opened it and let his eyes behold the contents of the case.

In the same vein as the exterior of the case, the interior was made of a stygian material designed to gently envelop and shield the contents of the case, said contents being little more than a single vial, barely the size of his index finger and yet seeming to be as large as the very planet itself as it say there before him, the dark crimson liquid semeing to radiate a glow of baleful scarlet so intense that it cast some of the shadows of the room aside, the darkness seeming to flee the encroaching light as though it was the scythe of Death itself.

Faintly, the man noted how the scarlet light seemed to have a mind of its own, tendrils and garlands of dark crimson and brighter scarlet energy hungrily caressing each exposed inch of the room that it could, wisps of energy caressing the towering figure behind him as a master would an obedient pet, with a similar gesture being granted unto the figure that sat before him, the crimson glow seeming to cast upon those light violet eyes the glow of hellfire.

Still enveloped in the tranquility of finality did them an reach out and pick up the vial, sparks of a sensation not electric or searing or frigid, yet some perverse amalgamation of each of them racing through his skin and into his very blood like a tidal wave of jagged glass that cut and tore and shredded all it touched, leaving behind mangled wounds that soon found themselves smoothed over in a deluge of scarlet power that twisted and made mockery of the very nature of the human soul.

His hand was no longer his own.

Of its own accord, as though possessed of a will more ancient and malign then the hideous expanse of the cosmos that seemed to swirl and churn around the Scarlet Moon that had crested over the Broken Frontline in that very moment, did his fingers gently pop the cork off the vial, ever so carefully bringing it to his lips even as his body unconsciously tried to jerk away from the vial before him.

Those same hands that had nearly snapped him like a twig now lashed out once more, fingers seemingly formed of granite and rebar in their unyielding might digging into his face as his mouth was forced open, gloves dense enough that his teeth could have done not but ever so faintly tickle skin beneath keeping him in place as they and that was once his own brought the vial to his mouth and began to upend it.

As the first drop touched his tongue the man realized that he had been wrong, it was not liquid, more some form of semi-solid gelatinous mass, perhaps more likable to plasma than anything else found in nature or crafted by the hands of man and monster alike, began to flow down his throat, the same alien sensation that had engulfed his hand now enveloping his body entirely as waves of agony like nothing he could ever no washed over him again and again.

Faintly, he realized that he was seizing, his body rebelling with all that it had, each and every base cell and molecule warring against the horrific might that now began to dig into him with ravenous fury, frigid and molten glass shards tearing him apart over and over again as liquid tides of molten agony assailed him at the same moment clouds of scarlet suffering flooded his lungs, choking his cries before they could leave his lips.

At once his body felt full and empty, as though each drop of blood, each minute molecule had gained great and terrible weight one moment, only to flicker out of existence and leave him adrift in a senseless shell of misery the next, with the constant fluctuations of sensations tearing at his mind, razored claws sinking into succulent flesh as the fangs of madness began to gnaw hungrily at his mind, pits of madness beckoning ever so sweetly-

“Stop.”

Yet to him was such mercy denied, for there came over the agony that drowned out all else a voice that was not a voice, a weight and sensation that forced itself into his mind with the might of an avalanche, power so suffocating that it left his breath frozen in his lungs as his bodily functions ceased in obeisance to the order.

A triangular mark filled his vision, parting the sanguine and onyx haze that had so mercifully enveloped him the silver white glow of the mark burning with such radiance that he could do not but attempt to flee its encroaching blaze, though to no avail was this mental flight, for garlands of ivory enveloped him as razor wire, pulling him into a realm of burning light and searing agony, his mind bound and shackled fit to do not but linger at the whims of the Mark.

“OBEY.”

Words yet not words, sensations yet not sensations, thoughts not his own and yet born in his mind echoed within his head as the Mark seared itself into him, nameless terror enveloping him for reasons he knew not as he languished in the unyielding grip of the Mark and of its horrific Will, though more there came for yet another voice low and soft, like the most gentle of spring breezes came into his ears, words unknowable to him mixing with the scorching orders of the Mark.

At last there came reprieve, when he felt the most tender of touches upon his chin, his vision flickering to see a new pair of eyes, their color so eerily reminiscent of the Devil’s and yet somehow worse in the cruel delight that gleamed in them as that soothing voice purred into his ears once more.

“Sleep now.”

His world went black.

For how long this lasted he knew not, only that when he at last came to his senses it was to yet more pain, his body crying out in a thousand-thousand different tongues as he lay sprawled across an ochre floor of an empty room, table and chair and case and Monsters gone, leaving him alone in a puddle of his own blood and bodily waste, bile forming a halo around his head.

With a whimper of the agony of flayed and torn nerves did the man try and force himself to rise, his bones feeling like shattered glass that cut and tore at him from within as he tried to force his arms and left to obey, only to fail as he fell down with yet another cry, tears flowing freely down his face as he desperately called out for mercy, though mercy there came none, for alone he laid in his own waste and tears.

How long had he laid there in misery, hours, days, weeks?

He could not say, only that there came at one point amidst the agonized delirium that had enveloped him a caress so saccharine in its gentleness that he could not have ignored it even had his mind not been on the brink of total annihilation, and so it was that as that most delicate of caresses swept through his very soul that he found the resolve to once more try to rise.

It was agony, near to the absolute most sublime in its totality and might, yet still it was less than what had once assailed him when he had tried to force himself to rise, and thus it was that he could grit his teeth till he heard them crack as he rose from the floor, a joyful cry slipping past his lips as he did so.

His arms braced around the pillar that the Beast of the Monster had once rested against, the man felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks once more, though these were not just born of the agony that assailed him, but also of the joy that filled him at being able to move, to walk, to live once more.

He had thought the Devil had meant to kill him with the poison in that vial, some form of sorcery born of land’s unknown no doubt, or perhaps even the result of some form of Witchcraft of those Abominations that were corrupted by Mania, perhaps it had been too weak compared to his own will, perhaps the pain had been the fullest extent of it’s promise of suffering.

A low chuckle, delirious and maddened, slipped past his lips as he began to force himself to move through the building once more, each step prompting flashes of white hot agony to assail him, though even such misery could do nothing to stop his smile from growing and his heart from singing.

Yes, the Devil had failed to kill him, and now he had the chance to go back to his family, this time wisened by his agony and suffering, at last ready to heed the words of wisdom his wife had spoken to him and try a new lease on his life.

He would go home, hold his beloved and kiss her as if his life depended on it, then he would hug his children and kiss their foreheads, sure they would have to move, perhaps even leave Dis itself if that Devil’s words about what it and its fellows had discovered was true, but all of that paled to just being able to be with them again.

‘I never should have let that dumbass talk me into it,’ he thought to himself as he braced himself against the wall he knew to be near the door, ‘fucking idiot couldn’t even do the job right!’

A flash of irritation tore through him at the final thought, his hand clenching into a fist before it struck the wall, tears beginning to fall once more as he thought of all he would have to do to protect his family now, the company so long built up would have to be liquidated, their assets joining it before they left Dis, their names, perhaps even their faces, needing to be changed to avoid being found by the Snake and its pets.

All he could do is hope that the Devil kept her word and that the rest of the Snake’s Monsters did not find before him and his had managed to flee the city, but he-

There was something on the door.

He blinked in confusion as he saw a piece of white paper held fast to the door, perhaps by tape or glue he could not tell, the immaculate white paper standing in stark contrast to the dark metal of the door, and making it seem as bright as the sun to him as he walked towards it, drawn by that ever so delicate pull.

With a final pained groan he managed to get before the door, his hands braced on either side of the metal door as he lifted his head to look at the paper before him, a single word staring at him in simple print.

A word that made his world go white.

The word in question?

Hush.

Line Break

He blinked as he came to his senses once again, his head throbbing such that his vision was not but a flickering haze of agony, objects being near one second and far the next,each of them enveloped in a haze of grayish white that left him unable to fully process just what it was that was going on around him, let alone where it was that he was.

Unbidden he tried to take a step forward, his footing giving out in the next moment as he landed upon his front, his chin striking solid wood with force enough that he felt his teeth crack within his jaws, blood beginning to drip past his lips and onto the ground as he let out another low whimper of pain.

For several moments he laid there, his vision darkened near to total blackness as he tried to make sense of what it was that was going on as he rolled onto his side, curling into a ball as he tried to wait for the pain to fade enough so that he could try to rise once more, something which seemed to last several moments of laying amidst a pool of his own blood and what felt like a stick carpet that clung to his body.

What must have been a few hours passed before the man was able to force himself to rise once more, his vision swimming in agony as he tried and failed to brace himself against what he could only assume to be a wall, with his hands failing to grasp the material due to an odd wetness that clung to them, with him falling down once more, though this time he was able to stop himself before he could fully fall his slick fingers digging into the carpet with as much force as they could as the man tried to force himself to rise to his feet once more.

Once more did he wait for several moments before he rose again, this time crawling froth on all fours as he looked up, a glimmer of light passing through what seemed to be a cracked door beckoning him forth as once more there came that saccharine pull, this time it came as a spreading of morphine, dulling his pain enough so that he could rise to his feet and stagger through the door, the light blinding him for several moments.

How he wished it had blinded him forevermore.

The first thing he noted when his vision came back to him was the mirror that rested before him, his eyes alighting on a mud and filth and blood caked face as though it was the visage of a stranger, his eyes were so bloodshot that he could not even discern the original color of them, only the paths blazed by his tears revealed his fair skin and the freckles that adorned it.

‘I know everything about you. Who you are. Where you come from. Where your family came from. Where you work. Where you had your first kiss. Even where and when it was that you made love to your wife for the first time.’

A chuckle slipped from his lips as he leaned down, turning on the sinks taps to pool water into its basin to splash on his face, a sigh of bliss slipping past his lips as he watched more and more of his face, of himself, become visible as more and more of the mud and blood and grime fell into the drain, staining the once cleaned ivory to near black, though he paid it no mind.

‘I also know where your children go to school, who their teachers are, who their friends are, and where said friends and their families live. Your eldest son, Marquel needs to brush up on his mathematics, a C- at his age is quite a poor showing, even your youngest Gabriel is doing better than him with a B+.’

Groaning in bliss he reached out to grab at a towel he saw resting near the mirror, savoring each moment it touched his yet tender flesh as he dried his face, a moment spent basking in the softness of the material of the towel before he removed it from his face and tossed it aside.

Yet as he tossed it aside, something caught his eye, something that to most would have been the most innocuous and meaningless of things, and yet to him was as monolithic in its imposing grandeur and the terror that it managed to stoke in him, such a small and fragile thing that made him turn to the door and begin to tear free from the room even as pain assailed him in full once more.

The plastic soldier, standing at attention beside the small toothbrush as though it were its nations flag, caked in blood such that the whites and blues of its armor were drowned near to brown, watched him go with dead eyes even as the pain tore at him with ravenous fingers, the saccharine pull vanishing as a cloyingly sweet laughter rang out in his head, the agony joining it in a chorus of mocking misery.

‘A snap of my fingers, a word spoken in a single ear, and all that you love and know can and will vanish into the aether as if it never existed in the first place…A threat? Huh, I suppose it is fair to assume that you would not understand the severity of your situation, perhaps this can help you understand things.

*Clink*

The jeweler lied to you by the way, the diamond is nowhere near as pure valuable as she led you to believe, I believe hse overcharged you by about 235.23 Discoins, though that is not taking the changes that taxes have undergone since you purchased the ring into account.

I assume you understand me now, correct?’

His shoulder slammed into the wall with enough force that the drywall gave way to form a small hole that snared him in place for a moment before he was able to pull himself free and begin to race down the hallway, or rather try to race down the hallway as once more his footing gave out on him and he fell onto his front, carpet burn assailing his face even as he tried and failed to rise once more.

Tears had begun to fall as rain from his eyes as his heart thundered such that all other sound vanished amidst the roaring backdrop of terror fueled adrenaline, his lips moving in incomprehensible cries and gibbering pleas that failed to rise above whimpers and groans as he forced himself to move down the hall once more, crawling his way forward once more, mad hope and terror fueling his flight.

‘I’m glad to see you understand the weight of my words now Elliot, but you don’t need to be so afraid, I am well aware that you were not the only guilty party in this situation, in fact your role was quite minor, but it still warrants punishment.

Though if that punishment involves your loved ones or not is up to you, if you do what I ask then your family will be spared any attacks by my hand, and I will do the best that I can to mitigate the actions of my fellows, though the most I can promise is a head start to escape them.

Do you want to hear my offer?’

Elliot could swear that there was laughter echoing amidst the agony, mocking and coy it haunted his every step as he tried and failed to force himself forward once more, his strength failing him as he fell down into the sticky carpet once more, though this time he was able to see just what it was that had made it so sticky.

‘All you have to do is take responsibility for your deeds and show that you are willing to earn your second chance, and while this may sound daunting, I assure you that it is not as difficult as you think.’

His eyes widened to the fullest they could, a sob slipping past his lips as he began to cry in full, a soundless shriek leaving his lips as he beheld the scene before him, his already frayed and tattered mind beginning to tear at the seams entirely, though merciful madness was once more denied to him by twin mental grips, forcing him to remain aware and cognizant of what it was that lay before him.

Heaving sobs slipped past his lips as he began to blubber, his tears blinding him, though doing nothing to lessen the horrible clarity of vision that plagued him as he beheld the scene before him.

‘All you have to do-’

At last Elliot found his voice, at last he found himself able to speak, and speak he did, a low whisper of a mind on the verge of shattering and yet denied such merciful oblivion, a word that once made his heart swell with joy but now tore at him with talons of burning ichor.

“Mel-mela-melanie?”

‘-is Die.’

His wife’s severed head stared back at him.

Distantly Elliot noted that chunks of her scalp had been torn away to reveal the white of her skull, which had similarly been fractured and torn in many an area to reveal the pinkish hue of her brain, as though by the maws of some great beast, her eyes, once the most wonderous shade of sea-foam green he had ever seen had shared in her brains fate, as they seemed to have been torn free of their sockets, with not but ichorus tears to flow to mark where the eyes had once been.

Lips adorned with the light blue lipstick that she was so fond of had been torn and split such that her teeth would have been visible in many spots even had her mouth not been fixed into an expression of horrid terror and agony even in death.

Her body…was everywhere.

Draped over the ceiling fan and across the chairs and couch, caking the walls and ceiling and carpets and even the table and TV, was her body, her skin and bones and blood and organs all laying in a chaotic mess that field the air with a fetid aroma that he was only now aware of, his senses having gone blind to it until he focused on the scene before him.

With all the strength Elliot had left in his body he forced himself forward on his hands and knees, delicately lifting his beloved’s head to into his lap as heaving sobs tore from his him, filling the silence of the room, cries and anguished howls soon joining them as he found his breath returning to him as quickly as it left his burning lungs.

Distantly he recalled the words Melanie had spoken to him nearly a week ago, when she had pulled him aside from their construction company’s meeting with that…Thing from the MBCC.

‘I don’t care what you think about Sinners or about her! If this investigation goes well for us and we get the job, then we can have more doors open to us than ever before, so keep your mouth shut, smile and play nice or you had best be fuckign ready to sleep in that car of yours!’

As Elliot held his wife’s head close to him, his world becoming nothing but the howling cries of anguish that slipped past his lips and the warmth of what blood had yet to dry seeping from her mangled stump and onto him, he could not help but recall how he had thought her to be mad to even consider playing nice around such things as that woman and her pets, but now he knew better, his wife had been right the whole time.

As he cradled Melanie’s head he thought to himself of how it had come to this, how stupid he had been to even consider that fucking stupid plan to be anything more than the ramblings of a delusional fool spoken amidst a shared drunken stupor.

A moment of joy at seeing a figure collapse to the ground in agony as a bullet tore its way through her chest, two cones of ice cream falling to the ground as she did so all while his cousin remarked how disappointed he was that they didn’t take her alive, was not worth the price of his beloved and his…oh…oh God no…

“Ma-Marquel? Gab-Ga-Gabriel?” He managed to choke out, a whimpering sob barely above a whisper at first, though soon he managed to force his lungs to cry it out louder, hoping beyond hope for a reply, though none there came.

Tears spilling from his eyes, Elliot delicately set his Melanie’s head down on the ground as he forced himself to rise, his eyes roving over the living room and thankfully not alighting upon the mangled corpses of his children, though of little comfort was this when he was once again faced with the viscera painted walls of his living room, bile barely held back from spilling past his lips as he forced himself to turn and-

Something clattered on the opposite end of the hall…right where his sons shared room was.

It could barely have even been called a plan, being born of his anger at losing such a lucrative contract and his wife’s misplaced anger at him, alongside of his deluded fool cousin and his own hatred for both the Things that the Snake used as it soldiers and the Thing that lead the organization, her refusal of his advances, and the sickness on her face when he had tried to touch her, along with the punch she had given him, having only solidified his disdain for her to the point of the fools idea.

Without a thought he began to race towards the hall with as much haste as he could muster as he called out his son’s names once more, barely averting falling face first onto the carpet several times as he did so, his mad dash ending when he rammed into the wall at the end of the hallway, his shoulder screaming out in agony, though he paid its desperate cries no mind as he turned to the doorway

Barely had the noise begun to grow before he had lunged forward, smashing aside the door with all the force that he could muster, the wood giving way under him with much greater ease than he thought it would, though he paid this little mind as he lifted his head to see what it was that had caused the commotion.

The first thing he saw was his children, their faces soaked in tears and mucus as they huddled together in a corner, Marquel having taken up the metal baseball bat he had given him as a birthday gift in defense of his brother, uncaring of the blood dripping down from a weeping gash upon his brow and what seemed to be a shattered arm as he stood before the trembling form of Gabriel, the youngest of his sons having closed his eyes and covered his ears as he wailed.

The second thing that caught his eye was what it was that loomed over his children, and what was currently lunging at him, scything blades for claws aimed directly at his throat even as a maw of needle like teeth opened with a howling shriek to tear out his throat should the claws fail to do their mission.

With a cry Elliot leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the claws that came within a hair's breadth of his neck, the fetid reek of unwashed flesh adorned with scars and pockmarks that hung loosely from its unnatural form filling his nose as soulless white eyes set upon a field of sanguine tainted eyes met his own, hunger and hate beyond all sane comprehension burning as hellfire within them as the creature moved forth again.

Yet helpless prey he was not, for with all the fury he could summon forth to protect his children he lunged forward meeting the beast charge with a shoulder check that sent it sprawling against the base of the bed, the creature barely having had time to right itself before Elliot was atop it, a wordless roar slipping past his lips as he seized its arms by the wrists, his head meeting its own with a headbut that made his vision blur, but prompted the beast to cry out as its head flung backwards.

“RUN NOW!” Elliot yelled out to his sons, barely having time to register the sound of what he assumed to be Gabriel racing past him as his brother cried out for him, the smaller child fleeing past his father and down the hall, with his eldest following him as soon as the beast let out a roar of its own and began to fight back, a snarl slipping past its lips as it slammed its own head forward in full, the headbut being made more damaging as the beast’s fangs sunk into the tip of his nose, the creature throwing its head back as it tore the chunk of flesh free from his face with a cry of pain.

Though soon the pain faded as adrenaline seized him in an iron grip, his vision tunneling until he could see not but the creature before him, his hearing becoming not but the sounds of his thundering heart and the shrieking howls of the beast as the two fought, furniture being flung aside and shattered as the two grappled, Elliot narrowly avoiding the needle like fangs as he held the beasts hands by the wrist so as to avoid its claws.

For a time their battle seemed to be a stalemate, neither gaining nor losing ground until at last an opportunity came for Elliot to gain the upperhand in their struggle, as one of the boys stray socks, something he had reminded them time and again to pick up, was caught under the beast’s foot with the creature slipping backwards as Ellito took advantage of the space made to relinquish his grip on the beasts arms as he lifted his leg up and brought his foot down as hard as he could onto the creatures head.

A loud crack filled the room as the beast’s head met contact with the hard wood of the dresser, a whine that soon bled into a shrieking cry slipping past the beast’s lips as it tried to rise and lunge forward once more, only to be denied the chance as Elliot lifted up the closest object he could find, in this case Marquel’s computer monitor, and brought it down with as much force as he could on the beast’s head.

The first blow seemed to stun the creature as it fell backwards once more, its hands lifting up to shield itself from the following attack as Elliot rained down strike after strike, the monitor cracking and fracturing as he brought it down again and again, acrid brown blood that reeked of rot and decay tainting the monitor and the beast’s arms and the ground around it as the broken glass of the monitor, shattered after a hard blow, bit into its skin.

Howls and cries slipped past the beast’s lips as it fought to defend itself, one clawed hand slipping from over it face to grasp a handful of dirty clothes that it cast at Elliot’s face, the sudden act making Elliot lose his momentum as he had to swat aside the clothes, only to be met with the beast ramming into him with full force, the blow sending him crashing into the ground as the creature took the chance leap past him, cries of agony slipping past its lips as it fled in the same direction as his boys had run.

A roar slipping past his lips, Elliot forced himself to his feet as he grasped the broken monitor once more before he tore out of the room, slamming into the door to his and Melanie’s room as he did so, any thoughts of racing inside to acquire the hand-gun he had under his bed being tossed aside as he heard a commotion near his front door, adrenaline and rage driving him forth to abandon all logic as he raced down the hall to where he could see the beast trying to claw open the door, one hand hanging limply at an off angle and the other so slick with blood it seemed to have given the door a new paint job.

Seeing a chance to finish this battle, Elliot raced forward, the monitor raised high as he prepared to-

*CRASH*

The wall beside the door erupted in a shower of drywall and plaster, a hulking form lunging forward with speed that it should not have been able to possess,one hand, the size of Elliot’s own head seizing the monitor and tearing it from his grasp before he could bring it down, the titanic hand seizing his wrist with a bone breaking grip as the other collided with his face with all the force of a sledgehammer, his vision swimming as darkness lashed hungrily at the edges of his sight for a moment before the figure brought another blow directly into his stomach, the blow nearly making him vomit as he staggered back before being jerked forward and hit once more.

The last sight he saw before darkness claimed him, was the creature that had butchered his wife and nearly torn apart his sons as well, seeming to flicker and shimmer, its form distorting and changing before his eyes at impossible speeds as soon he saw the form the creature had taken.

His wife.

His Melanie caked in her own blood, a broken hand being held to her side as figures adorned in full black armor pulled her from the home.

Armor adorned with the symbol of a silver double-headed serpent coiled around an M.

Line Break.

How long ago had that been…the passage of time had become so distorted to him that Elliot could no longer tell whether it had been hours, days, or even weeks since the day when his world had been torn apart.

He could only recall in vague distorted flickers the way that he had awoken in a brightly lit room, his arms and legs restrained as he sat bound to a chair, a woman with aqua colored eyes that seemed fit to glaze over in permafrost from the sheer intensity of the frigid glare she had fixed upon him, standing across from him, her fingers clutching a clipboard so tightly that he thought it might snap in twain under the strain of her grip.

Vaguely, he noted how her lips were moving, each syllable seeming to come through gritted teeth as she spoke to him, yet her words were unintelligible, as though spoken through great volumes of water, with only the emotion present in each word reaching him, for no matter how hard it was that the woman tried to maintain the facade of a professional there was only so much she could prevent the seemingly ever growing fury that had taken root within her from seeping into her words.

Dimly he noted that she was not alone, his eyes were barely able to pick up the presence of two other figures standing with the woman, one whose gender he could not discern stood with a shield attached to their arm, their blue eyes were narrowed near to slits as visibly restrained themself from taking action.

The third figure was one he could not fully see, only vaguely registering that there was a figure steeped in the shadows in a corner of the room, a gaze as sharp as a razor blade fixated on him, with all the lethality of the same blade being drug across an exposed jugular, as the figure silently watched the going ons.

Faintly, he thought he smelled something floral…something familiar though he could not tell where from, when he focused on that corner.

“*** *** ******** ** **!?”

The aqua eyed woman snapped at him, the words were yet still unintelligible, though the sheer weight of the frigid anger that coated them in permafrost made all too clear that whatever it was she had said was something that required his attention, though he knew not how to respond.

But Elliot could not respond, his mouth refusing to move under his command, no words he wanted to say leaving his lips as the woman visibly grew yet more angered at his silence, with her seemingly at last losing the battle with her patience as she moved to stand before him, the weight of her glare increasing till he felt he would be ground into dust beneath it were she to not avert it soon.

“******* **!”

Again she spoke, and yet again he could not understand her, the distortion that enveloped her words seeming to mock him as he struggled to try and discern just what it was that was happening at this moment, his mind and body weighted down yet still by some form of torpor which served to only further hinder him from responding to the woman or making sense of what was going on in the room.

The woman seemed to only grow in her fury at his silence, her teeth visibly gritting against themselves for a moment before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, an ominous stillness, like that before a great storm broke, enveloping her form before she turned about on her heel and began to walk away, seemingly calling out to the figure by the door as she moved to leave the room.

Desperately, Elliot raged against whatever force it was that held his tongue still, trying with all of the might that his enfeebled body possessed to try and speak up, to try and plead for answers to what was going on, where he was, and why he was bound…

And this time his body acquiesced to his demand, though not in the way he wished.

“She deserved it.”

At first he did not know where the words came from, for he could not believe that he was capable of speaking words so heavily coated in frigid acid as the those three words had been, but when he saw the woman go still, the eyes of her guard widening as their lips parted in surprise, he knew that they had come from him.

But he had not spoken them, Elliot knew that, he had not thought those words, nor had he tried to say them, so why was it that they had-

“What did you just say?”

At last the distortion passed, the words emerging from the depths of some sea of unintelligible gibberish to grace his ears with the frigid fury of a blizzard as the woman turned her head to look at him, the lone aqua eye that was visible seeming fit to catch alight with a flame of arctic frigidity as she gazed at him.

Beside her, elliot noted how the guard’s jaw had clenched their arms visibly straining with the effort it took to hold themself back from lunging forward and hitting him with their shield with all of the strength that they could muster, something they were prevented from doing but by their own professionalism.

Though that thin strand was in danger of soon snapping as their own temper began to grow.

From the shadows across the room there came shuffling sounds as unseen figures clenched their weapons and readied themselves to lunge should the order be given or their tempers boil over too much.

Though none of this horrified Elliot more than the realization that it was not so much his body could not speak, as much as it was that he could not speak through his body, his form moving of its own volition as it spoke once more, his struggles against the words that began to slip past his lips being drowned out by the flicker of a blazing triangle and a wordless command that echoed as thunder in his mind.

‘OBEY.’

And obey his body did, as words began to pour forth once more, each syllable prompting the horror Elliot felt to grow, his eyes kept from widening in terror only by the commands that seemed to have seized fast his body in an all consuming grip.

“I said that whore you call your ‘Chief’ deserved what happened to her, all she had to do was spread her legs for someone like she does for all of you freaks and none of thi-” His words died on his lips as something struck him across the face with enough force to cast himself and his chair to the ground, blood beginning to drip from a split lip across his cheek as hands clad in leather gloves seized him by the collar and lifted him up as the shadows violently shifted and stirred, whispers of malice baying for blood held firm by a silent order from another.

Elliot looked up, his eyes meeting the aqua colored eyes of the woman who had eben interrogating him a moment earlier, her eyes were wide and her pupils shrunken to pinpricks as she held her clipboard before her, ready to swing it with all the force she could muster, though it was not her who had stuck him, for such an honor belonged to the third figure, who now stood before him in full.

A lengthy cane of silver metal was wordlessly lifted up to allow for the figure, a woman clad in a white hat with a feather upon it, a white coat, which hung loosely from her shoulders, a purple shirt with a dark plum colored tie, a chest harness, and a gray skirt and high black boots, to wipe away the blood and saliva that lay atop its base with a handkerchief held in black leather glove clad hands.

With an unspoken command she directed her only visible eye, a green that seemed to have been engulfed in the frigid malice of the 9th circle of hell itself, to the guard who had stood beside the door, the figure offering a silent nod before they stepped forward, the crunching of the ground under their boots and the way the light cast their form in shadow as they loomed over him only serving to make Elliot’s heart hammer yet louder still as he braced for the attack to come.

Yet no attack came, instead the guard moved to seize him in an iron grip, self-control of near divine proportion battling with an inferno that burned within their eyes, waves of hellfire coming alight and threatening to sear away his flesh and bone and even his very soul should that control fail, though for now the rage was throttled, held fast in place by will and restraint alone as she sat him back up, pausing but to direct their gaze at the cane wielding woman after she had done so.

“Cinnabar, would you please take our little Songbird and go and get some rest,” her words were delivered in a tone that brook no dissent, steel as unyielding as it was sharp forming each words as she moved to stand before him, bidding the guard, Cinnabar, to move aside.

Again his lips opened of their own accord, words of hateful condemnation forming atop his tongue and readied to spill out yet again, though this time it was upon his own tongue they died for just as the first few slurs had begun to slip past his lips had their gazes met.

The fly looked into the eyes of the Spider.

Elliot felt his heart freeze, blood turning to glacial water as eyes of frigid emerald bore into his very soul like the fangs of a spider, faintly he noted the scar that rested above one her eyes, though he paid it little mind as the longer he stared into those eyes, the more he thought he felt the sensation of spider legs crawling upon him, strands of silk binding him fast as he tried and failed to get himself free from a suffocating grip as the woman watched him writhe.

Salvation from the terror that had seized him came in the most unlikely of forms as a voice spoke up from behind the woman.

“Director tha-” The Adjutant was cut off by the woman rapping her cane on the ground, a small series of spider-web cracks radiating from where the metal tip had struck the concrete below them, her hat now covered both of her eyes as she took a deep breath before she turned to look over her shoulder at the Adjutant, aqua meeting emerald as he silently awed at the Adjutant enduring the stare without flinching, let alone quaking as he did.

For a moment their gazes were locked, with the somewhat smaller woman nodding her head at last as she turned to allow for the other figure to escort her out, though just as she had begun to walk away, and the woman’s gaze had turned back towards him, the smaller woman called out once more.

“Director.” The taller woman turned her head just enough to both keep an eye on him and to look at the woman over her shoulder, the smaller woman pausing to take a deep breath to steel herself before she spoke once more.

“Should I send… them in?”

Again there came a brief pause, stillness such that Elliot dared not to even breath for fear of disturbing it enveloping the room in an all encompassing grip, a silence so deafening that even the thundering of his heart seemed to be swallowed amidst the cacophony of total silence.

And then the silence broke, words spoken with such naked cruel delight that Elliot could not fight the whimper that tore from his lips the phantom control of his body allowing for the action seemingly out of mockery of his plight as the woman turned her gaze towards him, her lips curling up into the smile of a victorious predator.

The smile of a spider seeing a particularly juicy fly caught in its web.

“Go ahead, the more the merrier.”

The aqua haired woman offered a nod before she and the guard left the room, barely a few moments seeming to have passed before he once more heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the cane wielding woman that had been called ‘Director’ by the aqua haired woman not bothering to turn as a truly titanic figure entered the room.

Hair like midnight fell around eyes of burning silver, a sneering mask-

Silver eyes glared down at him from above a demonic mask, veins of blazing scarlet spread across the figure's face like fingers of hellsfire reaching out to caress them with a lover’s possessiveness.

No.

No, no, no, no-

With but a pair of swift strides the woman had entered the room and moved to take her place beside the door, her eyes watching him like a ravenous beast would a cut of choice meat, bloodlust and hunger seeming to be held at bay but by the grace of some form of unseen restraint-

She leaned against the pillar behind him as he looked at the case before him, her gaze the silent promise of a guillotine blade as he fought down his sobs and terror as he tried to steady his trembling hands enough to open the case before him.

If she was here…if this beast was here then-

“Well, this is quite rare, Director Langley.”

A voice that would haunt his nightmares till the day he died filled the room, soft and gentle, so delicate that it seemed as though a stray breeze could silence it forever, and yet that fragility did nothing to lessen the terror Elliot felt as a woman entered the room.

Black heels clicking on the floor as a figure clad in a white dress and large coat entered the room-

His face was smashed into the stone floor with such force his vision swam, blood filling his mouth as a silent cry of pain slipped from his lips as he was made to prostrate himself before the figure sitting before him, his pain filled gaze and humiliated state reflected back at him from the mirror sheen of those shoes as the frail figure gazed at him with the weight of black holes behind her empty eyes.

Light purple eyes met his own as rose colored lips curled into a small smile-

She watched him with a gaze more reminiscent of a statue than that of a human, no flicker of anger or joy, sorrow or fear, pleasure or pain daring to cross her features as he looked at the wedding ring she had laid on the table before him.

“Normally, you can’t stand to be in the same room as me, let alone work with me.” That ever so delicate voice spoke up once more as the woman moved to stand with this Director Langley, a small smile on her face as the other woman regarded her with an expression of such faux joviality a blind man could have seen through it.

“Don’t get used to it, Hush.” The way the Director spoke that name, Hush, it was as though it physically made her ill to even utter the first few syllables of it, let alone the whole word, something which the smaller woman seemed to pay no mind to as she patiently waited for her to continue.

“I just want to make sure we get as much as we can out of him and your… talents alongside of our dear therapist will make sure that we get everything we need and more.” Again there came a tone of disgust and displeasure, her smile slipping into a thin scowl for but a moment before she turned her head towards the other figure that had entered the room.

A woman holding a golden pocket watch stepped forward, her long hair flowing with every step she took, the coat she wore over one shoulder doing nothing to hide her form from his eyes, though it was not her beauty that made Elliot gaze at her, no that honor belonged to the look in her eyes as she drew nearer to him.

The anticipatory look of a predator who has cornered their meal at last.

“Well then,” She spoke up, this new woman’s voice was the epitome of calm and elegant, and yet there was beneath that veneer of civility something else, something which made Elliot yearn to wrest control from his body and flee as the woman drew nearer to him even as the the grip on him-

‘OBEY.’

- yet firm remained.

For a moment he thought he saw one of the white clad woman’s eyes gain a marking, a white triangle amidst a spreading field of crimson, as her small smile grew ever so slightly into one that was both ever so gentle and yet ever so cruel as she looked at him.

The Director wordlessly lifted her cane up, allowing for Elliot to watch as she calmly tapped a hidden button on the top of it, allowing for a small compartment to slide open, a small black cylinder was removed from the compartment, with the woman opening it to reveal a syringe and a thin vial filled with an ochre colored fluid.

As the Director filled the syringe with the liquid, the newly arrived woman stepped forward, her long blond hair seeming caught in a spectral breeze as she ever do delicately reached into her own coat pocket to retrieve a golden pocket watch, the light glinting off of her glasses as her lips curled in vicious glee as Elliot trembled within the confines of his mind even as his body raged against his will.

The curses and slurs fell from his lips as water until he felt the sharp sting of the syringe being stabbed into the side of his neck, emerald eyes watching with unspoken delight as his vision began to swim and blur, spectral hands reaching out to hold him fast as words once more became distorted as reality swam around him.

The final words he heard before oblivion swallowed him were-

“Shall we begin?”

Line Break

Shalom smiled as she saw the man before her, his body coated in sweat as tremors wracked his frame, his eyes bloodshot with pupils shrunken to not but a pinprick of darkness as his terror held him fast in an unyielding grip, his chest heaving as sobs and gibbering lunacies spilled forth from his lips in place of please and curses and slurs, the nonsensical babbling bringing forth no small amount of delight within the Hush.

Idly, Shalom turned her head to inspect her compatriots, watching as Chameleon wordlessly tucked her pen back into her coat pocket alongside of her notebook, a series of notations regarding both the efficiency of their method of extracting information and an analysis of what could have been improved adorning it in the psychiatrists’ normal elegant penmanship.

On the other side of the room was Langley, the Spider having taken a seat as she cleaned off her cane once more, wiping away small amount of blood and mucus that adorned it’s base after the man had made a rather tasteless remark concerning their Chief’s sexuality, the Spider and Rahu’s reply being something which had made Shalom exceptionally grateful for the absence of Schorl, though she wondered if the price she would be made to pay would be worth such an opportunity.

For a moment, her thoughts flickered back nearly a week ago, to when she had been leaving her room to visit her Chief as she rested in the Hospital Wing, to when she had heard the sound of footsteps approaching her, the form of her little Christina causing a small smile to cross her face as her detective walked in silence with her for several moments, Shalom feeling quite grateful for the silence as it allowed her to try and clear her mind and focus on-

Christina began to hum, her lips did not move much as from her throat there came out notes of a delicate and gentle song, tender and full of compassion, a lullaby that would bid even the most stubborn into the sojourn of dreams…a song that Shalom had heard long ago…a song that had haunted her nightmares since she had heard it.

Her eyes had barely had a chance to widen before her Schorl fell to the ground, defenses failing in but an instant as onyx quartz cracked on impact with the ground as Christina continued to walk forward, even as Shalom stood rooted in place, the detective turning to look over her shoulder at her with a small smile before she beckoned her to follow her.

A low chuckle slipped past Christina’s lips as Shalom moved to stand beside her, the detective reaching out her hand to entangle it with Shalom's own, though the Hush reacted in a way she would never have done to her Detective, with her tearing her hand free as though the skin, a perfect mirror of her detective’s own, was a vice of scalding iron, a look of disgust crossing her face as the woman beside her paused to look at her with a hurt look on her face.

“S-Shalom? What’s wrong? D-did I do something w-wrong?” Christina said, her voice trembling with hurt as her lips curved downwards into a trembling frown, her eyes beginning to grow moist, a sight that should have made shalom feel the urge to reach out and embrace her detective, yet instead only made the feeling of visceral disgust she had felt upon her realization grow.

“Stop. I told you not to wear her form around me.” The Hush growled out, her lips thinning as her eyes narrowed into a cutting glare at the woman who stood beside her, there was something she so rarely displayed in her words coating them, a sincere and honest emotion called forth from the very depths of her being, said emotion being a feeling of such deep seated disdain that it left her body trembling as it enveloped her, her rage only growing as the thing before her dropped it’s mask of faux hurt, lips curving upwards to release a laugh that normally would have made Shalom feel at ease, and yet now only made her feel dread.

“ Alright, alright my dear, ” The voice was wrong, it did not belong to the woman before her, low and sultry, velvet coated in saccharine sin that dripped and pooled around the young woman, each word perfectly designed to cause a haze to form in the minds of those who heard it, the unnatural allure that coated them enough to make anyone submit, though for Shalom it only made her disgust grow.

“No more games.” In less than a blink her detective’s eyes had changed, an unnatural blue that seemed to burn with an internal light of unknown origin gazing into her own with such inscrutable intent that it left the Hush feeling the urge to take a step back and flee, though she was able to easily overcome the faint voice that bid her to run as she locked eyes with the…thing that was wearing the form of her detective.

“Let’s talk, shall we Shalom?” Those eyes had burned her, scorched and seared and froze and tore at her very being even as they soothed and cradled and mended her, the words echoed in her head as though the thunderous shout of the Almighty itself, something she often thought to be not far from the truth as the entity before her turned to look at her in full, a warm smile that left chills racing down Shalom’s spine gracing its face as it spoke up.

“ Let’s talk about how I can help you clean up this mess. ” Spoke the Devil to the Hush.

A sigh slipped past Shalom’s lips as she came out of her reverie, the Hush calling upon all of her experience to bury the unease she felt into the depths of her being, the dread at what the woman had done to blind the all-seeing eyes of Paradeisos swept aside in her desire to see the threat to her Chief removed, perhaps there would be a price to pay later on, but for now she would do all she could to insure that her Chief was safe, and should the price be high then she knew that Coquelic, Rahu, Christina and Langley would be able to see this mission through to the end.

After taking a slight breath to steady herself, Shalom gently took out her tablet and began to make some amendments to her notes, sifting out old and new information automatically, even as her mind wandered to how all of this had begun, to when-

A warm hand entangled with her own, platinum eyes meeting hers as rose colored lips curved upwards into a smile that made her have to fight down the urge to pull out her camera and immortalize the scene in one of her many albums.

Dimly she noted how she had been pulled to what she noted was some form of cafe, with the platinum eyed woman pulling out her chair and helping Shalom to sit at the table, the frailer white clad woman smiling up at her beloved Chief as she leaned down to place her lips to Shalom’s brow, the pair sharing a low chuckle as both of their eyes drifted shut, with them pausing where they were, Persephone basking in Shalom’s presence just as she did the same.

Though all good things must one day come to an end, and in this case they came to an end with her Chief pulling away from her as she went to head into the cafe, wordlessly smiling at Shalom over her shoulder before she entered the building, the Hush taking the time to calm her own beating heart as she silently cast her gaze on a part of the crowd where she knew she felt ever so familiar eyes on her.

Today was supposed to be her day with Persephone, but she knew it was too much to ask for her ever so loyal dog to not follow her, though she did admit it was amusing watching Rahu attempt to contend with the various men and women that were ogling her and attempting to flirt with her, Rosa, who had somehow been roped into this surveillance mission, seemed to be rapidly losing her battle with her own humor as Rahu once more whirled around to look at a trio of blushing and giggling young women.

A small smile crossed her face as Shalom shook her head for a moment at the scene before she heard her Chief call out to her, the Hush turning in her chair to see the Chief staggering towards her, seemingly battling with a pair of untied shoelaces and the inability to set down the pair of ice-cream cones she was holding, her battle with gravity seeming fit to nearly end with her triumph as she drew near to Shalom, a smile on her face-

*CRACK*

Something wet and warm splattered across Shalom’s face as she saw her Chief stagger, the frozen confectionery slipping from her hand as she swayed for but a moment before she fell to her knees and then her front, a pool of crimson beginning to-

“Shalom!”

She jolted to her senses, her eyes wide as she took a single low breath as she regained control of herself, her mask flickering back into place as though it had never faded in the first place as she tucked her tablet into her coat once more before she turned to look at the woman that had called out to her.

Rahu’s eyes raked over her face, picking apart every microscopic detail that they could as she tried to discern what it was that plagued her Mistress, with the answer seeming to come to her as she offered a low sigh of her own, barely audible behind her mask as she moved towards Shalom, the clicking of her heels on the concrete flooring being the only sound in the room, aside from the gibbering of the fool bound to the chair.

A brief sweep of the room revealing the absence of Langley and Chameleon, the Hush taking a moment to mentally berate herself for having allowed herself to lose herself in recollection, the gradual restoration of her emotions must have been taking more of a toll on her than she thought was what swept through her mind as she felt Rahu’s hands come to rest on her shoulders.

“The Spider and that Lizard have gone to get everything set up to go after the rest of this group, I told them you were busy thinking over everything and would join them in a few minutes.” Rahu said as she looked over her lady, a small smile from Shalom and a single step forward being all the prompt her ever loyal hound needed to give her a brief yet tight embrace, a much longer one could wait until later on when their current business was concluded.

“Thank you my dear, please go and let them know I’ll be joining them in a moment, I simply need to verify some information before I do so.” Shalom spoke up to her faithful guard, allowing for her hand to delicately cup her cheek for a moment before she let it fall to her side as she turned around, Rahu moving to fulfill her request as the the steady rapping of her heels gradually faded away until the door was at last shut and she was alone.

Or rather, she would have been alone were it not for the whimpering hype of flesh that sat before her, the sound of their pained cries would have made her feel something akin to pity were she not aware of the source of it, as such in the place of pity there came something approaching cruel delight in the form of a low hum that slipped past Shalom’s lips.

With a languid stride born of the desire to delight in the scene before her for but a moment longer, Shalom stood before the trembling form of Elliot, her lips finding their usual shape of an empty smile as she delicately reached out her hand and seized the trembling man by the chin, tilting his head to where he was once more forced to meet her gaze.

A part of her felt disgust at the way she felt such delight at the man’s cry of dread, knowing fully well how her Persephone would view such an action should she learn of it, but as she had done so many times before, and would do many times more, she hushed that part of her into silence.

After all, what Peresphone did not know would hurt no one’s heart.

‘What’s one more lie, to keep seeing that smile?’ Was the thought that allowed Shalom peace of mind, the knowledge that her actions, no matter how abhorrent, had brought about safety and stability for her beloved and those she called dear to her own heart, was more than enough to grant her a clear conscience as she did what she did best, what she was born to do.

Fix problems.

“To tell you the truth, I was trying to leave this part of me behind,” Shalom began as she lifted up her hand, ever so delicately cupping Elliot’s cheek in her hand, her tender grip did nothing to conceal the malice that swirled within her eyes, darkening them near to pitch as droplets of blood began to trail from where her nails pierced his flesh.

No words slipped past Elliot’s lips, merely another pained whimper that soon trailed off into a groan as Shalom’s other hand delicately reached up and wrapped itself around his throat, the Hush feeling nothing but cold satisfaction as she felt the man’s pulse thundering beneath her grip.

“But people like you always find some way to drag this part of me back out…” She trailed off for a moment, allowing a weary sigh to slip past her lips before her mask returned to its natural position as the Mark flared into existence, the symbol reflecting in Elliot’s eyes as the man went rigid in her grip.

Chameleon’s subliminal commands and manipulations would insure that the man before her remained unable to say a word about what had happened to him to anyone, and her own Mark would further reinforce the indoctrinations to the absolute of their control over the man, alongside of insuring that only the persona that had been crafted by Chameleon and herself would remain to see the light of day, while the true Elliot remained a prisoner in his own body.

Of course, she was not completely without some facsimile of mercy, his family would live to see a bright future, as she had promised him, though the mental scars would linger for many years but in time she was confident they would heal, and that none of them would go on to attempt the same foolishness their former patriarch had, plans already in motion to put them firmly under her gentle grip.

Well, gentle so long as they obeyed that is.

Likewise, she would insure that Elliot also got to live, perhaps he would even be able to see his family sometimes, and not the monsters that his other persona would claim them to be whenever it saw them, though his inability to tell them the truth of what had happened to him, along with the trauma of his actions and the revelation of his part in the attempt on Her Persephone’s life and the potential backlash they could face were it not for her mercy, would keep them from fully trusting him.

And now here she held the man, letting but one last flare of the Mark carve itself into his mind as she offered a final layer of subliminal messages and commands to insure that the man before her would never again no the beauty of a clear mind, or the warmth of the sun for that matter, ever again.

Those thoughts should have made her feel sick, to feel nauseous as she supposed was only right for someone committing so great a cruelty, yet instead it only brought her a vague sense of satisfaction at a job well done, and a sense of…well…she was not quite certain what to call the other feeling, some form of exasperation perhaps at the fact she had to do this, or perhaps it was a sense of justification?

She would have to sit down and sort out her emotions when she got the chance, perhaps she could even enlist the aid of Coquelic in this endeavor, the temptation of Flower Cakes and some new seeds for her little botanical garden should do the trick in buying her aid and silence, or perhaps she could approach that Flower that her Christina cannot help but wax poetic over.

But such matters could wait until later, as she at last allowed Elliot to slip from her grip and fall to the ground, the man curling into a ball as Shalom walked away, pausing but to offer one last glance over her shoulder at the shattered man behind her before she left him to the guards.

That the guards showed as little mercy to the man as Rahu had when she had found him, gave Shalom a sense of satisfaction, truly her Chief had chosen the most loyal of subordinates to stand at her side, the screening the Spider and her had put them through only ensuring these most loyal of souls were there to defend the one so dear to them.

Now she just had to hope they didn’t decide to introduce Elliot to any of the other Sinners before they got him to his cell, granted it would be no true loss to her if they did, but it would be quite inconvenient to have to clean up the ensuring mess and make certain that the Adjutant did not rat her out.

And speaking of the Adjutant, there she was, leaning against the wall of the hallway that lay between her and the room where her Rahu was waiting for her alongside of Chameleon and Langley, the aqua haired woman’s eyes meeting her own as she spoke up.

“I don’t know what you did to him, and for the sake of my peace of mind I’m not going to ask.” Nightingale spoke up, a sigh slipping from her lips as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a personal phone, her fingers ghosting over it for a moment before she spoke up again.

“Persephone’s vitals are improving, but she is still unconscious. Dr. Iron thinks she’ll need a few more days in that pod before she can be transferred to a normal bed, but she still can’t say when she could wake up.” Another sigh slipped past Nightingale’s lips as her fingers twitched once more, a flicker of moisture glazing her eyes before it was wiped away.

Shalom stood in silence as she processed the information, her mask slipping enough to allow for a small frown to cross her face as she kept her gaze fixed on the woman before her, allowing for the adjutant to take a moment to compose herself before she spoke.

“When was the last time you slept…Nightingale?” It was one of the very few times she allowed for herself to say the other woman’s name as opposed to her title, the other woman blinking at her in confusion for a moment before she offered another tired sign, her hand reaching up to rub at her eyes as she spoke up.

“I…I don’t know…maybe 2 days, but I can’t say for certain.” Shalom tilted her head for a moment, a small sigh slipping past her lips before she walked towards her rival, allowing for her hand to rest itself on her shoulder, a small sense of amusement slipping into her heart as she saw Nightingale jolt slightly at her touch as she looked at her in confusion.

“Go and get some rest,” Shalom spoke, a rare hint of compassion for the woman that had so vexed her upon her arrival at Minos and her attempts at gaining such a spot of favor with Persephone as the aqua haired woman held.

Nightingale said nothing for a moment as she looked at Shalom, before she let her head fall back against the wall, her hat wrinkling under the grip of her hand as it tightened for just a moment before it relaxed near to the point of letting it slip free as the Adjutant let her eyes drift shut for a few moments before she pushed herself off of the wall, allowing for Shalom to step back as she put her hat back on.

“I’ll be with Persephone, maybe I’ll be able to sleep if I can see that she’s alright.” The adjutant sighed as she began to walk away, a small sense of amusement flickering in her as she saw the way Shalom re-affixed her mask the moment the words slipped from her lips, a sure sign of her hiding her annoyance at the words.

“Give her my regards and tell Coquelic to get some sleep as well, some of her Flowers can fill in for her.” Shalom spoke up as she turned and began to walk away, though her steps were halted as she heard the Adjutant call out to her once more.

“Shalom.” Nightingale said, pausing as she looked over her shoulder at the woman behind her. “I know that you have some way of making sure that none of this will reach Persephone, that nothing you, Langley and Chameleon have done will reach her, hell maybe you even have a way of making the Sinners forget the things you’ve done, or at least keep quiet about them.”

Shalom said nothing, her silence being all the answer Nightingale needed before she turned her head and spoke up once more.

“You can trust Wynn, she’ll do everything she can to help keep Persephone safe, just don’t make her get her hands too dirty…she’s got too good of a heart for the kind of things you and the others have done.” Shalom nodded slightly at the words, already aware of the gentle heart the young woman possessed, something which reminded her of her Christina, and as such endeared her to the Hush in its own way.

“Shalom…Hush…” Nightingale continued, pausing for a moment as she took a deep breath before she continued-

“Give them Hell.”

The silence that enveloped the hall was all the answer she needed, the adjutant continuing her walk away as The Hush gazed over her shoulder at her, lips pulled into a thin frown as she made adjustments to her mental profile of the woman for just a moment before she resumed her own walk.

Perhaps there was hope for the Adjutant to become a truly worthy aid to the Chief afterall, but that was something she could ruminate over later on, for now she allowed for her mask to firmly fall into place and for the mindset of The Hush to overtake that of Shalom as she headed off to continue her work.

Though, before she let that fledgling humanity, so long ago lost and so recently regained, slip away she allowed herself one last emotional thought, accompanied by a small chuckle as she opened the door to see Langley looking over her terminal as Chameleon cleaned her glasses and Rahu looked up at her.

‘Ah, the things we do for love.’

Fin.

Author’s Note: Well, here we are everyone. We hope you enjoyed this merry mess of a chapter and that it lived up to the standard we have set for this fic.

We apologize beforehand if it is not up to par with our previous chapters or if it has made any of you uncomfortable in reading it, admittedly this chapter took us quite a while to do as we had to try and get into the mindset of what someone like Shalom would do when angered, a task which is exceptionally difficult given not only her complex nature but also the state of her sense of humanity and morality, or rather her budding sense thereof.

Part of us feels we failed to deliver simply by not being able to adequately reflect our own take on the dreaded Hush and how she has changed for both better and worse in the setting of this fic, that being her growing morality and humanity being mirrored by her growing attachment and fixation on Persephone and her willingness to do truly horrible things to protect her and the rest of those she loves.

In such a verse we felt it easier to explore her anger, and the ramifications of earning it, from both the point of view of the recipient of said anger, and then end with the point of view of Shalom herself as she thinks over what she did and why she did it.

Please feel free to let us know what we did wrong and how we could improve in the comments below, as like we said this one was a tough one to write for the reasons listed above and several more, among them being this chapter taking a radically different approach than what we originally had in mind for it.

With all of that said, stay safe and take care all.

14 notes · View notes

cuquitalocita · 3 years ago

Text

...oops |rowaelin month- day 5|

rowaelin masterlist

an: i had a dream about this and i kind of hate the ending buttt enjoy! :)

word count: 3,988

“You did what?”

It wouldn’t take a genius to note that twenty one year- old Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was fuming. And it would have been to no one’s surprise if the princess herself brought the very palace down in flames herself in a matter of moments.

The Queen of Terrasen sighed and with a small shake of her head, daintily placed her teacup on the table in front of her. With her hands crossed in her lap, she turned her blue gaze to her daughter’s twin one, this one holding a fire many would cower from despite the girl’s young age. But it seemed that Evalin Ashryver feared no one but the gods, and she faced her daughter’s seeth head-on.

“Fireheart-”

“An arranged marriage? I wasn’t aware I was a doll who’s life you can just play with. Is this top okay or would you like to change me into a new pretty dress?”

Evalin merely rolled her eyes at her only daughter, allowing her to rant and fume as she pleased for what seemed like hours before the princess finally collapsed into the chair beside her, blue in the face and a vein popping out of her forehead.

“Fireheart,” she began again, this time gentler. “You have to understand, your father and I are simply doing what we believe is best for the country. For our people.”

“By selling me away? I’m not a child anymore mother, and I can make my own decisions just fine.” The anger had vanished, now replaced by a look of utter despair in the princess’ eyes as she gazed at her mother, an attempt to delay what she knew was inevitable.

“We know that Aelin, of course we do, and we would never do anything to purposefully hurt you. Terrasen is… is struggling right now, my love. You may be our only hope.”

The look in her mother’s eyes settled something in her chest and she realized there would be no fighting this- although she most certainly would try. Her parents were set on an arranged marriage for the Princess of Terrasen.

And as she stormed through the door of her chambers, Aelin’s thoughts settled on one in particular.

The Prince of Doranelle better be handsome.

The Wild Princess of Terrasen, they called her.

Well- Aelin thought as she gunned the Corvette through the streets of the capital- if they wanted a wild princess, a wild princess is what they would get.

She remembered a time where her mother had rolled her eyes when her daughter had told her she wanted a Corvette for her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t even have a license, and she would never be driving herself, so what good would it do?

Aelin smirked. Apparently they were perfect for fits of rage.

She vaguely remembered a few lessons Brullo had given her when she had managed to bribe the grumpy body guard with cookies enough for him to teach her how to drive- unbeknownst to her mother, of course. Aelin bet that Evalin Ashryver would just about have a heart attack if she knew her daughter could drive.

Aelin swerved into the left lane without her turn signal, earning an angry honk and a few unkind words from the car behind her.

Well- sort of knew how to drive.

Oops, she thought. From then on, she turned her speed down just a bit.

As Aelin careened through the streets of Terrasen, she realized that as a princess, she truly had been deprived of her own country. Sure, she had been escorted through the streets during the annual parade, and her father used to take her to Malakai’s for her favorite cake every once in a while, but the streets she drove through now were unknown to her.

She passed jogging college kids and mothers with strollers and toddlers, couples holding hands and homeless people that scattered some of the streets. The sight made her heart clench and her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

Aelin was so focused on the people around her, she forgot to look forward as she drove through a glaring red light. Luckily there were barely any other cars around her, and the only indication that she had done something wrong came from a distinctly aggravated male voice screaming, “What the fu-”

“Shit!”

Aelin slammed her foot down on the breaks as her gaze came into contact with a man in front of her- she was going full speed towards him as she tried crossing the cross walk. The car came to a screeching halt directly in front of him, but the momentum proved to be too much as the Corvette did in fact make contact with him.

She thought time slowed down as the man went shooting to the ground with a groan of pain.

Yes, she had just hit a man with her car.

But her mother was going to absolute assassinate her.

Another loud groan from outside the window had Aelin shoving the car into park and flying out to the man in front of her, heart in her throat.

As she took in the man, she wondered what the odds were of hitting a person with your car and having them be one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. Pretty low, Aelin would think, but like everything else in her life, statistics did not seem to be on her side.

The man was clearly young, maybe a few years older than her, and even though he wore a thick winter jacket to protect him from the Terrasen winter, he was clearly built like a greek god. With silver hair almost matching the snow around him and tan skin that signaled to Aelin he clearly wasn’t from around here, the man could have been on the front page of any popular magazine.

“Fuck!”

Aelin kneeled down beside the man who was thankfully still conscious, face scrunched up in pain and clear anger. It made him look older, she thought as she finally looked at his eyes. They were a stunning green. She wanted to hit herself with her car. Of course they were.

“A-are you okay?” She helped him up, placing a hand on his lower back and pushing him up until he sat forward enough until he could support himself.

The man glared at her, teeth clenched in pain as his gaze burned into her own.

“Are you crazy?” he growled, his voice even deeper than Aelin thought it would have been. “Am I okay? You just hit me with your fucking car!”

Aelin jerked her hand away from him, suddenly defensive. “Look, I am so sorry. I- I wasn’t looking where I was driving and-”

The man scoffed. “Obviously.”

Aelin saw red.

“Well what the fuck were you doing on a crosswalk two seconds before the light turned red? You had plenty of time to move out of the way and you’re blaming me because you couldn’t look around?”

It was moments like these where Aelin realized why Elide’s fiancee liked to call her ‘fire breathing bitch queen.’ Sure, she could acknowledge it. She had just hit the guy with her car, and Aelin had foung a way to blame him.

“Maybe if you had been less careless about crashing Daddy’s car you would have been a bit more careful and we wouldn’t be here right now, Princess.”

Aelin almost slapped him, if not for the derogatory way her title slipped through his tongue. And that was when she realized that he had no idea who she was. The man in front of her didn’t look like an idiot. He wouldn’t be insulting her if he knew who she was. And Aelin realized she didn’t want him to know. Not as the words that spilled through her lips could ruin her entire legacy.

“Watch it.” The words were low and dangerous, and something flashed in the man’s eyes that signaled to her than he had caught the anger lacing her tone. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I don’t think I need to. Nor do I care enough to want to.”

“Well you’re clearly fine, if you can spew ridiculous insults out of your head at the drop of a dime,” Aelin deadpanned. “So, can we wrap this up?”

“Gladly.” He made to get up, placing his weight on his arm as he pushed himself upward, cutting off with a loud gasp of pain before sinking back to the ground, his green eyes alight with agony. The sight made a pang shoot through Aelin’s chest and she grabbed his arm to steady him before his momentum his head careening toward the ground.

“Shit, we need to take you to the hospital.” She rose, already on her way back to the car.

“No way am I going anywhere with you.”

“That’s fine.” Aelin’s smile was purely saccharine. “You can stay here if you’d like. It’s supposed to drop to -10 in a few hours when the sun goes down but you look pretty toasty to me. Of course, your fingers will fall off before the ambulance gets here, so it’s really give or take.”

The man growled and rubbed a large hand through his hair.

“So what do you say, Superman?” Aelin gestured to the car behind her. “What’s the worst that can happen? I already hit you with my car today.”

If the tone of his voice was any indication, the man was in enough pain to barely put up a fight.

“Fine. But get into another accident and I’m calling the police.”

Aelin almost laughed. Little did he know that she owned the police.

It was only during the awkwardly silent drive to the hospital that Aelin realized the workers at the hospital would recognize her, and then the man beside her would. The thought put a sour taste in Aelin’s mouth. She liked fighting with this man- liked the fact that he treated her with the same amount of respect he would anyone who hit him with their car. Even if he was an infuriating prick of a man.

“Alright,” she pulled the car into park. “Here we are.” The man grunted in acknowledgment.

Surprisingly enough, the ER was close to empty on the Thursday evening and Aelin was grateful that it meant fewer people would recognize her. Who knew how the paparazzi would react if they saw their crown princess in the ER with an unknown man.

As if her ‘issues’ weren’t plastered in the tabloids enough already.

Aelin hadn’t realized how tall the man was until he was standing solidly behind her at the check-in desk. He was close enough that she could feel him at her back and she swore her shoulder had bumped below his own. Gods, he was strong.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and turned to the man at the desk.

“Hi um, I’m here to check in a patient.” If the way the man swallowed was any indication, said patient was glaring daggers from beside her. He turned to the monitor in front of him and began typing something into the computer.

“And, what’s the reason for your visit today?”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Just- just a checkup. He had a bit of a fall, we just wanted to make sure everything is okay.” She felt what must have been a scoff from behind her but ignored it. The man nodded without looking at her or stopping his typing.

“Okay,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. He handed a clipboard to Aelin holding a few pieces of obvious paperwork. “Fill this out and give it back to me when you’re done. It’s a slow day so you should be able to meet with the doctor in just a second.” Aelin nodded, thanking the man and making her way to the empty seats across the desk, dragging her silver-haired friend with her until he collapsed into the seat beside her with a huff.

She ignored him in favor of flicking through the paperwork as casually as she could, attempting to not draw attention to the fact that she clearly knew none of the personal information about the man beside her.

Aelin leaned close to him and almost rolled her eyes when he leaned significantly away.

“Hey,” she whispered. She watched as he rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“What’s your name?” he leveled her with a confused look and she held up the paperwork. But really, what kind of an idiot hit someone with their car and didn’t ask for their name. Aelin was such an idiot. Such an-

“Rowan.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Rowan.” She raised a brow,

“Rowan…?”

“Whitethorn.” Rowan Whitethorn. The name sent a pang of familiarity through her and Aelin struggled to ruffle through her mind to find where she had heard it before.

“What do you do for work?” The question was out of her mouth before she could berate herself for how stupid it was. His eyebrows shot up to the top of his head.

“Is that on the form?” his voice was defensive but Aelin shrugged nonetheless and Rowan sighed before running a hand through his hair. “Let’s say I’m involved with politics.”

Aelin grimaced. Maybe that was why her mind had blocked out his name. Anyone involved with any kind of politics was automatically dislikeable in Aelin’s eyes. She had been around enough politicians to recognize their slimy exterior.

Rowan clearly noticed her face and scowled at her. “Well not all of us have a choice in our future just because we’re young and irresponsible.” Like you, was what he didn’t have to say. Aelin wanted to kick him. If only he knew. Instead, she rolled her eyes and looked back at the sheet in front of her.

“Date of birth?”

“December 8, 1995.” Aelin almost dropped her pencil but instead turned to Rowan, surprised to find him already looking at her.

“Seriously? You’re twenty- five?”

“What’s your point?”

“All of the high and mighty, ‘I’m your elder’ attitude and you’re only four years older than me.” She shook her head and turned back to the form, ignoring the glare she could feel burning into her skull and trying her best not to think about how good Rowan smelled from beside her. She never would have thought that the scent of pine could be so intoxicating.

“Place of birth?”

“Doranelle.” Aelin wondered if he knew anything of the infamous prince she was to marry. She really should have done some more research before storming out of the palace.

“Height?”

“6’ 4”.”

“Any allergies?”

“Blondes.” Aelin ignored that one.

“Any family history of fatal medical issues?”

“No.”

“Type and reason for pain?”

“An irritation in my head from the woman beside me.”

Aelin threw her pen at him and watched as he winced before looking at her with wide annoyed eyes. But she frankly didn’t give a fuck anymore. She could have let him freeze to death outside and here he was complaining about her.

“You know, this whole thing would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a prick.”

“Actually this whole thing would be a lot easier if you hadn’t-”

Rowan was cut off by the clearing of a throat in front of them, signaling someone had come through the door. The two had been too preoccupied with one another to even notice the doctor standing in front of them.

She’s beautiful, with cinnamon skin and curly hair, and she wears an amused smile on her face as she looks between the two. Aelin and Rowan automatically calm themselves into an acceptable demeanor and Aelin stands to shake hands with the doctor in front of them, handing her the unfinished paperwork.

“Alright, Mr… Whitethorn. I’m Doctor Towers and I’ll be helping you out here today. Why don’t you come back here with me and we can check you out.” Rowan stood up to follow her out of the room before Doctor Towers turned back to look at Aelin. “You can come too, Mrs. Whitethorn. We’ll probably need you to clear a few things up.”

Aelin hated the blush that sprang to her cheeks at the implication that she could be married to Rowan, and she almost laughed. As if she could ever marry someone like him. Their protests are cut off by the creaking of the door and neither Aelin nor Rowan bothers to correct the doctor as she leads them to a section of the hospital filled with open hospital beds and shitty curtains for ‘privacy.’

Pulling one shut, Doctor Towers gestures for Rowan to sit on the bed. Once he does, she leans back on her heels and pulls out her own clipboard.

“Okay, what seems to be the problem today?”

They’re silent for a moment, both looking at each other with wide eyes, not knowing what to say. Eventually, Aelin clears her throat.

“Um, we had a bit of an accident-”

“I would hardly call it an ‘accident.’ She-”

“He decided to walk through a crosswalk during a green light and-”

“You hit me with your car!”

It seemed the entire hospital went silent for a moment before sound resumed once more and Aelin allowed her head to fall into her hands.

“It wasn’t like that. I-”

“You slammed straight into me!”

“I barely knicked you!”

Doctor Towers had been watching the sparring match between the two with wide eyes, clearly still hung up on the fact that he had been hit by a car and was still alive. It took a moment before she shook her head and scribbled a few things down on her piece of paper.

“I hate to ask this,” she cleared her throat. “Was this- um, a crime of passion?”

Aelin and Rowan stared at her blankly before turning to each other, both confused. She tried again.

“I mean- when a wife hits her husband with a car-” Realizing what she was implying, Aelin and Rowan were quick with their rebuttals.

“She’s not-”

“I’m not his wife!”

“Most definitely not-”

“As if I’d ever marry this prick-”

“I would rather hit myself with a car than voluntarily pledge myself to her.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her defensively. “Now that’s a little dramatic.”

“Well, you did hit me with a car.” If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say that it almost looked like amusement twisted his lips.

“You’re never gonna get over that, are you?”

“Not likely.”

Doctor Towers cleared her throat from beside them, causing the two to snap their gazes back to her. Whatever they found there had them shut their mouths like scolded children.

“So…” she arched a brow. “It was an accident?”

Rowan nodded while Aelin muttered, “Unfortunately.”

Doctor Towers ignored the comment in favor of looking at Aelin closely. She watched in despair as it clicked in her head who exactly was standing in front of her and Aelin found herself holding her breath. But surprisingly enough, the doctor said nothing, simply turning to Rowan with a knowing look.

“So Mr. Whitethorn, what hurts?”

“Besides everything?” Rowan grimaced as he circled his shoulder. “Mostly my shoulder. I don’t know if I pulled it today specifically, but it’s been bothering me for a while. I think today just aggravated it.”

“It could be a stress fracture,” she mused. “Has anything happened recently in your life that could have caused your anxiety and stress levels to shoot up? It could be anything really from, an increase in work to a big change or big news…”

Rowan let out what Aelin assumed was some sort of laugh. She ignored the shiver it sent down her spine.

“You could say that.”

Doctor Towers didn’t press for more information, merely nodded and wrote something down before looking at Rowan again.

“The only solution I can really offer you right now is to ice it as often as you can for about eight to ten weeks, and it should heal on its own. No cast necessary.”

“Really?” Aelin exclaimed, unable to hold back the relief in her voice. Maybe her mother wouldn’t kill her after all. “That’s great.”

“It is,” Doctor Towers gazed at her through a knowing smile and narrowed eyes. “Just try not to hit people with your car anymore Pr-, ma’am.” Aelin almost laughed at the comment, even more at the mistake she had almost made, but instead nodded with a small smile.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Turning to Rowan, Aelin found him already watching her, a strange look on his face as he gazed between the two women. He opened his mouth to speak when the door to the ER burst open, and the Queen herself strutted through.

Aelin thought that if a look could set a flame, she would be ashes by now.

She felt herself pale as her mother walked toward her on near-silent footsteps, leaving citizens bowing in her wake. But the Queen only had eyes for her daughter. Very angry eyes.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” she hissed, and Aelin tried not to cringe. “You are in so much trouble young lady.” Aelin opened her mouth to defend herself. “Sneaking out, close to Yulemas in fact, when crime rates are highest, stealing a car-”

“It’s not stealing if it’s mine-” Her mouth snapped shut at the look her mother gave her.

“You’ll come to learn Aelin, that as future queen of this country, you have a status to uphold. You have an image- a reputation, one that should not include sneaking out of the palace unsupervised and ending up in the ER.”

She felt the words like a stab to the heart. Aelin knew the last thing her mother wanted to do was hurt her, especially with her words. But Aelin felt the truth of them to the bottom of her toes, and she was swept into a tidal wave of disappointment in herself. No wonder her parents wanted to marry her off. Of course she couldn’t lead a country on her own.

“Mother, I’m sorry I snuck out. I was just so upset with you. And do you think I meant to end up in the ER? I hit him with my car for Gods sake! I couldn’t just-”

“You’re the princess?”

The surprisingly choked voice came from Rowan, and the two pairs of Ashryver eyes snapped to him in a millisecond. Rowan was looking at Aelin like he had never seen her before, and she frowned at him in confusion. Maybe he hadn’t met a princess before, but this was hardly how she thought he would react. It was as if he was going to be sick.

From beside her, Evalin let out a strangled laugh and Aelin gazed at her mother incredulously. From beside her, Aelin’s mother burst into peals of laughter.

“Well, this is quite the situation, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was a moment before she composed herself and turned to Rowan. “Rowan Whitethorn. I suppose introductions aren’t necessary.”

Rowan was bowing, green eyes hard as they met Aelin’s and stayed there, even as he addressed her mother. “Your majesty. Allow me to express my gratitude for welcoming me into your country.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Evalin insisted, still smiling as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. “You’re practically family, after all.”

And that was when it hit her.

Let’s just say I’m involved with politics.

Doranelle.

Recent stressful news.

His name.

Rowan’s eyes were on hers as the realization struck that Aelin not only fell into the statistics of people who hit attractive strangers with their car but also happened to hit members of royalty.

No- Aelin thought as she gaped at her betrothed- she most definitely did not fall in favor of most statistics. But they had fallen with her on one account.

The Prince of Doranelle was handsome.

this prompt was: “i accidentally hit you with my car”

taglist:

@story-scribbler

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life

@claralady

@surielandiareendgame

#aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #aelin #rowan #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au #tog sjm #throne of glass #rowaelin month

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cupcakecoterie · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard/sorcerer

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin/warlock

@miaaoi - Farideh, dragonborn sorcerer

@lindira - Clarity, tiefling rogue/warlock

Brian - Barnabus, minotaur fighter

@lovefrometernity - Rylan, wood elf sorcerer

Last one to catch up on! We were missing an Ava, but we got through okay.

While Hazel and Darvin were in warped mirror!Goldendale, and Clarity and Hazel were in warped mirror!Vanedar manor, Remi and Barnabus found themselves in warped mirror!Ravnica - specifically, Precinct 5, Tenth District, and Barnabus’ last beat before the accident that landed him in Ellon. As with Hazel before her, Remi found herself with no connection to her god or her patron. (Darvin might have had the same problem, but he didn’t actually try to tap into that, so...) After some figuring out what was going on - namely, that they were being stuffed in pocket dimensions so that whatever thought process behind the local sludge could gain a more detailed view of the world.

Alisaie came back to the town square with Rylan and Farideh, and found nobody there, and no one responding to shouting. This was of concern, so she and Rylan tracked Remi and Barnabus (Barnabus being easy to track because hooves). Alisaie hoped that she’d end up in the same place as Remi. Alisaie should not have thought that, because while the divine spark in Darvin’s soul was fairly tiny, Alisaie’s ... was not. No one’s sure exactly what the long-term consequences of this are, but Alisaie did trip into mirror!Ravnica screaming in agony because of whatever force was keeping the divine or celestial out.

Clarity found Henry - specifically, Henry’s soul, which Clarity took with her (in the lollipop she’d bought for him at the Egref sweet shop) so that Hazel could perform the rites to let his spirit move forward. When she’s grieving a little less, she might note that somehow, even if it obviously did some damage, the Archfey of Mischief and Whimsy either somehow freed Henry’s soul before it could be corrupted beyond repair or somehow cleansed it. Then again, given Clarity’s memory trip and losing Ava midway through her adventure, she wasn’t in the best state to think on it.

Remi, Barnabus, Farideh, and Rylan all ended up in the Ismeri Library with a barely-conscious Alisaie and a very worried winged dire moose ... and found Petunia, whose soul was apparently stuck in-between because of that worthy’s efforts to keep the death fog contained. Petunia recommended that if they wanted to skip the twisted version of memory lane, they could just offer up a memory of a place and hope that the entity was placated. It seemed to work, and as Henry was granted escape via a large lollipop, Petunia was granted escape via Rylan’s scarf.

Hazel and Darvin saw some pretty horrifying sites in that version of Goldendale, but after tripping over the Tailor-Green manor (Darvin’s old home), Hazel started swearing about “It’ll be the knife-eared bitch next!” ... which references her mother. And since hers was the loudest thought-pattern at that point, they went into the Tailor-Green manor ... except they didn’t, because they found themselves in a prison. Not in one of the cells, thankfully. In one of the cells, though, was a woman who looks very much like the Lady Emavaela but had clearly been locked there for close onto two decades. Hazel made a very good insight check and ... yeah, twins exist. That woman had been locked up shortly before Hazel’s birth and usurped. Hazel is ... armageddon-level angry.

When almost all of them were back together,Ava all but fell out of one door, unconscious but seemingly unhurt, and they got out as fast as they could, because Remi seemed to hope that Alisaie would recover better out in the sun, all things considered. Jury’s still out on that one.

Hazel said some prayers to send the departed on, and they ended with pouring a drink and seeing if they can’t rouse Ava, so they can all talk about what happened to them, and how it might be best to proceed from that point.

I make no promises about staying up to date. But at least I am up to date now.

#cupcake coterie #Youtube Vid

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early20sfailingplenty · 3 years ago

Text

I want some good days // Bo x Lily // PERSONALISED fic ~ 💖

For @imbleedin-out (lots of these forehead kisses for you because Bo loves you lots and that’s that!!!!🥺🥺🥺💞💞💞)

Summary: Nick shoots Bo, and you run to your Sinclair like your life depends on it. Bo’s most certainly does. You fought like hell to be with him, to stay with him, and you’d be damned in more than one way if someone dared to take your Bo away from you. You do everything you can to help him, to be there for him, and in this way do you only strengthen the life bond between you. Bo was shot, like a wounded animal was he, but you were there to ground him, to keep him safe, to love him. You wouldn’t stand for anything else, and Bo wouldn’t expect anything less.

TW; Lily is morally grey as FUCK in this (sorry honey, you gotta be to survive in Ambrose!), Bo is injured (CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE WITH A CROSSBOW, BLOOD, DEPICTIONS OF SEVERE PAIN), swearing, graphic descriptions of the aforementioned triggers, LOTS of swearing (Lily, Bo). If you couldn’t stomach that scene then I’d skip this entire piece, really. THERE IS FLUFF I 100% PROMISE!!! THIS IS A FIX IT FIC!!!💞💞💞💞💞

PLEASE NOTE: Vincent doesn’t verbally communicate, so his dialogue is ASL, indicated with italics to distinguish it from others’ speech.

Word count: 3, 966.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This entire night had gone so wrong in so many ways that even thinking about where it had all started was making you dizzy. Was it when Lester had set his sights on a larger group of people than normal? Was it when he had only sabotaged one fan-belt so there was a higher chance of the tourists being able to get out of the situation they had found themselves in? Was it when Bo had antagonised the group so that they were already on edge and wary of strangers even before they had arrived in Ambrose? Was it when Bo and Vincent’s communication wasn’t as clear cut as it usually was, so they were split up and apart from one another without realising the danger they were placing themselves in? Was it when Bo had underestimated the tourists and vice versa? Maybe the twins had had an off day and it had impacted their entire performance? Maybe you were the one at fault...?

You never stayed around when the twins were killing people. You loved them, you did, and you had found your forever home with the Sinclairs, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to hide away when their fun and games began. You didn’t fear them, the very idea was ridiculous to you; so deeply did you love them. Especially Bo. But even so, you didn’t like being on the hunting grounds. You knew what happened. You knew. You were no stranger to Vincent’s tracking, to his cruelty or to Bo’s brutality. Having seen them up close and personal when they worked, you much preferred to wait in the house, keeping yourself busy with the general upkeep of the house and performing your various other responsibilities and duties. You made things easier on the brothers by keeping yourself safe and out of the way, which gave them less to worry about. Especially Bo; protective almost to the point of possessiveness was he. It was a trait he shared with Vincent, among many others.

They were more alike than they liked to admit to, most especially in the ways which defined who they were as people. They were wild, untamed, as enigmatic as the ocean and just as deep in their complexity. When one thought they knew a Sinclair, something was said or done to completely flip that idea on its head; impossible was it to fully know someone. Most humans barely knew their own selves and spent their lives filling up quiet moments with distractions so that they didn’t have to face their own realities, but the Sinclairs reveled in who they were. They knew who they were, they knew what they were about, and they dedicated their lives to their mother’s vision. It was more than simply paying respect; it was finishing what she started, continuing her legacy in the only way they knew how. And, oh, what fun they had while they did it.

It was already getting dark, the streets quickly becoming more ominous and foreboding. The neon lights which kept the streets alive in the twins’ illusion of a quaint but welcoming town made you wince, so bright were they and so sensitive were your eyes. It seemed as though those wide lanes were closing in on you. You began to feel constricted, anxiety and panic building within you rapidly as your steady paces began to speed up until you were running, your feet pounding the pavement.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

This wasn’t your usual level of anxiety and worry. This was bone deep chills, a sense that you had to get to the cinema now because something awful was happening. In one hand was held your phone, Bo’s mobile number already dialled. If this feeling persisted, you would phone him. You had to know that he was all right, that he was safe... that he was alive. Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Bo was your everything. He had, in the time you had known him, become your ultimate comfort. He was your safe space, your home, the love of your life. He was so much more than even you knew how to articulate, especially to yourself, and you didn’t know what you would do if you lost him. If something or someone took him away from you, there wouldn’t be anything left to hold you here. You needed him, you wanted him... you loved him.

The urge to cry out for Bo was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to make any more sound than you already were. It would advertise your whereabouts even more than your footsteps did, and it wasn’t something you could risk doing. You knew not where Bo was, but something in you, something truly primal, was telling you to go to the cinema and you willed your legs to get you there faster. Your lungs and legs burned alike, oxygen deprivation making your body burn, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The burn in your body right now was nothing compared to the physical and emotional agony you would feel later on if something terrible happened to Bo.

Your Bo.

Yeah... he was your Bo. The grip you had on your phone tightened as you tried to clench your fists, and the sudden mental grounding which came from realising that you were holding onto something helped you to somehow push your legs faster, further. You rounded the corner and sped towards the cinema, getting there just as a sickening thwack followed by a pained noise and the sound of a body hitting the carpeted floor greeted your ears. Your every nerve was on fire, your senses overwhelmed and your emotions in overdrive. You were overstimulated and you needed a minute to breathe, a moment to gather your senses, but reality would grant you no such favour.

You knew before you were fully inside the cinema that Bo was the one who was injured, and you wasted no time in running to his side. You whimpered as if his injuries were your own to see that he had one arrow digging into his arm and one in his chest. His injuries were severe, the pain beyond measure, the need for you stronger than it had been in all the time the two of you had known each other, loved each other. A sob ripped from your throat to see him like this, and you dropped to your knees beside him. Tears poured hot and fast down your face and ran down your chin, falling onto his prone form like rain. Oh, but it hurt to see him as he was. Groans and grunts of pain were all that you could get from him, until his head suddenly lolled to the side and Bo moved no more.

Your heart was in your throat obstructing your every breath as you dialled Vincent’s number with hands that trembled so badly it took you five attempts to get his number right. He picked up on the second ring, a question, no, a demand in his silence. “V-Vincent. B-bo’s... hurt and I don’t know if he’s alive and I - “ A pained whimper came from the other side of the phone and you heard everything that the younger twin was saying. He didn’t interrupt you again, so you just said, “Cinema. Please, Vincent, I - I don’t - Bo!” You broke down into full bodied sobs, almost screaming into the phone. It was too much. It was all too much. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the love... Over the roaring of blood in your head could you hear Vincent’s rough rumbling voice; it sounded like he was trying to shush you, mimicking the ‘tch-tch-tch’ noise which Bo always made whenever he was comforting you. How Vincent knew that sound and what it meant to you, you had little idea, but in the grand scheme of things did it work as you then heard the roaring of an engine.

Vincent was on his way.

Things would be okay.

Right.

Right?

It was fifty-fifty, stood were you three at a crossroads.

There were no second chances this night. There was only the here and the now, the do or the die.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you and Vincent stayed on the line with one another; giving and receiving comfort in the other’s presence in equal measures, until a yellow pickup truck came screaming around the corner and screeched to a halt. Vincent was out of the truck in seconds, running over to you and to Bo. You had the presence of mind to end the call while Vincent’s hands fluttered over his brother’s body, fingers wiggling as he tried to determine the extent of his twin’s injuries.

You both knew this was bad.

Your body dropped, slumping forward and down until your forehead was resting against Bo’s stomach. You inhaled deeply, one of your hands coming to squeeze Bo’s own. A hand landed gently on the back of your head as Vincent stroked along your hair in solid, slow movements. He was comforting himself and you at the same time, showing you as best as he could that he was there with you while his critical eye examined his brother. No touching until he had made a diagnosis; he couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk further injuring his brother. You weren’t alone. None of you were. You all had each other. Of the three of you, Vincent was the one with the medical knowledge. He was the one who had always patched Bo up in the past, and this situation would be no different. Between Vincent’s clinical approach to injuries and your own quick thinking, Bo would pull through.

He had to.

You and Vincent wouldn’t allow anything else.

The fingers in your dark hair tapped against your scalp, and you shifted your head just enough to be able to look at Vincent. Once he saw that he had your full attention, he raised his hands and began to sign slowly and clearly. There could be no room for mistakes or miscommunications; not when Bo was so badly injured and the stakes were so damn high.

He’s not dead, Lily. Unconscious. Pain too much.

As if to contradict his brother, such was his character, Bo moved his head and groaned lowly. You and Vincent froze and then sprung into action. You stood up, moving away from Bo so that Vincent could wrap his arms around his brother and bring him home, holding Bo tightly to his chest. Bo moaned at being jolted despite how slow and tenderly Vincent was touching him, and Vincent let out a pained noise of his own.

“It’s gonna be all right, Vincent,”

One blue eye looked at you with intent, Vincent’s every nerve fixed on you. Were you anyone else, he would have immediately dismissed your words. But you were Lily. You were Bo’s Lily, and as such, Vincent gave you the honour of being listened to. He needed you just as much as you needed him, just as much as Bo needed the both of you. Who would he be to ignore you in a time of great need and impending doom?

He’d be no one, just as he would be without his twin.

“We’ve got him now. He’s safe with us.” Your eyes were rimmed red, the surrounding flesh puffy. You looked so pretty in your pain, matched ounce for ounce was it by Vincent. He wore it better than you did, if only because he internalised everything and did very little to give his distress away. It was only the slight tremor in his hands, the speed of his movements and the reverence with which he touched Bo that told of his true feelings. Vincent was as torn up as you were; the both of you felt Bo’s injuries like they were your own. It was just how you three worked; you shared so much of yourselves, and what happened to one was felt by all.

No Sinclair was ever left behind or alone.

Not anymore.

A decisive nod by way of thanks (for what? You were unsure, but the time for thinking was over. There was only actions. Everything else could wait when the situation was time critical) and then Vincent was gone, rushing towards the truck. He laid Bo across the backseat just as soon as you joined him to wrench the door open, throwing yourself gracelessly over the back of the passenger seat so that you could get there quicker. Vincent was moving just as quickly as you, and he took the roads he knew to be the smoothest until the three of you arrived back at the house. The journey was silent, your nerves alight just as Vincent’s were. The only sounds you could hear were Bo’s strained whimpers and quiet groans, which only made Vincent white-knuckle the steering wheel and caused tears to continually fall down your face. You didn’t think you had cried this much in a long time, and, oh, how a conscious Bo would have hated to be the one to make you cry when the meaning behind it was a negative one.

In what seemed like forever and yet simultaneously was it no time at all did you and Vincent have Bo laid out on the pool table in the living room, the balls thrown carelessly onto the sofa. It was the nearest surface and it would have to do. Bo was time critical and you were both painfully aware of that.

Vincent gestured for your attention and then signed, bathroom, cupboard next to toilet. First aid kit. Hurry.

You were gone, rushing to get the necessary supplies; you moved quicker than you thought possible and you were back beside Vincent so fast with the first aid kit in hand that you felt physically dizzy as your mind struggled to keep up with your feet. You swiped a hand impatiently over your face and held the same hand which you had clutched on the dirty cinema floor while Vincent injected Bo with a local anaesthesia before pushing the arrow in Bo’s arm all the way through, the feathers sticking to the wood as Vincent made a clean hole. Arrows tore more flesh and caused more damage if they were pulled out the way they entered the body, this Vincent knew, so to push it through to make a clean hole was more pain, yes, but it was less damage and easier healing. He had to be brutal, quick and sure in his movements. He had to be strong for his twin and stronger still for you, who was doing everything she could.

Vincent took strength from you as much as he gave it, and when it came time to surgically remove the arrow in Bo’s chest did the injured man begin to scream. You choked on a sob, panic rising in your chest, your hands shaking and your body aching. Vincent, too, was struggling, but you could see even with the mask on his face that his jaw set, his shoulders straightened and he looked like the last thing most tourists to the town saw as he made his incision and dug the arrowhead out of Bo’s flesh. Bo was screaming, even with the anaesthetic (which hadn’t been given enough time to settle into his bloodstream), and begging. He spoke your name over and over like a prayer, your name Bo’s only grip on reality as Vincent was brutal, clinical. Finally, when the three of you couldn’t take it anymore and desperation, panic and fear was becoming a deadly concoction capable of causing fatal mistakes to one already so severely injured, it was done, and Vincent slammed the knife down and threw his hands up, as if to say, done, it’s done.

Bo was sobbing and you matched him in every aspect of it as you cupped his face in your shaking, trembling hands. Your thumbs dashed away the tears on his cheeks and you bent down to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - “ Who was Bo apologising to? For what? Neither you nor Vincent knew (though there were suspicions, even he couldn’t say for sure), but you assumed your places at either side of Bo’s head. You pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheek, one hand tightly gripping one of Bo’s and the other one in his hair, sticky and matted with sweat and other oils, and Vincent had a hand on his brother’s lower arm, stroking up and down in smoothing motions and making quiet noises to placate the older twin. He still had to bandage the chest wound, but Bo’s comfort and safety was slightly more important to your thinking, and indeed Vincent’s, too.

Vincent got your attention again with a hand gesture and thrust the bandages at you before he signed, take care of Bo. Got some work to do. There won’t be anything left of them. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage and bloodthirstiness and you shuddered to think of what the bodies would look like. Vincent would catch up to them, and the teenagers would rue the moment they stepped into Lester’s pickup truck. Before Vincent left, he signed once more, please take care of Bo. Very special to us. Trust you.

You smiled, the gesture watery and shaky at every possible stage. “I trust you too, Vincent. Please be careful! I’m scared for you - for all of us.” Tears dripped from your beautiful eyes and your voice trembled just like your body as you admitted to arguably the scariest Sinclair just how affected you were. Any of you could still die tonight and you were feeling more fear than you had ever felt in your two decades of life.

We’ll keep you safe. Please keep Bo safe, too.

“What about you, Vin?” You were almost pleading with him to stay, but Vincent’s mind was made up. His blue eye, soft when he looked at you, hardened into ice, and he signed,

I can take care of me. They won’t see me coming. Won’t be anything left for the animals when I’m done with them.

A cold shiver ran up your back and you nodded at Vincent, accepting him at his word. He was so much like Bo, especially when he was pissed off or insulted somehow. This was the worst slight for the man; he feared nothing more than having Bo taken away from him and he would not say such things unless he meant them. “Give ‘em hell for us, Vin!” The nod Vincent gave you before he turned and left made you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. You knew that the tourists would get what was coming to them. You felt a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to see it, but that was okay; you could just ask Vincent later, or even get Lester to show you the bodies if you really wanted to see what the younger twin had done.

You were ripped out of your silent reverie as you worked on bandaging up his chest by Bo coughing and then groaning low in his throat, his hand weakly patting at your hip. You turned and gave him the full extent of your attention, and Bo smiled. “Ya’ look like an angel w’the light behind ya’ like that.”

Confusion met his words until you realised that the harsh white light overhead made it look like you had a halo. With a shaky smile did you say, “The halo is held up by my invisible horns.”

“Invisible? Don’t’cha mean - “ Bo chuckled but then winced and your hands fluttered over his body much like Vincent’s had earlier that night as you sought to comfort him. Bo’s hands came up and caught your own and he interlaced his fingers with yours, holding them as tight as he could. His grip was strong despite the overwhelming amount of pain he was in, and you took that as a good sign that he was going to be fine. It would be a rocky road to a full recovery, though. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Gone on a well deserved murder spree.”

Bo whistled as best as he could, “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hard, your jaw aching, your body trembling, your eyes sore, your heart pained, and Bo’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were hazy with pain and with the anaesthetic that was now beginning to absorb into his bloodstream, but he still had it in him to squeeze your hands, tugging you closer to him, and closer still until you felt compelled to climb up on the pool table with him. You were physically uncomfortable but you dared not move around too much, not wanting to jostle Bo even though you were on his uninjured side. You cuddled into him lightly and Bo made a noise of discontent. You heard him, so attuned to him were you, and you allowed your head to rest fully on his broad shoulder, your hair spilling over him like a dark halo.

You melted into Bo and he allowed it to happen without making any sarcastic comment. He needed the comfort, the touch, the reassurance just as much as you did, and you peppered his face with kisses, leaning over slightly so that you could better reach all of Bo’s face. There was no side of him you didn’t love, no part of him you didn’t know intimately literally and metaphorically, and there was nothing he could say or do which would ever change the way you felt about him. Bo welcomed every touch, every kiss, every sigh of relief, everything you offered him. His good arm wrapped around you and he pulled you down, down, so that you could nuzzle your face in his neck, where again did you bestow hungry kisses to every inch you could find. You wished you could climb atop him, your thighs straddling his hips and your upper body looming over him so that you were all he could see, feel, touch, taste, but with his injuries as they were, you could only do half of what you wanted to. It was better than nothing, for this night could have taken a much worse turn, but it was enough.

It had to be.

Alive, alive, alive, my Bo’s alive. A mantra did you repeat in your mind, trying to come to terms with the night’s trauma, and Bo soaked up your affections, needing them just as much as you did. Every time you pulled away, he would only pull you back, wanting you there with him. He matched you grip for grip, kiss for kiss, as best as he could. The adrenaline crash soon got the better of the both of you, though, and you together drifted into uneasy naps right there on the pool table in each other’s arms, where a blood-soaked Vincent would discover you hours after he had left the house, trusting you to look after his brother. Though he knew his trust in you was never misplaced, he couldn’t help the overwhelming relief to know that you had done as you had promised, Bo’s face creased in pain but very much alive. He would leave you both there, only throwing a blanket over your bodies. It was just too risky to move Bo, and you were exhausted. Vincent crashed on the couch, staying with his family, with Jonesy atop Vincent so that she could get her cuddles. She had missed her human.

Come hell or high water, the Sinclairs stuck together so fiercely that even Death bowed out of the way.

#bo sinclair #bo's muse #lily sinclair

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faetedforglory · 2 years ago

Note

🧠 ― a memory that had a big impact on you. (For twins!)

Memory Lane

It was always so funny to them when people thought they could hurt them, especially humans. The fae twins simply stood their ground as the two Team Rocket grunt and Team Plasma grunt seemed to find a common enemy in the two.

Ingo's smile was unnaturally wide, it seemed like his teeth were forming rows and rows. Emmet's eyes were glimmering gold, shining in the dusk like headlights on an empty highway.

They were ready. They weren't in their safe zone of the subway, but they were elated at the thought of tearing these men apart with teeth and bare hands. Emmet was all but praying that one would try to stab him, send his blood all over their bodies and eat through their flesh. He even considered biting his tongue to spit it at their faces and hear them screech in agony.

They were ready. And the men seemed to have found the resolve to try and charge them.

Closer and closer and--

"Don't touch them!" A familiar voice boomed. But it was different. The twins always knew when they were being scolded by Drayden, this wasn't one of those times.

The dragon had a hold of the grunts in moments, lifting and tossing them aside as if they were nothing, surprising the twins. Why? Why was he doing this? It wasn't to save the men, they knew that much. It was as if. . . Was he angry that the grunts had intended to harm them?

Their smiles fell. Heads tilted as Drayden unleashed his own brand of terror the gods had blessed him with. Why was he doing this? Why would he be angry?

"Are you two okay?" Drayden asked when the men had fled.

Did he. . . actually like them?

#( headcanon. )

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ttylfedora · 4 years ago

Text

10th March: 14/19

PART THREE PART THREE PART THREEEEEE (you can find parts one and two here)

All of the thanks to @madsholland for going through and correcting my grammar😂

Part Four will be up tomorrow, but this birthday girl needs some sleep! I’m so glad you all have enjoyed this so far. It has absolutely made my day reading the comments. All of the birthday love from me and my birthday twin, Remus🥰

CW: MENTION OF REMUS INJURY

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Enjoy!!💚

10th March 2014

“Mom, please, I don’t want to do anything big this year.” Remus huffed as he attempted to pull his hoodie over his head, his shoulder jarring as he did so. He willed the tears that threatened to pool in his eyes back down and he battled with the hoodie to take it back off and throw it back over his bed.

“I just think it would be good, even if we just went out for dinner-” Hope started, her heart breaking over how ‘not Remus’ Remus was acting.

“Mom!”

Remus had finally reached his breaking point. His shoulder was in agony; every single one of his hopes and dreams had been crushed; and the last thing he wanted was to potentially bump into any of his teammates at a restaurant.

“Please, just leave me alone! I don’t want to do anything, okay? I just want to be left alone,” he shouted, the tears from earlier finally spilling over. He looked at his mother pleadingly, “please just leave me alone.” It barely came out as a whisper but his mother heard well enough. She decided against saying anything in case the tears that were behind her own eyes spilled over too. She only nodded as she left the bedroom, closing his door behind her.

Remus just stared at the door, guilt overflowing him at the look on Hope’s face. She didn’t deserve that. None of his family deserved the way Remus was treating them. Remus didn’t deserve the way Remus was treating Remus. He brought his hands up to wipe the tears away from his face as he sat down on his bed, resting his shoulder on his knees as he began to properly cry.

He layed back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. When he fell asleep, he wasn’t aware. He wasn’t aware he had even fallen asleep until he felt a small hand shaking his knee.

“Wemus. Wemus, wake up.” Julian whispered. “I have a pwesent for you.” Remus lifted his head slightly to find his younger brother standing at the edge of his bed next to his knees. He sat up as Julian climbed up onto the bed next to him, careful not to crumple the, admittedly poorly wrapped, present he was holding.

Julian held it out to him with all the pride in the world. “Happy Birthday!” the five year old giggled.

“Thanks Jules.” Remus smiled slightly as he took the present. He undid the wrapping, which was actually a tea towel, and placed it behind him, wincing slightly as his shoulder caught. He breathed through the pain, not wanting to make his younger brother aware of it.

Slightly confused, he looked over to Julian as he held a piece of card.

“You have to turn it around!” Julian giggled, jumping up and down on his knees. Remus laughed and turned the card over, revealing a drawing. Julian almost jumped on Remus’s lap as he started pointing to the drawing.

“Look! That’s you, in red and gold because those are your favourite colours,” he pointed to the older figure in the picture, and then moved to point at the smaller figure, “and that’s me!” Julian smiled up at his big brother, who was pretty sure he could feel tears pooling in his eyes once again, but for the first time since his injury, the tears were derived from happiness.

Remus wasn’t aware, however, of his father standing at the door with his phone in his hand, taking a picture of the moment.

10th March 2019

If there was one thing Remus hated more than paperwork, it was paperwork on his birthday. He wanted nothing more than to leave work and curl up on the sofa with a takeaway pizza from Sid’s and a big mug of hot chocolate. He was just finishing up, eager to get going when there was a knock on the door. Remus sighed as he threw his head back. He straightened himself back up as he called the person in.

His breath hitched in his throat as Sirius walked into his office, a bag slung over his shoulder and his hat on his head, allowing his playoff hair to perfectly curl around his ears..

“Hey Cap, what can I do for you?” Remus questioned, attempting to subtly quiet his heartbeat that he was sure the entire stadium could hear.

Sirius shuffled on the spot.

“I uh- my- uhm- my knee is still acting up. Could you have a look at it quickly?” Sirius said quickly. There was nothing wrong with his knee. What was wrong with him was the fact he talked himself into walking into the PT office with the knowledge he was essentially the epitome of perfect health.

Remus swallowed hard.

“Yeah, sure, hop up on the bed and pull your joggers up,” Remus instructed, blissfully unaware of how nervous Sirius was on the inside. It was something Remus always envied about the Captain; his ability to hide his nerves.

Sirius did as instructed. A part of him hoped that he hadn’t actually jinxed himself and there was something wrong with his knee.

Remus looked over it and talked him through a few stretches to ensure his knee was functioning as it should and gave him the all clear.

“It looks all good to me, it could just be your body telling you to slow down a little,” Remus started. Sirius looked up at him as though he had just thrown a million different profanities at his face. “Don’t give me that look, I know it’s playoff season. Just don’t hurt yourself, please, I can’t deal with another Captain injury on my hands.”

“Hey, as long as the Snakes stay in their lane you won’t see much more of me, Fruit Loop,” Sirius retorted. However, part of him hoped he could think up another excuse to come and see the PT.

Remus laughed, thinking the same thing, completely unaware of their shared thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean.” Remus turned his back to Sirius and started compiling the paperwork together so that he could begin to go home.

“I’ll catch you later, Loops.” Remus looked over his shoulder to find Sirius waving as he walked out of the room. Remus waved back at him and watched the door close, letting out a breath he was unaware he was holding.

Remus looked back at the bed after he had collected his thoughts together a bit more, and on it sat a little box from ‘Flour on Fifth’. Remus walked over, discarding the pieces of paper he was holding onto his desk, and opened the box. Inside it sat his favourite cupcake and a little card. He pulled the card out and turned it over. The scrawl on the back of it was recognisably Sirius’s.

‘Remus,

Happy Birthday! Thankful for you today and everyday!

All the best, Sirius.

P.S. I tried one of these and I can see why they're your favourite. This one’s on me. Enjoy!’

Remus let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t pinpoint when he made Sirius aware of his favourite cupcake or when he told him when his birthday was. Remus felt his cheeks redden again at the thoughtfulness of the Captain; the heat overpowering the dull ache in his heart hurting with the knowledge he would never be able to voice his feelings.

Remus stood there for a few minutes- it could have been hours, really- with the biggest grin stitched onto his face.

He’d remember this small act of kindness for forever.

#loops angst #lumosinlove #sweater weather lumosinlove #Remus birthday!#Emma reaches level 20 #go her omg #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Julian🥺#Loops injury #CW injury

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

for the mermay fills: indruck, 25, any rating

Here you go! I went with SFW for this one.

The thing no one tells you about journeys of self-discovery is that they’re really fucking boring.

Duck’s been on this highway for days, and another highway for the days before that. He wanted to see the desert in the spring, but it’s involved fewer super-blooms and more butterflies dying on his windshield than he hoped.

Now he’s on some two lane strip of barely paved road in the vast expanse between Las Vegas and Reno. Green catches his eye to his left; a ribbon of well-watered trees shines in the distance. Closer to the road are dueling picket signs shoved into the ground, some demanding the preservation of the tiny pocket of wetlands and others proclaiming this the site of the Hungry Man Casino expansion. The signs continue all the way to the tiny town of Kepler, where he pulls into a gas station in front of Tarkesian’s General Store.

After filling the tank and chatting with the owner and his incongruous New York accent, Duck decides to stop in Kepler for the night. The road north is mostly open range, and he’s already had one near miss with a cow on a pitch black stretch of asphalt. The lone place to rest is the Reconciliation Motel Court and Casino. He gets his key, pulls up to the chipped door, and flops onto the burnt orange bedspread for a nap.

He doesn’t wake up until eight at night, wondering what the hell is wrong with the other guests that they’re all playing music loud enough for him to hear. He counts at least six separate voices, their overlap meaning the lyrics turn to gibberish. It’s still hot and stuffy in the room, and maybe outside will be quiet. He pulls on his swim trunks and rash guard; a peek out the window at the pool shows it’s empty and that, plus the general sparseness of the parking lot, makes him confident enough that he won’t bump into anyone and try to make up some lie about being shy or mormon or whatever the hell else would explain a dude keeping a top on to swim.

But, just his luck, when he latches the pool gate shut, he discovers he’s not alone. A man with silver hair floats in the pool, eyes closed. When Duck sets a towel on the chair, his eyes fly open and he dives under the water, giving Duck twin shocks: glowing red eyes and a long, jet black tail.

“What the fuck?” He says aloud in case someone else is watching and can explain why there’s a fucking mermaid in the pool.

The merman resurfaces, blinking at him, “How in the world did you get in here?”

“Uhhhh…” Duck points to the gate.

“You...you see the pool? Do you see the motel as well?”

Duck turns, wondering if this is some kind of prank, “yeah?”

“Apologies” the merman swims to the edge of the pool nearest him, “it was such an unlikely future I am having a hard time processing it.”

“You’re havin a hard time”

“Oh, oh of course, this is all very confusing to you. Here, have a seat.” He gestures to one of the pool chairs. Not knowing what else to do, Duck sits.

“Now, have you heard singing while you have been here?”

“Yep. Thought it was the other guests.”

The merman shakes his head, “They are sirens. As am I. We are the descendants of sirens who lived here in the days when there was far more water in this area. As the water dwindled, we made our home in that river and wetlands” he points towards the south end of town, “and then the founders of this fine establishment decided to catch us and use us to lure people to their rundown casino. Since you are about to ask, a siren song shows you what you want; turns out many people want the promise of easy money, food, or sex. But you...somehow you do not seem to respond to it.”

Duck shrugs, “Guess not.”

“I wonder...hmm, perhaps you do not want anything?”

“Don’t think that’s it. Been drivin up and down the country lookin for somethin I want but can’t name.”

The merman rests his arms on the concrete, “You must tell me everything about your travels.”

“I mean, uh, they ain’t all that excitin-”

“I have been stuck in this pool for three years.”

“Okay yeah, more excitin than that. Also, what the fuck?”

“There are ones like it in almost all the lower level rooms. I get stuck out here because I will not sing, but due to having future sight I am too valuable to do away with.”

“This ain’t gettin less fucked up.”

The merman laughs, “Perhaps that is why you don’t fall prey to our song; you are just very honest.”

“That a nice way of sayin I can’t lie for shit?”

“I suppose so.” He grins, sharp teeth glinting in the yellow streetlights, “regardless, I am glad you are not susceptible. I haven’t spoken to anyone aside from the owners in months. They even keep me from my own kind.” His tone is breezy, but Duck sees the flash of pain in his eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Indrid. Yours?”

“Can’t you see it comin?” He teases.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it. I get ahead of others often enough as it is.”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid flips his tail once, “Care to join me for an evening swim, Duck.”

“You ain’t gonna eat me or anythin, right?”

“I only taste humans when offered” His tail undulates hypnotically as he pushes into deeper water. Then he pauses, “that was meant as flirtation and not as a threat.”

Duck slides into the water, smiling when he meets Indrid’s nervous gaze “Yeah, I got that.”

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

“See, you can tell it’s a saguaro because--fuck” the camera slips from Duck’s hand, only for Indrid’s to shoot out and catch it before it hits the water.

“Thanks, ‘Drid, startin’ to wonder what I’d do without you.”

The mer, cheek resting on the warm concrete, shifts sideways so he can bump Duck’s knee with his forehead, “The feeling is mutual.”

For the last two weeks Duck’s stayed at the motel, watching his fellow occupants walk zombie-like through doors or stagger from them in a daze when their money runs out and the owners kick them to the curb to make way for new targets. Following Indrid’s instructions, he delivers messages between the trapped sirens, the kind they dare not sing aloud, brings them things they’re missing, like favorite foods or things to do, when he can manage it.

He’s also careful to spend time in town, away from any lingering influence of the siren songs. Leo Tarkesian gives him a job in the store, and he strikes up a friendship with a woman going by the name of Mama, who comes in once a week with beautiful wood carvings for Leo to set out for sale. It turns out her family used to own the motel before Reconciliation swooped in and stole it in what Mama insists was an illegal move.

“Worst part is, they crowed about creatin jobs, bringin’ in more tourists. But they won’t let no one outside their inner circle work there, and folks who stop never leave and visit the rest of town. Now they’re gunnin for the state park. But they ain’t gonna get away with it this time.”

More than anything, Duck spends his time with Indrid. The siren tells him stories about life in the wetlands and river, Duck tells him about his travels, about his home, talks with him until the stars come out, would stay until they go away again except the mer tells him he needs his sleep.

Indrid is a very encouraging conversation partner, disdain and aloofness only appearing when he has to speak to the owners of the motel. He’s also very affectionate, resting his head in Duck’s lap or winding his tail around him whenever he stands in the water. Which is why, when he asks Duck if he’s made up his mind about what to do come fall, his fingers are stroking the humans back and his tail is lazily petting his legs.

“I dunno. I could go back and finish my degree, become a ranger and all that. But what if I’m only doin that because I feel like it’s what I’m supposed to do?”

Indrid brushes Duck’s hair from his forehead, “When you think of the future where you meet that goal, how do you feel.”

“Happy. Content. Like, like there’s a thing I can do to keep the world healthy and whole. Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be out there savin the world, solvin every problem, makin everythin better. And that’s too damn much. But when I think about havin some forest or park or somethin where part of my job is to care for it, help it grow...yeah, think I could do that.” He smiles at the image of his future self those words conjure.

Indrid smiles at the current him, brushes their noses together, “It seems to me that you have your answer.”

Duck loops his arms around Indrid’s waist, “Then again, could just stay here, look after you and the other sirens forever.”

Chlorine stings his eyes as Indrid zips backwards, looking as if he’s been slapped.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?”

“You cannot stay here any longer.”

“What do you mean? I wanna stay. I wanna be with you.”

“No! Don’t you see? This is how the song gets you. It is making you think that your greatest wish is to stay in this crumbling motel, looking after a siren who has seen better days.”

“Hold the fuck on” Duck tries to swim to him, only for Indrid to swim further out of reach, “‘Drid, it’s real fuckin insultin to tell a fella that the only reason he feels how he feels is because of a magic song. Maybe I am startin to feel the effects, but I know that when I think about you, no matter how near or far to this fuckin pool I am, I wanna be with you. I’ve fallen in love before, I can recognize the feelin from a mile away. And it’s what I’m feelin now.” He crosses his arms, daring Indrid to argue.

The siren swims to him, cups his face in cool hands, “It’s what I feel too. Why do you think I cannot ask you to stay? I am a prisoner here, Duck. If you remain for my sake, you will be one as well. I cannot do that to you. I know the agony of being cut off from the world you love, and you have so much love yet to give it I cannot, will not, rob you of the chance to do so.”

“I…” Duck he mirrors Indrid’s touch, runs his thumbs along his cheeks.

“Please” Indrid kisses him once, softly, “please, if you love me, don’t stay here and make me watch you decay.”

Duck pulls Indrid as close as he can, kisses him until his lips ache and the siren is pliant and purring in his arms.

“I’ll go. I fuckin hate the idea of leavin you here, but I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s just one thing you gotta let me do first. Will you let me introduce you to another human? She’s got almost as much cause to hate Reconciliation as you do, and I got a hunch you two might be able to help each other out.”

Indrid cocks his head, then nods, “Of course, my love. Just tell her to wear earplugs and bring something to write on.”

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

The cottonwoods rustle in the summer breeze as Indrid floats lazily down the river on his back. A family is picnicking outside the visitor center, but only the youngest member of it sees him. She waves. He raises his tail in reply, smiling when she spills her drink in delight.

Most sirens give the heavily trafficked parts of the park a wide berth, still wary of interactions with humans. Indrid doesn’t blame them; Reconciliation was chased out ten years ago, but their memory lingers like smog. He himself stays clear of unfamiliar groups of humans whenever possible.

But today, the futures show him the park is welcoming a new ranger. And so he swims back and forth, hoping the recent arrival will see him. Hoping he remembers.

“I’m sorry sir, but swimmin ain’t allowed in this chunk of the river.” A teasing drawl drifts over his shoulder.

He spins in what he hopes is an elegant way, accidentally splashing the figure on the bank behind him.

“Of course.” He grins, swimming over and resting his arms on the bank and batting his eyelashes as the ranger crouches down to meet him, “how very rude of me. I am terribly sorry.”

Duck’s smile is brimming with years of stored up affection, the lines on his face hinting at stories Indrid cannot wait to hear, “S’okay. For my favorite roadside siren, I’m happy to make an exception.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay

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wolveria · 4 years ago

Text

Unable to perceive the shape of you - Ch. 8

Pairing: Connor x f!Reader x Nines

Summary: After breaking the RK twins out of the MarineLife facility, you were determined to return them to the ocean before getting caught by your employer.

What you hadn’t counted on were the brothers deciding you belonged to them.

Prompt: Mermay! (Shape of Water/Splash AU)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, misogynistic language, blood, gore, death

Word Count: 3k

AO3

You only got a few hours of sleep before you were on the road again, the sun not yet peaking up over the horizon. The plan was to make it well into Canada by the end of the day. Crossing the border would involve a lot of swimming and leaving your car behind.

You would miss it, and you’d have to find a way to let your family know you were okay before disappearing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to start your new life with the two people who had changed it so completely.

After digging through your car supply kit to find some meal bars to snack on, you listened to Connor talk excitedly about your future plans.

The future, a funny thing. For the first time in your life, you weren’t dreading the uncertain path before you, and that more than anything told you this was what you were meant to do.

You were both in the backseat, Nines having to drive again as your legs were an aching mess from the activities of the night before. You didn’t regret it but your body was sure complaining now. It wasn’t just your legs that hurt, almost every muscle in your body was aching, and a part of you wondered how you’d ever keep up with their stamina.

You were looking forward to finding out.

“And then, perhaps we can purchase some kind of boat,” Connor continued on, eyes bright as he continued to chatter. “If our pod still swims the same waters, we should be able to find them. We have another brother, you know.”

“Really?” you asked. The small smile on your lips hadn’t disappeared since he’d started talking.

“We’re a set of triplets,” he added with a pleased blush. “Our third brother was more cautious than we were. Said not to go near the fishing boats, but… we didn’t listen.”

His face fell, and as naturally as breathing air you reached across to take his hand in his lap. Recalling when he and Nines had been captured was clearly a painful memory.

Connor immediately perked at the touch, wrapping his long fingers around yours.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to say it,” Connor said, tilting his head as his smile also went lopsided.

“Humans lack the vocal range to speak our language,” Nines chimed in from the driver’s seat.

When you turned to face him, you could see the headlights illuminating a bridge spanning a river, the sun only now lighting the sky. He had to slow down because it was only two lanes and was made of little more than wood and metal.

Nines himself seemed at ease, the first time you’d ever seen him that way. Ever since last night, he was freer with giving affection and less stiff and aloof. Something had changed within him, but perhaps the same could be said of all three of you.

“And if we tried to speak it above water,” Nines continued, “all we would accomplish would be shattering your car windows.”

You looked to Connor just to be sure Nines wasn’t teasing you again. That’s when you saw the bright stripe of light across his face; his eyes narrowed against the glare of the headlights behind your car.

They grew brighter, increasing in intensity until the white light filled the car.

“What—“

Glass imploded from the rear windshield as you were thrown forward against your seatbelt. Screeching metal and churning tires deafened as the vehicle behind rammed the hatchback door a second time.

“Nines!”

You didn’t know what you were yelling for him to do. There was nothing to do. The tires skidded across wet pavement as your car began to jackknife, pushed from the other larger vehicle toward the bridge railing.

Connor threw his arms around you and braced for the impact.

Everything was a blur after the trailing vehicle hit a third time. Deafening crunches of rubber and metal, the dizzying, floating feeling as the car fell several feet, landed, and rolled down the embankment toward the river.

The agony of each impact, the terror of being so completely helpless as the car rolled again and again. You couldn’t think or move besides clinging to Connor as shattered glass rained down on both of you.

When the world stopped spinning, you could barely breathe. The inside of the car was slowly filling with smoke, and the seatbelt cut across your chest as you hung limp from your seat.

You tried to raise your dangling arms to feel for your restraint. Couldn’t lift your arms high enough. Your limbs and muscles wouldn’t cooperate and you couldn’t even focus your eyes enough to understand the chaos around you.

You heard confused voices, the sound of creaking metal, and then hands were unbuckling you from your seat and carefully pulling you from the car. Those same hands held you against a broad chest, and you pressed against it weakly.

“Is she all right?” one of the voices said, soft and hushed. Cold raindrops splattered against your face and you let out a weak groan.

“Yes. Just dazed,” the second one, deeper and flatter, responded.

There was something you had to tell them. Something very important.

The car… it hadn’t been a car… It was a truck. Ford F-150. White. Michigan plates.

“…Con…”

“I’m here.”

You tried to speak but you erupted into violent coughing, the lingering acrid smoke in the air irritating your throat. Nines carried you further away from the car crash, but you couldn’t tell where you were. It was still too dark to see past the broken headlights of your own car.

Where was it? Where was the truck?

You had to tell them—

“Stop struggling!” Nines growled when you thrashed in his arms, your coughing fit growing worse. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I think she wants you to put her down,” Connor said, dark eyes wide as he took in the state of your struggling.

That wasn’t what you wanted, and when Nines lowered your feet to the ground, you clung to his shoulders with the desperation of a drowner.

“He’s…” You coughed again, gagged at the irritation crawling up your throat. “He’s… here… Run…”

Nines frowned. “Who’s here?”

White headlights blazed against the three of you from the dark, lighting up the service road where your car had finally come to a stop rolling down the embankment.

Nines and Connor flinched and tried to shield their eyes with their hands, but you stared past Nines’ arm, recognizing the row of floodlights on top of the cabin of the truck.

Only one bastard drove a monstrosity like that.

“Looky here.”

Boots crunched over wet rocks and gravel as a hated and familiar silhouette cut against the glittering rain dancing before the lights.

“Fish-girl and her two slimy pets.”

Nines spun, baring his teeth in a snarl as he shoved you behind him.

The report of a gun and the flash from a muzzle immediately followed. Nines staggered back against you.

You tried to hold him up, not understanding—

Gavin fired the gun again, and Nines crumpled to the ground.

You stared at the figure at your feet, rooted to the spot, but not Connor. With an inhuman cry, he bolted toward Gavin, and was rewarded with a bullet shot through his thigh and upper chest.

Watching Connor collapse into a heap at Gavin’s feet jolted you out of your paralysis. There was no sense to what you did, no planning as you rushed forward on numb legs. All you wanted was to tear your nails through Gavin’s eyes and make him suffer, make him bleed, make him scream.

Gavin sidestepped your attack and slung his arm around your neck, effectively pulling you into a headlock against his chest as he held the pistol to the side of your head.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, clearly enjoying himself as he turned so you could see both brothers lying on the ground. “You’re not getting off that easy. You and Flipper.”

He gestured at Connor, his loathsome voice speaking right into your ear.

“It’s worth a small fortune, you know. Shame I had to damage it, but… I didn’t ruin the parts they want, anyway.”

Gavin laughed, a mean sound that made you struggle harder.

Nines lifted his head clumsily, as if he didn’t have the strength to quite do it. You could have sobbed seeing he was still alive, but the blue liquid pooling under his chest was an alarming amount. It mixed with the rain as it came down harder, drenching the world and making it colder.

“Now, Free Willy over there...” Gavin tsked through his teeth. “That fucker’s too dangerous to haul back. A body will do just fine.”

He lifted his service pistol toward Nines.

You immediately bit down on his aiming shoulder, able to wiggle out of his hold for a brief moment of distraction.

The fired shot missed, sparking the ground next to Nines’ head.

“Fuck!”

You dug your teeth in even as Gavin cut off your air.

“Son of a bitch!”

He managed to tear you from his arm and toss you to the ground. The shock traveled up your knees and legs, but you ignored it and lunged for Gavin again.

He backhanded you across the face so hard you saw stars behind your eyelids and tasted iron in your mouth. You staggered backward and almost fell, but managed to keep your feet as Gavin descended on you.

“You filthy, fucking slut!”

He looked deranged, soaked in the rain and his eyes wide and furious.

“Spread your legs for a couple of fish but wouldn’t give me the time of fucking day! Is that it!”

You cried out and struggled to get away when he reached out and grabbed a fistful of your rain-soaked hair.

“Don’t you fuckin’ worry,” he snarled with a shake of his hand as you felt some of the roots of your hair tear from you scalp. “I’ve got lots of time from here to Detroit to teach you a fuckin’ lesson.”

Finger still clamped onto your hair, Gavin dragged you back toward his truck. You screamed and dug your fingernails into the back of his hand, but it was like he didn’t even feel it. He barely even seemed human.

He’d pulled you halfway to his truck before he shouted, his hand jerked away from your head as he was tackled to the ground.

Connor, bleeding and snarling, bit and tore his nails into Gavin as they rolled on the ground. The gun was knocked from Gavin’s hand and skidded across the gravel.

You dashed for the gun and grabbed it, desperate and shaky, and when you raised it toward them they were both locked in a heated fight. You couldn’t pull the trigger without fear of hitting Connor.

You didn’t know if the water running down your face was rain or tears, your breath hitching in your throat as you screamed. “Connor, get away from him!”

Connor looked up, saw the pistol in your hands, and scrambled away from the bleeding, raging man.

You depressed the trigger but Gavin was faster. Lying on his back, he jabbed a hand down to his waistband and pulled something out, pointed it at you, and fired.

The boom was much louder than the service pistol. But you barely heard it, barely heard anything, past the blooming agony in your gut and the sudden lack of strength in your legs.

You collapsed onto your knees, the gun dangling from your fingertips as you struggled to draw breath. Triumph in his eyes, Gavin rose to his feet and aimed the revolver toward your head.

Before he could fire a second time, a figure low to the ground grabbed him around the ankle and bit into his calf.

Gavin screamed and tried to kick Nines away, bringing his revolver around, but Connor grabbed his shoulder and bit deep into the side of Gavin’s neck. With a jerk of his head, he tore out a chunk of flesh, and blood spurted from the wound like a cut hose line.

Neither brother stopped for a moment, snarling and ripping into the man with inhuman ferocity, resembling two wolves tearing apart a grizzly even after it had dealt them lethal blows.

Gavin finally dropped to his knees, no longer screaming, his eyes wide and his face bloodless. The brothers only released him after he tumbled the rest of the way to the ground.

Nines didn’t move, either. Motionless, he looked as lifeless as the body next to him.

Connor didn’t look much better. As he wobbled and staggered over to you, you could see the bullet wounds in his chest and leg. Gavin had miscalculated. Even over the rain you could hear the wet, sucking sound of a perforated lung.

You began to fall forward as he drew near, and he caught you at the last second, gently lowering you the rest of the way to the ground. His hands were gentle even as they were slicked with blood.

Wanting desperately to comfort him but unable to speak, with one hand pressed to the seeping mess of your stomach the other searched for his hand. Connor took it and held it, lying down beside you as he pressed his face against your hair.

The strength sapped from your limbs, the world around you faded to a dull, flat noise. The plinking of the rainwater sounded far away, and farther beyond that, another sound.

It was difficult to hear past the sound of Connor’s breath hissing through his clenched teeth. Your mind was solely trying to focus on that sound, but you pushed past it to another. The faint roaring of water.

Nines’ voice, faint and hollow, echoed to you across your memory.

Whatever damage is caused will heal in the water…

Pulling away from Connor, you forced yourself onto one elbow, emitting a strangled whimper as the agony in your gut flamed anew. You pushed past it and rose to your knees.

Connor struggled to keep his wavering gaze on you, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, before they finally slipped closed.

“C… Connor.”

He didn’t respond, and the last rush of adrenaline gave you the strength to grab and tug his arm.

“You have to… get up…”

Connor didn’t respond verbally, but when you put his arm over your shoulder and tried to pull him onto his knees, he managed to cooperate, barely conscious as he was.

Somehow, through the waves of agony coming from your abdomen, you struggled to your feet along with Connor. He wavered as you pulled him forward but you didn’t have any more strength than he did, and you leaned against each other and staggered like two drunks out of a bar.

When you approached the spot where Nines was lying, Connor whined and reached for him.

You kept pulling him forward. Even as your heart was ripped to shreds, especially when Connor continued to whimper as you left his brother behind. You couldn’t stop. If you lost your momentum now, you’d never get Connor to the water.

You didn’t want to think about how it might be too late for Nines. How getting Connor to safety was what he would have wanted. You couldn’t think about any of that. Not while Connor still needed you.

Reaching the bottom of the short embankment to the shoreline, you didn’t fight gravity as you and Connor collapsed onto the sand. He understood what you were doing now, and he crawled the last few inches to the water.

Not wanting him to drown by submerging his head or the gunshot wound to his chest, you helped roll him legs first into the water. The sleek, grey tail rippled down his legs, bursting through his shoes and leaving his pants in tatters.

Connor didn’t move after that, lying on his back as he struggled to breathe, and you wanted to stay just in case…

But the edges of your vision were starting to darken. You didn’t have much time left.

You didn’t bother to try to stand up again; you crawled back to where Nines lay, stopping halfway to wretch and gag, the iron taste lingering in your mouth. You pushed on, your entire world honed in on the figure on the ground, ignoring your torn and bleeding elbows and knees. What were a few more wounds.

By the time you reached him, your breath was uneven and hitching, your abdomen numb and your limbs shivering with cold. You were going to go into shock soon, or had already started, you didn’t know.

For this, you would have to stand up again, and you did it through sheer, panicked desperation. There was nothing outside of that moment except you grabbing Nines’ wrist as tightly as you could as you pulled him back toward the water.

It wasn’t far from where he’d collapsed, only a few feet, but each inch might have been a mile and each footstep the climb up a mountain. You dragged him, your shallow breaths now weak sobs, your chest hurting more than your gunshot wound.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t look past the next step. There was only the weight you pulled behind and the glimmer of rushing water ahead.

You fell to your knees for the last time. Removed your hand from the gut wound so your bloody, shaky fingers could roll Nines the rest of the way into the water. You miscalculated the heavy weight of his body and how fast the river was actually moving, and when the waves grabbed at him and pulled him away, you cried out and reached for him.

Nines disappeared beneath the churning, grey water. All you could do was helplessly watch from where you’d fallen onto your stomach, finger trailing in the water as the last of your strength vanished. The water lapped at your fingers, cleaning them of the dark, purple liquid covering them. A mixture of red and blue.

Letting your eyes drift shut, you let the knowledge that the brothers would never again be caged act as your sole comfort as you surrendered to the cold and the darkness.

Your dying mind clung to one last memory. Something you’d felt many times before and had always brought solace on the bad days. You wanted to feel it again so desperately that you imagined you could actually feel it. The sensation of long, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and gently pulling you into the water.

And to that too, you surrendered.

Next Chapter

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #connor x reader #nines x reader #rk1700 x reader #mermay #mermaid au #connor #nines #rk800 #rk900 #my writing #my fanfiction

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alwaysonthemend · 1 year ago

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i can't do this shit. twin lane is agony

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #jake kiszka

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turtlepated · 5 years ago

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The Ghost and the She-wolf

Inspired by the Mafia!Beej personas of the wonderful @monsterlovinghours, please enjoy this little something about Zhuk.

Zhuk and the Mafia!Beejs belongs to @monsterlovinghours, she just very sportingly let me play pirates with him.

It’s a pirate’s life for me, yo-ho.

---

Part 1 –

You were the youngest captain of the Royal Navy, no meager achievement. On top of that, you were the first female graduate of the academy, earning your title with commendations and honors that you had worked hard and tirelessly to secure. In light of this you’d been placed in command of a newly built ship: the Invictus, a sleek, three-masted frigate designed to marry speed and power, armed with fourteen 24-pounder guns and a pair of long nine ranged cannons astern. Your primary mission was to protect the shipping lanes and wealthy port towns against pirates and to capture as many of the seagoing criminals as possible. You set your sights on the most feared one of all: the one they called призрак, prizrak, “the ghost”. Braver souls referred to him in reverent whispers as Zhuk, but the name was of no consequence to you. His ship, the Perperuna, had been wreaking havoc with merchant trading routes all over the Pacific and you would see to it that he was brought to justice.

Thus began a long and frustrating series of engagements in which you came close, so very close to victory only for Zhuk to escape at the last moment. The Perperuna was smaller than you’d expected, and expertly manned by her captain. Zhuk, you were loathe to admit, was a shrewd and perceptive adversary. More than once he outmaneuvered the Invictus, using his clipper’s smaller size and greater agility to his advantage. The bastard seemed almost able to smell your best laid traps and evade or rout them. The trick was to keep up with him long enough for the Invictus’s artillery to deal sufficient damage to disable the Perperuna and allow you to get close enough to board and take him on face-to-face. While also managing to withstand the onslaught of return fire from Zhuk’s own armament.

The Invictus’s long nines were employed often when Zhuk managed to outdistance you. The twin guns came with a longer range and improved accuracy, but thus far neither of you had been unable to deliver a decisive blow. As your game of cat and mouse dragged on and on, you had to consider that Zhuk might well be playing with you. Just the thought made your blood boil. You resolved then and there that the next time you met would be the last, one way or another.

Rumor was that the Perperuna had been spotted south around the Strait of Malacca, so you set a course. Sure enough the Russian pirate turned up in Singapore and you launched a hot pursuit once again, determined to catch him or die trying. As ever the Invictus, fleet as she was, could not quite keep up with Zhuk so you took a gamble, loading the long nines with chain-shot before the Perperuna was too far out of range. You hoped that the higher accuracy of the long nine guns would balance out the inherent instability of the chain-shot, but it wasn’t quite in keeping with accepted battle tactics. You were desperate to end this chase, so you ordered the crew to fire. In the aftermath of the deafening volley the deck of the Invictus fell silent as everyone aboard watched the shot tumble through the air in a merciless arc towards the Perperuna. Even from your place at the helm near the stern, you could hear the ripping of sails and the splintering of wood as the chain-shot did its job, tearing through rigging and snapping lines, killing the clipper’s forward momentum. A cheer went up from the crew as the Perperuna began to visibly lose speed. Unable to keep the triumphant smile off your face you called for the crewmen to arm themselves and prepare to board as the Invictus closed in.

But there was no way to prepare for what came next. It began as an almost imperceptible shudder that caused the deck to tremble underfoot, as though the keel were dragging along a sandbar or reef. It grew quiet again on deck as your crew paused in their tasks, exchanging bewildered expressions. Seawater gushed over the railing by the bucketful as a massive, monstrous head broke the surface of the water with a terrifying cry like rending metal. Vaguely reptilian, it stretched up and up on a long neck as thick in diameter as two men, covered in glittering scales the color of slate, towering over the deck amidships. One sailor screamed in horror, snapping the other men out of their stupor and they scrambled to aim their weapons at the monster and opened fire, too frightened to even wait for your signal. Even you could barely register what you were seeing; a real live sea serpent, straight out of the myths and legends. The barrage of gunfire did not phase the serpent, which lunged out with liquid speed and snatched a man up in its jaws with a chilling, wet crunch before it arced clear over the deck like a breaching whale, coiling its long sinewy body all the way around the Invictus before surfacing again back on the starboard side.

You drew your own pistol, already understanding what was about to happen unless by some miracle the monster was killed before it was too late. You screamed for the men to take up their arms and fire on it again even as the ship groaned under your feet. The sea serpent remained unaffected by your best efforts, slowly, maliciously constricting its gigantic coils until the air was filled with the sound of breaking wood and screaming men. The Invictus, your beloved “unbeatable” ship, held out as long as she could before imploding in the monster’s grip, sending you flying against the rail as others fell overboard or into the jagged openings where deck boards had ripped free under the pressure. The main-mast was snapped in two with a crack like thunder, slamming onto the deck of the mortally wounded vessel as those men still on their feet were forced to throw themselves out of the way.

Water was gushing into the bowels of the ship, you could already hear it. You grit your teeth, biting back a furious howl as your heart hammered in your throat. You were all doomed, there was no getting around it. Those who managed to survive the sinking would doubtless be devoured by the monster. But you would not go down without a fight. You still had time before water reached the powder magazine, so you ran there as quick as you were able. Through the thick wooden door were crates and barrels of potent black gunpowder, which you opened and threw about in handfuls, carrying a small cask with you as you backed out of the room, leaving a trail. Your one-shot pistol, useless now, you used to light the trail before racing back up to the deck. You hoped that the blast killed the beast or at least killed you; better a quick death than the agony of drowning. Though if you at least hurt the damned thing you would die satisfied.

When the powder magazine went up you were propelled into the air by the force of the explosion and time slowed to a crawl. You could see great gouts of flame roaring up from the depths of your ship, the frozen, terrified faces of your crew, the gaping red maw of the monster as fire engulfed it. You hit the water and the breath was knocked from your lungs. Stunned, you began to sink and had no energy or strength to move your arms and legs to save yourself. Without air, your vision was already darkening around the edges. Just before you lost consciousness, you could have sworn you saw a hulking man-shaped figure splash into the water above you and swimming hard toward you. Your eyes lingered on what looked like an outstretched hand before blackness swallowed you.

----

No ETA yet on Part two, but Captain Zhuk has tapped on some primal, seafaring instinct deep in my brain so there will be more.

[UPDATE!: here’s Part 2 !]

Hope you enjoyed!

#beetlejuice #mafia!beej #zhuk #pirate!zhuk #beetlejuice the musical #zhuk x reader

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sam-winchester-admiration-league · 6 years ago

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Something incredibly special is required to keep a show on the air 14 seasons. Usually, it's that one element that takes a show from average and elevates it to greatness. In the case of Supernatural, the creators, producers, and writers of Supernatural tapped into the secret that other CW shows are wisely following. That secret is to make the sibling bond the core of your show and cast actors/actresses that share that great familial bond on-screen and off. Since its very first episode Supernatural has had two perfectly cast leads in Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles who are each half of the beating heart that keeps Supernatural alive. The brotherhood, friendship, and teamwork between Sam and Dean Winchester has consistently been considered one of the best acting teams on television, and the show has mined its richest stories from testing that bond. Prophet and Loss (14x12), found the brothers on one of their least cool road trips. To permanently disable the evil archangel Michael locked away inside his mind, Dean plans to have Sam bury him alive at sea, imprisoned for eternity inside a coffin. Having failed so far to change his brother's mind, Sam must find some dissuade him or lose the person he loves most forever to a horrific fate. Jared Padalecki gives a beautiful and heartrending performance that left Supernatural fans in tears and teeming with praise. For his performance, Jared Padalecki was overwhelmingly selected as SpoilerTV Readers' Choice Performer of the Month for January.

In the first scene of the episode, Padalecki brings big brotherly energy to Sam. He hears Dean screaming out for his younger brother in his sleep, but Sam plays it cool when he checks in. The tone of his voice stays casual, yet, behind Dean's back, his face is tightly perturbed. His words are low, measured carefully because he is being careful to not spook Dean. Whether you've been watching the Winchester brothers a few months or a few years, you know that Dean is determined to condemn himself to this awful fate. To protect Sam, he's capable of leaving him behind. Sam knows it too, but that doesn't stop him from pointing out the drawbacks. Padalecki has to have this restrained conversation with his costar, keeping his tone and pitch even, because Sam is being very cautious in how he expresses doubts. Simultaneously, he has to show the audience how Sam really feels, how each moderated statement is followed by a facial expression that is strained yet hopeful. Padalecki shows that not only is Sam trying to save Dean, but also Sam's own heart is breaking in the process. The work he does in the first scene establishes the emotional foundation for following Winchester brother scenes. On the road to carry out his desperate plan, Dean asks Sam if he's still on board with the plan, as their conversation the night before did rattle him a little. Padalecki delivers Sam's response in a matter-of-fact way. Of course, he is going to keep his word to Dean. But there's a tiny indication that he panicked slightly when Dean asked him. He interrupts his regular blinking rhythm, holding his eyes open a millisecond longer than normal as if he very briefly held his breath. He also maintains this neutral level of disapproval in his voice. Sam continues to walk an emotional tightrope. The minute Dean is out of sight, Sam makes a call to their friend Cass (Misha Collins) to find out if he has found another way to stop Michael. Even in that quick conversation, there are several ways that Sam's fear is conveyed. His voice almost catches when he says he's never seen Dean like this before. It's the first crack in Sam's facade.

A trip down memory lane sets up the ending of the episode. Dean wonders if Sam ever thinks about their childhood. He expresses regret about not being a better brother. You see a little confusion cross Sam's face, and he firmly replies that Dean was always there for him. He gets this analytical look as if he's trying to piece together where this comment Dean made is coming from. Dean starts spilling out these regrets about how thinks he could have treated his younger brother better. Jensen Ackles weaves this brokenhearted longing into his voice that gives the scene this sharp agony. Sam's face, despite the tears in his eyes, tells a different story. He's actively listening, pondering everything that Dean is saying, noting these fears that his older brother is disclosing. The fact he is paying such close attention makes it surprising that he frostily shuts the conversation down. Those same tears, briefly visible again before he turns looks away, indicate how much Sam was impacted by the moment. Shortly afterward, he finds a case for them to check out. While acting almost nonchalant about it, he casually brings the case up to Dean, but they both know what he is doing, using a case as a delaying tactic to prevent his brother from carrying out his suicide mission. However, his tactic backfires on him somewhat when Dean agrees to go investigate calling it "one last mission" for the Winchester brothers. Hearing his brother describe the case that was is not what Sam was expecting and the devastation and realization that hits him are etched in his features as he fights to maintain control. There is a murder to solve, and the first stop is visiting one victim's twin brother. Neither Winchester brother has an easy time listening to the young man talk about how he never imagined it could feel this bad to lose his sibling. However, Sam avoids acknowledging the glances that Dean keeps sending his way. Padalecki makes sure you are aware that Sam is deliberately choosing to hold his emotions in check, in order to create a vacuum that Dean has no choice but to fill with his own feelings. Sam is refusing to let his older brother play the strong one, hoping that Dean will choose on his own to take a different path. The situation is taking a toll on Sam though. When they catch up to the delusional murderer, Sam shuts him down very aggressively, close to losing control. And he's visibly distraught when they lose the man who thought he was hearing divine voices ordering him to kill his victims. This senseless loss of life hits close to home for Sam, and viewers are reminded he's running out of time to save Dean.

To prevent any more murders, the brothers realize they must take their friend, the prophet Donatello, off life-support. The doctor reassures them that letting go is the right choice, and Dean gives Sam a clear I-told-you-so look. The case has reinforced Dean's decision that he needs to sacrifice himself to restore order to the world. Cass joins them at the hospital and makes a strong plea for Dean to reconsider, but it's clear that the older Winchester is slipping away, disconnecting emotionally from his brother, his friend, and life itself. They then make an unexpected discovery. There is a chance to save Donatello. Dean and Sam sit down to wait, while Cass treats Donatello. Noticing that his younger brother is lost in thought, Dean asks him if he's alright. Sam admits that he's thinking about what it would be like--to be trapped inside your own body with nowhere to go, unable to do anything. Dean brushes the thought away with a cold smirk, and for just a second you see Sam's face filled with hopeless despair. It is a brief interlude, but Padalecki uses every inch of it to show Sam losing his grip on hope. Despite being clear how he felt about his brother's decision these are the first moments Padalecki has Sam truly let down all his guards and show Dean just how truly devastating an impact this decision is having on his brother. Padalecki. It's a masterful moment as Padalecki expresses all those emotions with few words, letting his face and his eyes do most of his talking.

Cass saves Donatello, and Sam slips away afterward. Dean goes looking for him, and He finds his brother leaning against their car, their faithful friend through hundreds of adventures, with beers waiting. Sam's demeanor has changed. He keeps his sentences short and sarcastic. A brief, bitter chuckle in response to Dean apologizing for joking about leaving. Padalecki gives one of the most heartbreaking speeches in the show's history, as Sam asks just how sorry Dean is and why. He struggles to briskly pour out his words, trying to keep them angry but unable to keep the huskiness out of his voice. When Sam says that Dean wants him to throw away faith and throw away family, his chest begins to rise and fall faster than normal, as if he's going to heave. He steps up to Dean and hits him in the chest. Padalecki makes this sneer that disappears almost as soon as it starts as if Sam is fighting to hold onto his rage. He begins to plead with Dean, telling him he's quitting and giving up too soon on finding another way. He beats his hands against Dean's chest. It's as if time turns back and Padalecki becomes the little boy that Sam once was. The one beseeching his big brother to not leave him behind. He points at himself and tells Dean he believes in them. Dean looks away, down towards the ground. And the anger flares up, as Sam winds up and throws a punch right into his brother's face. Dean reels in surprise, but Sam is already winding up for a second one. Padalecki lets you see how determined Sam is to do whatever it takes. Sam repeats that he believes in them, even as Dean grabs his arms to block the next swing. But instead of struggling. Sam drops his shoulders and fiercely wraps his arms around his big brother. Gripping Dean's jacket, he chokes out a heartbreaking question through gritted teeth, asking Dean why he doesn't believe in them too. The fury evaporates, as he rests his cheek against his brother's neck, and he just holds on to his brother. Dean says he will go home with Sam. And Sam steps back, unsure if he can believe this, with his jaw still rigid and his eyes still wet. Dean says he does believe in them but asks Sam to promise him that if they don't find another way his younger brother will do then what he can't now. This time it's Sam who looks down. He sniffles and trembles, but he looks up to meet Dean's gaze squarely in the eye. He makes the promise, and a tear as big as his heart runs down each of his cheeks. Before getting in the car, Sam tucks his lip in and composes himself, relief and determination on his face. The fight to save Dean isn't over yet, but Sam's heartfelt plea has bought them some time. Padalecki's weary posture and hesitation before getting in the car show that Sam knows he may have won this battle but that the war goes on.

For over 13 years and through 300 episodes, Supernatural has prospered, and fans credit that to the superb work of the cast. Jared Padalecki gave one of his finest performances to date in this episode. He gave Sam courage and vulnerability, made you feel every bit of the fight to save Dean. The episode wouldn't have the dramatic stakes or the heart-twisting agony without his work. You've seen Sam is difficult predicaments before. You've seen him grieve. You've seen him protect his brother. However, Padalecki shows you a Sam you haven't seen, gives a new dimension both to his character and to the bond between the Winchester brothers. He keeps the viewer with Sam for every breath, every tear, every tense second. The ending wouldn't be as emotionally satisfying if you weren't feeling every quiver of his broad shoulders. When Dean hugs Sam in the end, finally yielding to his brother's love, he hugs the audience too. For all these reasons and many more, Jared Padalecki was voted January Performer of the Month by our Readers.

Article here.

#Jared Padalecki #spn #supernatural #Sam Winchester #SpoilerTV #acting

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 years ago

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The thrill of it all (2/9)

Summary: Rose and Tom have been together for 7 years when he breaks up with her. She has no idea why. Tom regrets it almost immediately but still moves on. Until he realized what a huge mistake he has made.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston / OFC

Warnings: angst

can also be found on AO3

Masterlist

Rose spent 3 whole days in agony after Tom left her in their home. Their home. She liked the house the first moment she laid her eyes on it. Tom just came back from yet another Marvel movie, rocking his black hair. She secretly loved him with black hair. It made his eyes so much more intense. On the other hand he could be bald and she would still love him.

“Can’t it wait till tomorrow, Darling? I have been on a plane for the last 12 hours. I don’t even know which time zone my body is in.”, he had whined and pouted. He hated flying and Rose knew that.

“I will do anything you want if you do this for me now. I really really feel like this could be it.”,, she had answered him, her hands behind his neck.

“Anything I want? That is an offer I can’t resist.”, he had smirked and kissed her breathless. They had looked at so many houses, that the moment Tom’s car parked in front of the beautiful white building she had already decided that this is where they would live. ”Come on Tom. It even has a green/golden door. It must be faith.” Rose had giggled when they went up the stairs to greet the realtor. He only shook his head and took her had at that. A little smirk on his face.

“I will do anything you want if you do this for me now. I really really feel like this could be it.”,, she had answered him, her hands behind his neck. “Anything I want? That is an offer I can’t resist.”, he had smirked and kissed her breathless.

They had looked at so many houses, that the moment Tom’s car parked in front of the beautiful white building she had already decided that this is where they would live.

”Come on Tom. It even has a green/golden door. It must be faith.” Rose had giggled when they went up the stairs to greet the realtor. He only shook his head and took her had at that. A little smirk on his face.

The trip down memory lane was interrupted by the doorbell. Rose sighed. Back to real life it was.

“You look like hell”, where the first words out of Emma’s mouth. Tom’s sister had become one of her closest friends in the last couple of years. The blonde woman hugged Rose and handed her a very delicious smelling cup of coffee. “Well if your dear brother hadn’t broken up with me, my looks would for sure be a whole lot better.” Rose looked at her friend and took a big sip of her coffee. “I still can’t believe it. Why would he do something like this?” Rose looked at Emma. She looked so much like Tom. Sometimes she thought they secretly where twins. “I only know that he met another woman back in New York.” “Well she must have made an impression.”, Emma whispered more to herself than for Rose to hear. “I bet she has.” Tears where in Rose’s eyes again. She blinked them away. “Sorry that was beyond rude.” “It’s nothing I haven’t thought of in the last days. I keep thinking about what I did wrong in the past. Maybe we did not make enough time for each other…”, Rose started but was interrupted from Emma.

“Don’t do this. I hope that once he calms down you will get the answers you are searching for. No point in thinking about it now when you won’t get them.”

“Easier said as done.”

“I know. So what should we do? Get drunk? Eat ice cream? Watch as many Ryan Gosling movies as we can get our hands on?”

They went to the kitchen to sit. “I need your help Emma. I know you are his sister, but I need someone to help me pack my things. And there’s a lot of it.” “But Tom said you could stay here. I talked to him yesterday.” “I don’t want to. We build this home together. I can’t continue to live here without him. Every stupid things holds a memory. I just can’t.” Rose shook her head. Yesterday she cried because of the pillow Tom and her had bought together on their first vacation in Egypt. Emma scooted next to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. Embracing her in a tight hug. “I understand. I will help you. You can stay with me if you want to. Or with mum. I bet she won’t talk to Tom for at least 5 years after this stunt.” “I couldn’t…” “Yes you could and you will. You know mom always thought of you as her third daughter. I do to by the way. Just because you two aren’t together anymore, doesn’t mean you are going to lose us.” “Thank you Emma.” “Every time. So, you don’t have to pack everything now. Just grab what you’ll need for the next week and we’ll be back then.” “I can’t. If I’m going to stay with you, till I find a new place I don’t want to constantly have to get back here to pick up things. I want to pack everything now. As long…” she took a breath. “As long as Tom’s not here.” “I understand. So. Let’s get a couple of boxes and start?”

It took Rose and Emma 2 days to pack everything up. Rose’s whole life was now standing in the living room, packed in about 40 boxes. She didn’t realize how much stuff she had, until this moment.

Emma was already in her car, waiting for Rose to join her. Rose had a couple of moments for herself. She went up to the library. It has always been her favourite place of the house. The smell of books and something which could only be described as typically Tom always made her homesick. Because her home was Tom. Not this house. She realized in this moment, that it would be next to impossible to find a new home. She would be able to find a new house. To find new furniture. To paint the walls by herself. But to find someone like Tom again… He used to practically live in this room when he was learning his lines. Only interrupted when he was hungry or tired. Every so often she had found him passed out on the window seat, his script on his chest. His glasses deep down on his nose, about to fall off. She shook her head. A light smile on her lips. Even after the heartbreak she could not not miss him. Not not love him. She desperately tried to hate him for what he did. But she couldn’t. She tucked the letter she wrote this morning in his favourite book and left their house.

The next days were spend constantly on the internet. Rose tried to find a new place to stay in London first. Her whole life she lived in London, so why change it now? Sure she had planned to go to LA, but alone? That’s when she saw the message her friend Ryan had sent her after they talked. He had invited her so stay with his family for the next couple of months and to write. She was supposed to write a few songs with him anyway and there were worse things than staying in San Francisco for a couple of months. As much as she loved the whole Hiddleston family, they all reminded her of Tom. She still couldn’t wrap her head around all that happened. Sure they had their problems. Like in every relationship not everything was pink and fluffy all the time. But the majority of the last years had been perfect. She had been with him when he got the part playing Loki, which changed his whole career. And he had been with her on every step of her way to make a name for herself in the music industry. They practically grew up together. Career wise. Maybe in all of this she lost the sight of what was important? Should she have made more time for him? Shaking her head she closed her notebook and made herself ready. She had to tell her father that Tom and her had broken up.

Visiting her father was something Rose did every week. So when she postponed last week, he immediately got suspicious. They had a special bond. Rose’s mother died 20 years ago, while on her way to bring their son, David, Rose’s brother to football practice. A moving truck overlooked them crossing the street. They had no chance. Both of them died in the week after the accident in the hospital. Rose had been 9 years old at this time. It had been him and Rose ever since. They didn’t have any other family. When he opened the door to welcome his daughter on that day it took about 20 seconds before she flung herself crying into his arms.

“It’s going to be okay. You survived worse.” Her father soothed her and half hour later, after she calmed herself. Rose was proud of herself for only falling apart once while another person was present. “I know. Dad?” “Yes?” “I think I’m going to stay with Ryan for a couple months.” “In the states?” “San Francisco. I always wanted to go and I can’t be here right now.” “I understand. Maybe I’ll come visit you.”

“You should. Ryan’s house is as big as Buckingham palace. I bet he has a room for you.” Rose smiled.

Diana was just on her way back home after visiting Emma, when her phone ringed. She took a deep breath before she answered the call. “Hello Thomas.” “Hi Mum…” Tom had been trying to postpone this call for a while now. “So, how are you?” Diana asked her son. “I’m… I don’t know how I am.” No point in lying to her. “Then come home and fix it. She is a mess Tom. She’s trying to figure out why you don’t want to be with her anymore and so am I to be completely honest with you.” “I want her to be happy. I want her to get married and have kids.” “But she wants to have that with you. Why did you break up with her?” She asked softly. “I don’t love her like I used to.” “But you still love her?” “I don’t think I ever won’t.” he admitted honestly. He heard his name been called from the outside. “Then please think about it. I don’t want you to regret this decision for the rest of your life.” Diana pleaded her son. “Thank you mom. Love you.” “Love you too.” She sighed and disconnected the call. She hoped for her son’s sake that he made the right decision for himself. Even if she couldn’t understand it.

Tom went to the window where he had a view over the ocean. Several people were down at the beach. Music was playing. He was happy and sad at the same time. He saw her smiling at one of her friends before her eyes shifted and found his She smiled and he smiled back, giving her a small wave to show her he’ll be down shortly. Tom stepped away from the window and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t love her. But he could. He for sure had a crush on her. He rolled his eyes. How old was he? 12? No. He had to try. And even if it was just to prove to himself that he made the right decision in breaking up with Rose.

….

“I really really want to call him and ask him what on earth is wrong with him.”, Ben shook his head and looked at Rose. “Well, get in line. I know at least 4 other people, me included.” It has now been 19 days since Tom broke up with her. But it had only been 16 hours ago when pictures of Tom kissing another woman came out all over the world. And it hurted. Like hell. In that moment she was glad that they had a very private relationship. She only went to a couple of events with him. They hadn’t been seen together in almost 2 years if she remembered correctly. “Are you doing okay?” Ben asked. He wanted to check on her earlier, but he only got back to the UK yesterday. When he saw the paparazzi pictures of Tom with Taylor only after waking up this morning, he had to reach out immediately. “I’m thinking about leaving for a little while.” “Oh?” “Well Ryan is working on a new project and wanted my opinion. I also happen to have written a couple of songs in the last weeks, which I wanted to get out there. I should probably just sell them to Adele. She’s good with stuff like that.” “Oh Rosie.” Ben sighed. “No it’s okay. I have to move on. Somehow.” “But it’s okay to take your time for that. Don’t do anything just for the sake of moving on.” “I won’t. I wanted to leave London for a little while anyway.” “I know. Sophie complained about it ever since you two announced it.”, Ben chuckled. “She’s only complaining because she’s losing her best babysitter.” “Aren’t you the godmother of my first born or do I recall that wrong?” “You don’t. But I still can be godmothering from another continent. And it won’t be forever.” “It better not be.” He smiled “Call me if you ever need anything. I mean it.” “I will.”

In the middle of August Rose found herself in her best friend Ryan’s studio at his house. “It’s wonderful.” Ryan looked at her in awe. “Thank you. Do you think someone would be interested?” “They would be insane to not be. But are you sure?” “Why wouldn’t I? Something good has to come out of this whole mess.” Ryan sighed and looked at his friend. She was a shadow of the woman, he used to work with. Her usually sunkissed skin pale, she had lost weight and her blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. He had met Rose about 15 years ago after a concert back in London, when she gave him a demo tape of a song she recorded. That happened occasionally back in the day. But when he sat down and listened to her song, he heard big potential. So he contacted her and worked with her ever since. It was her song that got his band a nomination for their first Grammy 6 years ago. “These are your feelings, your deepest feelings which would be sang out to the world by someone else. Don’t get me wrong. This is next level stuff. You have to be absolutely sure that you want this.” “Maybe I should just release it myself.”, Rose joked. “With your voice I don’t know why you haven’t earlier to be honest.” “I was joking Ryan.” “I don’t.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I could live with either way at the moment, if I’m fully honest.” “Take your time. It’s barely been 3 months since all of this happened. You don’t just get over the last 7 years in a snap.” “But I wish I could. I miss him. So much.” Rose shifted her eyes to the corner of the room, holding her tears in. She hadn’t cried since she got to the states 3 weeks ago. There were still times at night, when she woke up, that she reached out to the place in bed next to her, when it hit her, that there was no one. But she didn’t cry in those moments. She was done crying. “I know Sweetheart. I know.” Ryan scooted closer to her, and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “Not to sound cliché but it will get easier.” “You’re one to talk. You’ve been married for nearly 20 years.” “Well yes, but I was young and heartbroken once too.”, he winked at her. “Idiot.” She giggled. “Come on. Let’s get upstairs before my wife sends in the searching troop.”

>> Chapter 3

#tom hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston ff #ff #fanfiction

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uzukamis · 6 years ago

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It all happened so fast. there was no time to react— no time to stop, to help, protect her—!

Everything was fine earlier. Taylor and Ajay has just finished dinner at a lovely restaurant in the nicer part of town, and had taken the scenic route back to Ajay’s car to ‘help settle their stomaches.’ Holding hands, they strolled down the sidewalk in their own little world, gazing into each other’s eyes, wondering if the other was thinking about them. Taylor spotted a small ice cream shop down the road and eagerly dragged Ajay over for some tasty treats. Ajay gazed at Taylor, bewildered as she ordered cotton candy ice cream. Taylor turned toward him and stuck out her tongue, blowing him a quick raspberry before quickly accepting her ice cream. Ajay rolled his eyes and turned towards the register to order. Now it was Taylor’s turn to roll her eyes when he faced her, a double scoop of chocolate ice cream in his hand. Ajay scoffed at her expression, and the two of them continued on in silence, enjoying their ice cream hand in hand.

They stopped by a nearby park to finish off their ice cream before they finally head to the car. They took at seat at the swing set under the night sky. Ajay looked at Taylor under the moonlight, digging delightfully into her cotton candy cone. She caught his gaze and tilted her head, silently asking what was wrong. Ajay slowly reached over, and wiped some ice cream off her cheek. Taylor leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. Ajay leaned forward and placed his forehead on hers. The two of them leaned into each other pressing their lips together for a chaste kiss. Ajay looked down at Taylor, and she was almost overwhelmed by the soft affection in his eyes. And all of that was for her. Overcome with adoration, Taylor leaned forward to capture his lips again. Ajay’s lips immediately melded against hers as both their eyes slid shut, and his hand moved for her cheek to the back of her neck, bringing her even closer. Their mouths’ moved in sync against each other, and Taylor’s hand found its way to Ajay’s hair, running her fingers through his thick locks. They separated, gasping for breath and savoring the moment. A sweet kiss in the park under the pale moonlight. Ajay turned away from Taylor just in time to see his top ice cream scoop drip off his hand and onto his pants. He and Taylor looked at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles. The two of them shared a small smile and hurried off to the car to get Ajay cleaned up.

The two of them arrived at the car and used napkins to clean off the stain as much as possible. Taylor burst into a giggle fit, laughing at how much the ice cream spread when he tried to wipe it off. Ajay scowled, sending a death glare at Taylor, but it didn’t work. When he was done, they both climbed into the car, and Ajay started for Taylor’s house. Looking at the time, he sped up, realizing he might not get there before the time Taylor’s twin has specified. She thought having a curfew but dumb, but Ajay thought it was cute that her twin was so protective of her. When they entered the highway, Ajay cast a sidelong glance at her. She caught his eye and turned to meet his gaze. They smiled at each other, before Taylor turned back to the road.

He wished he didn’t remember it so vividly

He faced Taylor. Her loving eyes bore into him and it filled him with a great fondness for her. He moved to take her hand. He looked up only to see her face morph into one of unbridled horror. Confused, he turned around only to be blinded by white light and as his other hand made it back to the wheel, a great force slammed into the car, sending them flying. Ajay felt his ribs crack as his steering wheel was forced inward and his he was sure he had whiplash with how hard his neck was just thrown. Glass littered his lap and the airbag forced it into his chest and his legs. He was sure he felt his legs snap as the front of his car was forced inward. Immediately after the car stopped moving his senses were filled with pain. Suddenly he remembered Taylor, and quickly he turned to check on her. She had slumped over in her seat, and wasn’t moving. Ajay panicked and moved to touch her, but before he could, a familiar white light filled the car once more this time from the right side. In an instant, Ajay realized three things:

1. The first crash had sent his car careening into the next lane, directly across it, to be precise

2. There was oncoming traffic that wouldn’t see him since they were at a corner

3. It was the passenger side of the car that faced the oncoming traffic.

Ajay could barely brace before another car barreled into the front, the passenger side taking the brunt of the hit. It pushed the car back and before Ajay even realized it the car was tumbling down a cliffside. The car rolled down the hill, bumping into trees and rocks, getting continuously battered. The car finally stopped rolling and sat at an incline on the hill. Dumbly, Ajay sat up, feeling an overwhelming pain in his head. He let out a loud hiss and moved his hand to check it, only to find his left arm broken. Slightly distressed, but more focused on his head, he instead moved his right hand and felt a large gash on his head. As soon as he touched it pain overwhelmed him again, and he let out a howl, which did not help. He was sure he should be passed out by now but there was one last thing he had to do before he did. Dizzily, Ajay gathered his bearings as best he could, and once more turned to check on Taylor. He heard himself speak once more.

“Are you ok? Please, please be ok…” he managed, head in agony, pleading for release.

Ajay felt all the air leave his body. Suddenly he heard himself screaming. Taylor’s body was torn and broken beyond recognition. The airbags has mostly protected them from the first crash, but on the second, Taylor was not so lucky. The second crash and shattered her right arm, and she was bleeding from the head and nose when it slammed into the dashboard, and then her window. The metal of the car had completely crushed her legs, folding over them with the door and the dashboard trapping them at the knees. While the airbag had protected him (somewhat)during the fall, it had completely depressed her chest cavity, and he could tell that more than a few, if not all her ribs were broken. When he finished screaming, he reached over and shook her. No response. Numbly, he cupped her face. “...Taylor...?” He whispered. Inwardly, he knew he wouldn’t get a response. Taylor was trapped. Even if someone did make it down there in time, he knew there was no hope for saving you, not at the rate she were losing blood. He reached down to hold your hand and stopped short, and for a moment, his thoughts cleared and formed a single thought.

This...

This was his fault.

Staring at her hand he realized, he had done this to her. He has looked away from the road to hold her hand, and he had caused this mess. Guilt and anguish flooded his body and overtook his senses. Instantly his eyes were overflowing with tears and he grasped Taylor’s hand, holding it to his face. His head pounded and every instinct screamed that he try to get help for himself and Taylor but all he could do was cry. Sobbing, he put her hand against his face, as if she were caressing her cheek like she had done earlier that night. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I did this to you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I- I...” Ajay’s thoughts became fuzzy again and his apologies turned into anguished mumbles as the strength from his prior reaction ebbed out of him. He felt himself fading, and, using the last of his strength, the pain slurring his words and misguiding his arm, he reached over to place one last kiss on Taylor’s cold lips, touching her cheek with his shaky fingers. “I love you.” He murmured, and then all was still.

#ok so its probably mediocre #but i hope it was worth the wait?#idk im not good at writing actual fics #there you go lol #submission #tw

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swanqueeneverafter · 6 years ago

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After The Sunset, Pt.11

Wonderland. Past. Rapunzel's Country Estate. (Rapunzel stands over Anastasia's open casket as Drizella and her fiance approach.) Drizella: “It's like a painting. A mother mourns the loss of her only loved child.” Rapunzel: “Drizella?” Drizella: “I told Prince Gregor everything.” Prince Gregor: (Stalking forward and draws his sword:) “I won't let you harm my bride like you did her sister.” Drizella: (Waving her hand and freezing Gregor in place:) “That's enough. I think we should talk first. (Joining her mother beside Anastasia’s casket:) You know, I've been trying my whole life to win your approval. But now I realize I'm never going to get it, (Looks down at her sister:) because I'm not her.” Rapunzel: (Coldly:) “You're most certainly not. So, you’ve come to kill me, Drizella? To make me pay for what I’ve done? Well go ahead, you can’t hurt me now.” Drizella: “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I didn't bring Gregor here to kill you, Mother. I brought him here to kill something else.” Rapunzel: “What are you talking about?” Drizella: “You may not have allowed Ana and I to use the magic we have inside of us, but that doesn't mean I haven't studied. I know of a way to resurrect Anastasia, Mother." Rapunzel: "You do?" Drizella: (Nods:) "It requires replacing Ana's scorched heart with one filled with belief." Rapunzel: (Gazing down at Anastasia's lifeless body:) "Is it true? Is there really hope?" Drizella: (Continues:) "I always knew that you loved her more. I guess I just didn't realise how much until now. And that’s why I can’t let you have what you want.” (Suddenly, Drizella reaches over and takes Prince Gregor’s sword from his frozen hand and stabs him in the chest with it, killing him.) Rapunzel: (Stepping back in shock:) “Drizella. What have you done?” Drizella: “What I had to. I turned my heart black and now it's of no use to you, Mother.“ Rapunzel: “Why would you do this?” Drizella: “I want you to suffer. I want you to live with the knowledge that you have lost both your daughters. I want your misery to fester and grow until everything you see, you breathe, you feel... is pain.” (Drizella clicks her fingers and disappears in a cloud of smoke.)

Storybrooke. Present. Town Hall. (Emma is outside Regina's office. She tries to open the door but it's locked.) Emma: “Gina. I know you're in there. I can see the light's on. (Sighs and leans against the door:) I know this is all... mortifying, but you can’t avoid it forever. (No answer:) Look, you weren’t the only one who got caught last night. My mom just saw my naked, spanked red ass on her work desk and you don’t see me locking myself away! C’mon, just let me in and we’ll face this together, okay?” (After a long pause, Emma hears the door unlock and Regina move away from the door. Smiling, Emma turns the handle and enters the mayor’s office.) Wonderland. Past. (Will Scarlett is brought before the Queen of Hearts. Pushed to his knees by two guards, a third hands Cora Will's bag.) Cora: "You know, I really should thank you, Knave. With Anastasia's tragic accident and Rapunzel lost to grief, there is no one left to stand in my way. I couldn't have planned things better myself." Will: "If you're going to kill me, just do it here and now. I don't much fancy being watched by a crowd as I die." Cora: "Oh, I'm not going to kill you. After the Red Queen's reign of tyranny, the people of Wonderland require a much more... benevolent ruler. (Looking through his bag:) In fact, I think it's time I returned something to you. (Pulling a small box from inside Will's bag, Cora motions for the guards to stand him up. Lifting the lid and taking out the heart, the Queen steps down from the dais, closer to Will:) Now this may sting a little. (Will cries out in agony as Cora returns his heart through his chest. Walking back up the dais to the bag, she retrieves another item from it:) As my first official act as ruler of Wonderland, I'm going to banish the man responsible for all of the recent turmoil." Will: (When Cora pulls out the looking glass:) "No, please. I need that to rescue Alice!" Cora: (Considers the looking glass:) "Did you know that looking glasses were created in Wonderland, and that each one has a twin? They were originally kept in pairs so that when a time came that you were going to be separated from the one you care about, you gave one to that person so you may keep in contact whenever and wherever you like. More recently, as they've become scarce, when someone finds a looking glass, they use it as a portal to another land. No doubt this is what you had planned for your sister?" Will: "Please..." Cora: "Let's see where this portal takes you, shall we? (Throwing down the looking glass, a pool of silvery liquid forms out of the shattered pieces of the mirror. Nodding to the guards, they pick Will up from the floor once more:) Knave of Hearts, you are hereby banished from Wonderland forever more." (With that, the guards shove Will through the portal and out of Wonderland.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. Aboard The Jolly Roger. (Captain Hook yells orders at his men through rough seas.) Hook: “Bring her about, men! Look alive! Pick up the pace! The Jolly Roger is the fastest ship in the realm. (Slaps rail:) So why does it have the slowest crew?!” Nemo: “They're tired.” Hook: “Who dares defy me?” Nemo: (Stands tall:) “I do.” Hook: “It appears we have a stowaway. (Two of the crew grab Nemo and bring him towards the captain:) Who are you, and how did you get aboard my ship?” Nemo: “I am... no one.” Hook: (Chuckles:) “Right.” Nemo: “Just a man who's come to ask you one simple question.” Hook: “Aye, well... (Holding his sword to Nemo’s throat:) better make it a good one 'cause it's gonna be your last.” Nemo: “Is taking your revenge against the Dark One worth all the time you've spent chasing it?” Hook: “I'll let you know after I've skinned myself a crocodile, but first... I'll just have to settle for you.” Man: (As Hook is about to run Nemo through:) “Narwhale! Starboard bow!” Hook: (To Nemo:) “Don't move. (Hook and the crew move to the starboard side of the ship to see large green eyes staring up at them from beneath the sea:) Sea monster! Man the cannons! Bring her about! On the double! (Hurling a spear at the monster, Hook sees that the ‘monster’ is in fact a ship:) That's impossible.” Nemo: “I assure you it's quite possible. That's no sea monster.” Hook: “What does that mean? What the devil are you up to?” Nemo: “Giving you a choice.” Hook: “I’m not bloody getting on that thing.” (Just then, amid the commotion, a portal opens above them and Will Scarlett comes falling out of it. Landing on top of Hook, causing both men to tumble into the sea.) Nemo: (Shrugging:) “Whatever works.” (Nemo follows them into the water.) Storybrooke. Present. Blanchard Apartment. (Regina paces the floor, deeply uncomfortable as she listens to Snow White speak. Emma, for her part, stands by the table waiting for her mother to finish talking.) Snow White: "...And I think we can all agree that what happened at the school can never happen again." Emma: "For the last time, no one was supposed to be there. You weren't supposed to be there." Snow White: "Well excuse me for driving by, seeing the lights on in my classroom and getting curious." Regina: "What were you even doing out at that time? (Looking to David:) Aren't you Charmings usually tucked up asleep in bed by 7pm?" David: (Arms folded:) "Hey, don't bring me into this." Snow White: "Thank you for the support, David. (To Regina:) Don't try and make me out to be the bad guy here. (To Emma:) You were making love on top of a stack of unmarked homework." Regina: (Scoffs:) "Unmarked? Now who's the irresponsible one?" Emma: "Regina-" Regina: "And what you saw was not love making, there's a difference. What we were doing was f-" Emma: (Cutting in:) "For the record... what we were doing was completely legal and between two consenting, married adults. Quite frankly, Regina and I resent being called here to be scolded like two horny teenagers." Snow White: "Well if the shoe fits..." Regina: "You know what-"

Emma: (Holding back her wife and rounding on David:) "I seem to recall a similar situation happening right here in this apartment between you two. In fact that was worse because there was an actual child present." David: "That was one time." Emma: "So was this!" Snow White: "No, Emma. This has been going on between you both for quite awhile now, people have noticed." Regina: "What people? I want names." Snow White: "Oh, you want names? Okay, well, do you know the Muffin Man?" Emma: "The Muffin Man?" Regina: (Wincing:) "Who lives on Drury Lane?" Snow White: "Oh, so you do know the Muffin Man?" Regina: (Knowing what's coming:) "Yes, we know the Muffin Man! (Mutters the rest:) Who lives on Drury Lane." Snow White: "Well, I overheard him talking to Marco the other day about what he found one morning when he came in to open the bakery." Emma: (Realising what's coming next:) "Oh God." Snow White: "His countertop covered in flour apart from one spot that could only have been made by the outline of someone's butt! (David snorts with laughter at this while Snow glares at him. Emma stifles her own laughter as she spares a glance towards Regina who is subconsciously brushing phantom flour from her skirt:) So I don't think what happened at the school was a one off event at all. And, let's not forget what you two were up to at the town meeting." David: "All right, Snow, that's enough. Look, we're not angry with you at all. Clearly you two are in the honeymoon stage and I, for one, think it's only natural to want to try a few things." Regina: (Wanting to be anywhere but here:) "I can't believe this is happening." David: "But having said that, this public..." Snow White: (Helpfully:) "Lewdness?" David: "Right, lewdness can't go on." Emma: "You guys get that we weren't actually trying to get caught, right?" Snow White: "But you were and now most of the town knows about it." Regina: (Looming over Snow:) "For someone who's not mad, you're sounding awfully judgemental." David: "We just think that maybe now is the time for you guys to finally have that honeymoon you never took." Regina: (Her attention taken by this:) "Honeymoon?" Snow White: (Relieved:) "Yeah, it makes sense. You never took one after you got married for several reasons. But now that it's just the two of you, maybe it's the ideal time for you to have some fun... elsewhere?” Emma: (Looking to Regina:) "Well, I guess we could think about it?" Regina: (Considers:) "We do have a few weeks before the next town meeting." Emma: "And there's nothing going on at the station." Snow White: "Great, then it's settled. You two start thinking of places you may wanna spend your vacation and don't worry about a thing while you're gone." Regina: (Scoffs:) "And why not?" Snow White: "Well, because David and I can take care of things, just until you get back of course." Regina: "Oh, no. I'm not gonna stand here and be chastised one minute and have you steal my job the next. If Emma and I do decide to take our honeymoon, we'll be the ones to pick our replacements." David: (Stepping in before Snow can protest:) "That's absolutely fine by us. As long as you two get to spend some quality time alone together, that's all that matters." Emma: "Good, then... that's settled, I guess." (Having reached a consensus, Emma and Regina begin to take their leave.) Regina: (Standing at the door:) "Oh, one last thing before I forget. If you two are still looking to sell this place, remember that full disclosure is a legal requirement for all real estate transactions." Snow White: (Nods:) "We know." Regina: "Good. Then in that spirit... (Begins pointing in several directions:) Emma and I had sex on that couch, that table, those stairs, that bed, upstairs and... oh yes, that chair. (Smiles as Snow springs to her feet immediately:) So glad we could clear the air." (Regina turns and leaves the apartment while Emma stares blankly at her parents. Having no words, Emma quickly follows her wife out the door.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. Aboard The Nautilus. (Laying unconscious in the ship’s floor, both Will and Hook are prodded awake by the ship’s crew.) Liam: “Welcome aboard, mates.” Will: (Groaning as he sits up:) “Aye, thank you.” (Hook on the other hand rushes to his feet, knocking the crewmen aside and runs to the door, which turns out to be a window, looking out at the sea surrounding them.) Hook: “Where the devil am I? (Turning his attention toward Will, grabbing him and pushing him against a wall:) What kind of dark magic is this?” Nemo: (Entering:) “Not magic. You're aboard my ship. You're now many fathoms under the sea. Welcome to the Nautilus.” Will: “Er... what’s going on... Who are you?” Nemo: “Call me... Nemo.” Hook: (Releasing Will and turning towards the captain:) “What do you want?” Nemo: “This ship is much more than steel and rivets. It's a second chance.” Will: “A second chance? I’m listening.” Hook: “Well I’m bloody not. (To Nemo:) You're daft if you think I'll spend any longer in this underwater coffin than I have to.” (Nemo places something on the table in front of him and spins it. The tip of the arrow pointing almost magnetically at Hook.) Nemo: “I know your heart is filled with hatred, seeking revenge. This harpoon was enchanted to help me find wayward souls like your own.” Hook: “And then what? Fill it with something else?” Nemo: “Yes, Hook. With the one thing missing in your life... family.” Hook: (Stalking towards Nemo:) “No one... will ever replace... what the Dark One took from me.” Nemo: “I know it feels that way now...” Hook: “You have no idea how it feels!” Nemo: “That's where you're wrong. You see, I lost a family, too. They were brutally murdered while I was at sea. I spent decades hunting down the men responsible for what happened. I killed one of them with this very blade. And when I was finished, all I was left with was an empty heart and a bloodstained harpoon.” Hook: “I don't need a family. Let me off. Now.” Will: “I’d think again about that, mate. This ain’t the type of ship you’d survive being thrown overboard from.” Hook: “I don’t remember asking your opinion, whoever you are!” Nemo: “Yes, I was quite curious to know that myself. Who are you, lad? Or perhaps you’d prefer if we called you ‘Man who fell from the sky’?” Will: (Stepping forward:) “The name’s Will Scarlett. I’ve just been banished from Wonderland and ended up here. Wherever ‘here’ is.” Hook: “Aye, good point. (To Nemo:) We are still in the Enchanted Forest, aren’t we?” Nemo: “Yes, but the Nautilus has the power to travel to any realm I so choose. Right now however, there's a mission I need your help with. It's an important one, and when it's done... you will see that this ship... is exactly where you belong.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (A young Drizella is playing a game of hide and seek in the woods.) Drizella: “Seven, eight, nine, ten! Ready or not, here I come! (Choosing a direction, Drizella runs off in search of her sister. Coming to a hollowed out tree, the girl moves the foliage aside, certain she’s found her sibling:) Found you, Ana. (Coming up empty, Drizella turns and runs further into the forest. Soon finding herself completely lost:) Anastasia?! Anastasia?! Where are you?!” (Turning, Drizella looks up into the sky to see a lantern floating by. Wiping her eyes, Drizella runs towards the direction the lantern was coming from and finds her older sister.) Anastasia: (As Drizella runs into her arms:) “I knew that lantern would guide you to me.” Drizella: “I got so lost.” Anastasia: “Don't worry, Drizella. I promise, your big sister will never leave you.” Drizella: (Straightening up:) “We might have found each other, but now we're both lost.” Anastasia: “Luckily, I know a way we can get back home. Take my hands. Now, close your eyes and concentrate. As long as we're together, we'll always find a way back home.” (Opening her eyes, Drizella smiles and turns to see several lanterns now illuminating their way.) Wonderland. Past. Several Years Later. (Drizella circles her sister’s body, talking to her.) Drizella: “You said you'd never leave me. But I suppose this wasn’t really your choice. You were always the favoured daughter, and yet I never suffered under your shadow. You made sure of that. Now it’s my turn to make sure Mother never forgets what she did to us.” Gothel: (Appearing behind her:) “Oh, if you only knew.” Drizella: “Who are you?” Gothel: “I am the person who will help you extract vengeance against those who have wronged you.” Drizella: “There’s only one who fits that description.” Gothel: (Glancing down at Anastasia’s body:) “There's great power in family, but nothing left to glean from yours. (Gothel opens her hand to reveal a gold coin. Closing her hand once more, the coin reappears in Drizella’s:) My circle of sisters has the most powerful magic in this realm. Join us or suffer your failures alone. The choice is yours.” (Drizella examines the coin in her hand, glancing back at Gothel, she discovers the witch has vanished.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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