#Devil s tuning fork | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imjustasimpxd · 5 months

Text

My Angel (Part Three)

➬ Reiner Braun x Fem reader

Part one | Part two | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

Summary : Reiner was always taught that the devils of Paradis were vicious creatures, but what is he supposed to do when he soon finds himself reluctantly falling for one? Or when he is forced to go back to Marley and leave her altogether?

Word count : Almost 4, 300 words

Warnings : nothing really, reader is upset and isolates herself, Jean comforting reader,

Author’s notes : reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on😊

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : this fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

***Important Note***

Hello my dears, I’m sorry for going on hiatus HAHA, I was super busy with school and work, plus on top of that I had major personal issues that were just too overwhelming to deal with at the time; and I couldn’t even write at all until I got it solved. I was under a lot of stress and was feeling really down about a lot of things in my life so I stopped writing for a little while. But I’m doing better now and I started writing again! So here’s the long awaited chapter three :))) I’m legit just gonna be turning this into a series so stay tuned for more parts! I appreciate your support and patience! <333

“Y/n?” There was a gentle voice at your door, followed by a few quiet knocks against the wood. “Y/n, can I come in?”

Your head slowly lifted from the fetal position you had succumbed to, your vision still blurry with tears as they glanced across your bedroom to the entryway. Barely anything was visible in the dark expanse of your room, except the silhouette of a shadow under your door; a shadow you quickly recognized as Jean’s.

“Yeah, I guess.” You answered his request, quickly lifting your fingers to wipe away the tears littering your skin.

The door then opened slowly, allowing the light from the outside hallway to seep through; its piercing glow caused your eyes to squint after being in the dark for so long. Although, once you began to adjust to the brightness, you were able to make out Jean’s figure entering your room, along with a tray of food he was holding in his hands.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, a tender smile lining his lips as he walked over to your bedside; one of his hands then reached towards your nightstand to turn on the lamp. “There, that’s better. Did you turn nocturnal or something?” He teased, hoping to cheer you up in some small way.

Although, as his eyes glanced toward you, seeing no alleviation in your downcast expression, he realized it was going to take much more than a simple joke to bring you out of this fog you were enclosed in.

“I uh, I noticed you didn’t come down for dinner again.” Jean sighed and spoke with a gentle tone, awkwardly trying to change the subject. “So here, I brought you something.” He quickly stretched his arms outward to show you the tray of food he was holding, hoping it would improve your mood; even by the smallest amount.

You grinned faintly at his gesture. “Thanks, you can set it on my desk. I’ll eat it later.”

Jean’s eyebrows lowered at your words; that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

You said the same exact thing when he visited last night, and as he walked over to your desk to set your meal down like you asked, he realized it was foolish of him to believe you.

Already sitting there was the plate he previously brought you yesterday; the same one you promised you wouldn’t allow to go cold.

The food was uneaten, its texture now dry and spoiled after sitting out all night; even the fork he settled beside your plate was in the same exact spot he positioned it in before he left.

A disappointed sigh escaped Jean’s lips as he set the new meal down on your desk, knowing it would go to waste as well.

It’s a pity, had you not wasted it, Sasha would’ve been more than happy to eat at least half of your serving for you; just like she always did.

She used to demand to sit next to you for every meal, because you were the only one who was kind enough to let her steal your food. It started off as just a few bites of course, nothing too covetous, but, as time went by, she started unintentionally stealing almost half your plate.

She’d always apologize thoroughly for it though; she even began buying you a couple sweets from the local shop afterward to make up for it.

Sooner or later, it became a normal routine for you both. She’d eat her portion, as well as half of yours, then later she’d get you something in return. It was a fair trade, and it brought the two of you closer in the process.

Every meal since then was quite entertaining; not to mention loud. It always started with your thunderous laughter after Sasha, once again, scarfed down her food too fast that she ended up coughing. Following that was Connie’s usual “slow down, the food isn’t going anywhere,” comment that would always spark a brainless argument between the two.

Once their fight got more heated than just trivial little jabs, Jean would always step in and order them to cut it out. And every single time, almost like clockwork, Connie would call Jean his permanent nickname of “horse-face” that immediately had the whole table erupting in laughter; especially Eren.

Every meal it was something, and every single time you were doubling over in a convulsing laughter that you couldn’t breathe from. Between Sasha’s coughing, the silly arguments, and the non-stop jokes: the dinner table was always eventful, and your smile was always present.

But now, things had changed.

Ever since the catastrophe that occurred two weeks ago, you stopped attending dinner; and for once, the table was relatively silent.

With only one plate to tackle, Sasha didn’t eat as frantically as she used to. Because of that, Connie’s comments about her speed weren’t made anymore, and Jean didn’t have to play patrol officer and break up any more fights. There weren’t as many jokes for Eren to laugh at, or a noise problem that Mikasa could complain about.

For the first time, the dinner table was quiet, uncomfortably quiet.

Your seat remained vacant for the past two weeks, as did Reiner and Bertholdt’s; but no one needed to ask why, the reason for that was already blatantly clear.

It pained them all to sit at that table without you, to witness the way you isolated yourself, but they knew better than to confront you about it.

There was no point in discussing it, lest they wanted to rehash their grievances for the hundredth time.

So, Jean resorted to bringing your meals directly to you instead; that way you could still get the food you needed without having to interact with anyone before you were ready.

That in itself became a routine of its own: Jean would come to check on you in the early mornings when you’d skipped breakfast, bringing you something light to start your day with; and then at night he repeated the process.

And every single time he came to check up on you, your face wore the same grief-stricken expression as the day before.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect you to be bursting with joy after what had happened; it was completely normal for you to be upset about it.

Reiner and Bertholdt were their friends after all; their comrades who they fought alongside for years. It was a stab to the heart to be betrayed by them, but, what’s worse is things didn’t stop there either. After the betrayal was the battle, the same battle that wiped out more than half of the military corps, including their trusted commander.

As if the betrayal itself wasn’t already agonizingly painful, the death toll that followed was more than enough reason to feel as dejected as you were right now. It was the bloodiest mission you’d ever encountered before, and the aftermath was beyond heartbreaking, especially since the enemy still managed to escape in the end.

Jean understood why you were isolating yourself; others did too for a little while. And though he wanted to, the reason he never pushed you about rejoining the land of the living was because he knew you were hurting; and the last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for you.

But as his eyes narrowed in on that plate of wasted food you promised him you’d eat, he realized he might’ve been too lenient on you.

You never ate a whole lot of what he would bring you, but you were still getting something, and that was enough for Jean.

Although now that you’d stopped eating altogether, that was officially his last straw.

“What’s the point in telling me you’ll eat later if you never do?” Jean suddenly spoke up, causing you to flinch slightly at the sudden noise.

His voice sounded stiff; almost as if he was frustrated at you. Your head tilted upward to examine the expression across his face, and sure enough, you realized your assumption was correct. His jaw was clenched together tightly, and his eyes stared you down with an irritated glare.

“Well?!” He asked once again, his tone increasing with annoyance as he awaited your response.

“I’m just not hungry right now.” You answered dismissively, as if he was foolish to even be asking such a thing. “I’ll eat when I wake up.” Your words were followed by a subtle roll of your eyes. Your hands then gripped the blanket lying next to you, petulantly yanking it over your shoulders as you plopped down onto your pillow. “Now, goodnight.”

You knew full well that you were acting a bit childish, especially when Jean was only trying to look out for you. But you were too fed up at this point to apologize for your stubbornness.

Every single time you saw anyone it was always the same “look who decided to join us” comment, or worse: a dozen or so questions that you didn’t feel like answering.

Most of them were the usual “how are you feeling?” or “do you want to talk about it?” However, there were always those irritating ones they just had to ask: the ones about Reiner.

As if you even had the mental strength to think about him in the first place, they were still expecting a full report on what you thought about his actions, or what you’d do now that he’s gone.

Their curiosity always seemed to far outweigh their regard for your feelings on the matter; that’s why you resorted to isolation. It quickly became too overwhelming to deal with the bombardment of questions they were ready to unload on you; so, you stayed away, refusing to give them the chance to do so in the first place.

But now Jean was doing the same thing: invading your barracks and asking those bothersome questions you didn’t feel like answering.

Maybe you were just emotional right now, and perhaps being a little too sensitive. Nevertheless, you just wanted him to leave; you just wanted to be left alone.

“Fine then.” You heard Jean scoff. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you just closed your eyes, nuzzling your face into the blanket as you waited to hear the usual defeated sigh slip past his lips; along with the closing of your bedroom door that would follow soon after.

Just a few more seconds and he’d storm out; surrounding your ears with a jarring echo after he tumultuously slammed that wooden door behind him.

Any second now…

Just one more minute, and then you’d hear it; you were sure of it!

However, the seconds kept creeping by, and there was still no sound to indicate the opening of that door. Rather, an unexpected sound emerged from the silence instead.

You immediately turned around to see what the commotion was about, as well as to find out why he was even still here in the first place.

You didn’t exactly know what you expected to see when you glanced over your shoulder, but watching Jean pull the chair out from under your desk and take a seat was definitely not what you imagined.

“What are you doing??” You groaned in annoyance.

He obviously wasn’t getting the hint that you wanted him to leave, or perhaps he was and just refused to meet your demands.

“Oh? Did you need something?” He asked, as if this was normal, as if you were the one disrupting his peace.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I never said that.” He leaned back in your chair, extending his legs across the floor; almost like he planned on staying a while.

You stared him down with a glare, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, his gaze was fixated out the window, admiring the moon’s captivating glow from the comfort of your dimly lit bedroom.

“Fine, stay then, I don’t care.” You snapped, laying back down with a dramatic huff; continuing your sulking.

Why was he being so difficult? You just weren’t in the mood to be around anyone? Couldn’t he understand that?

Granted, you hadn’t been in the mood to be social for the past two weeks now, but regardless, why couldn’t he just leave you be? That’s all you wanted.

“It’s not going to change anything you know?

“Huh??” You immediately turned back around, quite displeased at him.

If Jean was going to insist on staying, he could at least have the decency to remain silent so that you could sleep. Evidently, he didn’t agree with that notion.

“It’s not going to change anything.” He repeated.

“No, I heard what you said,” you groaned impatiently, not knowing how much more you could take of this. “But what are you talking about?!”

Jean’s voice was quiet but stern, his eyes soon looked over at you with a sympathetic gaze. “Isolating yourself, starving yourself, everything you’ve been doing for the past two weeks.” He paused momentarily, letting out a gentle sigh before speaking once more. “None of it’s going to bring him back, you know?”

Your eyes widened at Jean’s words, your breathing coming to a halt in your lungs. You immediately looked away from him, avoiding his gaze as you stared at the ceiling; trying to hold back those tears you could feel collecting in your eyes.

Jean was right.

None of your sulking or lack of eating would ever be enough to bring Reiner back; No amount of isolation could change the fact that he was gone.

Reiner had chosen to betray and abandon those who trusted him, those who loved him, and that was all there was to it.

He was clearly never coming back, and even if he did, things would never be the same between the two of you again; or anyone else for that matter.

There was nothing left to do except move on and accept the reality of your situation.

But even so, you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Despite the things he’d done, you still loved Reiner, and your heart still longed to be with him.

“I know.” You finally spoke up, “but I wish it would.” A gentle sigh jerked past your lips as you quickly turned back around to face the wall again, clearly not wanting to talk about the subject any longer.

Jean eyes lowered at your response, frustrated that you were shutting down once again; just like you’ve been doing for the past two weeks now.

He quickly slumped against the back of your chair with an enervated sigh, feeling like giving up on his efforts to pull you out of this darkness.

Jean had been trying his best to be gentle with you, to make sure you didn’t feel like he was pressuring you. He’d been patient with your stubbornness, he’d been calm and caring, but you didn’t seem to recognize any of that; all you were concerned about was the agony you allowed to cripple you from the inside, and it hurt to be a witness to it.

It hurt to see the way you were torturing yourself, pretending as if you deserved to be put through this pain. It was almost as if you were acting like this was your fault, like you had done something to deserve this.

But that wasn’t true; and Jean could see now that you’d forgotten that.

None of this was your fault, Reiner was the only one to blame here.

It was cruel of him to put you through this; to make you believe you weren’t good enough to make him stay, that you weren’t special enough to be loved by someone.

What kind of monster does that to a person; a person he loves especially?!

Jean couldn’t understand it, it angered him.

Did you truly believe you deserved to be abandoned? Left unloved?

Was Reiner the one who taught you to think that way? Jean’s blood was beginning to boil at just the thought of that.

It was all so frustrating, so heartbreaking. You weren’t the same person anymore, and Reiner was the cause of it.

Ever since his betrayal, Reiner had taken away a piece of you, the same one that used to laugh so loudly at the dinner table, the same one that contained your beautiful smile.

Your true self was withering away because of the crimes carried out by a man who promised to love you; but Jean refused to let it go without putting up a fight.

He wouldn’t stand by and watch the best part of you fall to pieces just because of some idiot who didn’t realize what he had before he threw it away.

You had to be saved from this, reminded that you didn’t need Reiner to be fulfilled, that you were already enough as you were.

You needed to remember all the good things in life that didn’t include Reiner, all the people that still cared deeply for you; people you seemed to forget about within the span of the past two weeks.

If you were ever going to be able to move on, ever going to heal from this: you needed to let Reiner go.

Jean sighed quietly as he stood up from the chair, attempting to try a different approach in hopes to get through to you.

He had tried everything he could think of without breaking any boundaries, but it got him nowhere. This was now officially his last resort, his final chance to rescue you from this darkness before it consumed you fully; leaving no trace left of the person you used to be.

If this didn’t work, then Jean could at least say he tried everything he possibly could; but hopefully, it doesn’t come to that.

Jean inhaled nervously to prepare himself before he slowly made his way over to your bed; placing a tender hand on your shoulder. “Y/n?” Jean spoke in a quiet voice, trying his best not to make you feel overwhelmed or anxious. “Can you please look at me?”

You didn’t move at first, you didn’t want to.

You were fully aware he was just trying to help, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to open up again without breaking down; and that was the last thing you needed right now.

“Y/n please.” Jean’s voice was desperate and pleading, his hand gently rubbing along your shoulder to, hopefully, coax you into giving in.

You let out a gentle sigh, tempted to just unload everything at once now that the offer was standing. It was hurting to keep everything inside like this; bottling it up and hiding it away as if it didn’t matter, as if you didn’t feel like screaming until your throat became dry and sore.

It was becoming too much to bear; the burden was too heavy to carry on your own anymore, and Jean had obviously noticed.

As usual, he could see right through you; penetrating through every wall you built to conceal your true feelings.

Maybe it was easier to stop fighting him, maybe, you really should just give in.

“I just want to know you’re okay.”

Jean’s voice was kind and sympathetic; the gentle caressing of his hand against your shoulder matching that tender tone he was currently using.

He sounded so desperate, so genuinely worried about you; something you couldn’t just ignore no matter how scared you were to open up again.

“Please…”

He pleaded, and by the tone of his voice you could tell this would be the last time; that this was your last chance to accept his offer of confiding in him before he would give up.

Despite your reservations to it, you knew you couldn’t refuse this time, lest you wanted to sign the contract to submit to your grief eternally.

If you were ever going to recover, ever going to restore that old version of yourself that you missed so much, then you’d have to grab ahold of this opportunity before it slipped away forever.

A gentle sigh rumbled in your throat before your body slowly turned to face Jean, watching the way he retracted his hand from your shoulder as you moved.

“I’m not okay.” You shook your head, eyes welling up with tears already. “And I don’t know how to be okay again.” You spoke with a shaken tone, feeling your lip quiver gently as you stared at him.

Barely ten seconds into speaking and you were already struggling to keep it together; feeling your heart clench in your chest at the recollection of all those bottled up thoughts now resurfacing.

Jean’s expression lowered at the sight of you, as if it was hurting him to watch this.

His body gently kneeled in front of your bed, aligning his eyes with yours as he reached to stroke your shoulder once more. “It’s okay, you don’t have to do this alone, no one expects you to.” He said reassuringly, staring at you with a sympathetic and tender gaze.

“I just-“ A sudden sob appeared at the back of your throat, choking the words you were trying to let escape. “I just don’t understand it. Why did he leave me?” You sniffled gently in between sentences. “Why didn’t he care about me?” A quiet sob slipped past your mouth, much to your dislike.

It was pathetic, embarrassing even; the way you were falling apart over this, not even lasting a good minute before turning into a crying mess.

Your eyes diverted away from Jean, cowering behind the blanket you were now burying your face into; hoping to muffle the sound of your sobs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I just…” Your words came to a halt in your mouth as your emotions quickly took over; preventing you from getting a proper word out. “I’m sorry…” You repeated, clenching your eyes shut in humiliation.

You expected to hear a sigh of annoyance right about now, or perhaps even the shutting of the door. However, your body jolted in surprise when you felt the sudden warmth of a person hugging you gently instead.

Your head quickly lifted from the blanket and your eyes widened to see Jean’s face so close to yours; almost making you blush awkwardly at the proximity.

A comforting smile painted across Jean’s lips when he saw you look up at him. “Sorry if this is weird.” he chuckled nervously and quickly let go of the hug; backing away in case you felt uncomfortable. “You just looked like you needed that.”

Your expression softened as you looked at him, feeling a sense of gratitude filling your heart at the way he was attempting to comfort you; even if it was a little awkward at first. “No, it’s okay.” You quickly shook your head in response, granting him a gentle smile in return; one Jean hadn’t seen in two weeks.

Your body quickly sat up and leaned forward, reaching off the bed to where Jean was kneeling and wrapping your arms around him to continue the hug. “You’re right, I do need this.” You spoke in a soothing tone, letting him know you were okay with what he did a few seconds ago; and that it hadn’t pushed you away.

Jean let out a gentle sigh of relief at your actions, a little flabbergasted at how well you were responding to him. Here he was prepared to face your stubborn and dismissive attitude for the millionth time and yet he was faced with a completely unprecedented outcome.

There were no more spiteful comments or hurtful glares coming his way, just a gentle gaze and a pleasant embrace he never anticipated receiving after the state you were in merely seconds ago.

For the first time in two weeks, it seemed the Y/n he once knew, the Y/n he always secretly harbored feelings for, was finally showing herself again; even if just by the smallest amount.

Jean grinned gently to himself, and his arms quickly wrapped around your back to return the unexpected hug. “We’ve all been worried sick about you, ya know?” Jean spoke softly as he tightened his grip around you, allowing his hand to gently caress your back in the process.

“I know,” You uttered quietly, your voice sounding less unhinged and imbalanced as it was before. “And I’m sorry.”

You sniffled gently, your eyes clenching shut and your arms tightening around Jean’s neck as you leaned against him; wanting to stay in his comforting embrace.

Jean chuckled as he felt the way you clung to him; realizing just how desperate your need for reassurance was. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” He said as he leaned the side of his head against yours, continuing the subtle tracing of his fingers along your back. “Just please don’t do that again, okay?”

You nodded quickly, feeling the sting of tears pricking against your eyes once more. “I won’t, I promise, I’m really sorry.” You apologized again in an uneasy tone, feeling shameful of the way you’d been acting for the past two weeks.

This whole time Jean had been here trying to help you, but you’d just been too consumed in your own misery that you failed to notice the damage you were causing; the pain you were putting him, as well as everyone else, through by isolating yourself like this.

You’d been rude, selfish even; too hyper fixated on your own agony that you’d become blind to the impairment you were projecting onto everyone else.

You’d hoped it wasn’t too late to turn things around and make amends with the people you’d been neglecting for the past two weeks; and a part of you started to grow fearful that you’d missed your chance by now.

However, by the way Jean held you close and leaned his head tenderly against yours, it was obvious that wasn’t the case.

Part one | Part two | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

(I’M LEGIT TURNING THIS INTO A ACTUAL SERIES NOW, OOPSIES) More parts to come soon! :)))

Taglist: @thebadbatch @nervouslad @ah-finally @usagikookiejams @setangel @unwindwithme @milkysuck @realglittereater @cyberdollface @glactict3a @elachapelle1357 @bucky-lents @diavoloslove @be-lla-vie @maaralo @buckysgirl01 @venomfantasies @desiiisstuff @novahaitani @jadasz @viiiik

This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

Keep in mind that commenting to tell me what you liked, what you don’t, how I can improve, and any suggestions you have helps me A LOT more than simply liking my posts. If you’ve had the time to read my story, how much longer does it take to leave me some feedback on it? 😊

#reiner braun #reiner attack on titan #reiner aot #reiner x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun fluff #reiner braun angst #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x you #jean aot #aot jean #aot x reader #aot x female reader

181 notes · View notes

onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 5,687

Chapter Warnings: swearing, implied s.uicidal ideation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur visits L’Manhole, has his first encounter with the blood vines, and finally sees Tommy again.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Four: head in the dust

L’Manberg really is just a crater in the ground, now.

He knew, of course. Ghostbur saw it in the aftermath, in the aftermath of the TNT and the withers and Techno and Phil standing shoulder to shoulder with Dream, an unholy alliance that no one else stood a chance against.

(is he angry at them, for allying with Dream? he’s done the same thing, and business is business no matter the devil you’re dealing with, as long as you don’t mind your soul being blackened)

(for Tommy’s sake, there is anger. for anyone else’s, well. he doesn’t think he has a right to be indignant on their behalf, not about this, not unless he wants to add being the worst type of hypocrite to his stack of crimes)

But Ghostbur was focused on Friend, then, and not so much the ruin of everything else. It hits differently, to see it now, to see a crater in the ground filled with rubble and broken buildings, the remains of something that used to be more, that used to stand for something, that aspired to a symbol that it could never truly embody.

(not when it was built on a flawed foundation, traitors and child soldiers and a flight path too close to the sun)

Overhead, thunder rumbles. Distant, but there are clouds gathering.

The melody comes to his mind unbidden, lilting and soft. He hums a few bars experimentally. And then a few more, staring out over the wreckage, eyes tracing over the remains of structures that are both familiar and not. So little of his L’Manberg was left by the time Phil and Techno destroyed it, and it is odd to recognize what it turned into, Ghostbur’s memories at odds with the knowledge that he wasn’t here to see it, was very much dead and at peace.

He keeps humming. There is a

(symphony)

song, the song, begging to be played, and he wishes he had his guitar. He’s not sure where it is. He can’t remember whether Ghostbur had it, whether it was left to be destroyed along with everything else. Or whether it was abandoned in Pogtopia, and there it still lies, gathering dust in an empty ravine with the remnants of the potato farms and the training rooms and the corridors they hollowed out and called their own.

The words won’t come to his lips. He knows them intimately, like he knows his own name or perhaps even better, but he holds back.

Lightning forks through the sky. For a second, all the world is black and white, his vision painted with stark shadows. The clouds are darkening; the skies will open up any moment now. He feels a burst of fear, a burst of get inside, get inside now, you’ll melt, and then remembers that he is not Ghostbur, and that a little bit of rain won’t hurt him at all.

It is time to move on, though. Lingering here will gain him nothing.

He looks out over what is left of L’Manberg one last time. And then turns on his heel and continues walking down the Prime Path, his coat flaring out behind him.

It feels so odd to be here, to be walking this road so openly. He hasn’t seen anyone yet, and he probably has the oncoming storm to thank for it. And he is thankful; he’s not sure how he would react if he ran into anyone, or how they would react to running into him. There are old friends here alongside old enemies, as well as people that he hasn’t even met, not really, not properly, not as himself. Time’s marched on without him, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know what to make of the changes that have happened in his absence.

He does know that he doesn’t particularly want to see anyone. Anyone other than Tommy, that is. So he’s glad that no one seems to be out and about.

He’s lost in his own thoughts. So he doesn’t notice the vines until he trips right over one, barely catching himself before he falls. He frowns, his humming dying in his throat at he stares at the obstacle.

This is definitely new. Did Ghostbur know anything about it? He can’t remember whether or not he did, which is hardly a good indicator of anything. Either way, now that he’s seen one, he sees a lot more, dotting the landscape all around him—and they were down in the crater too, weren’t they? Thick vines, blood red in color, creeping across the ground and over buildings. They fill him with a sense of uneasiness; the way they grow reminds him of kudzu, covering things and choking the life from them, parasitic and nigh on impossible to get rid of.

He crouches by the one he tripped over, examining it. It’s so large that a person would need an ax to make a dent in it, and frankly, he’s surprised that no one has by now. At least in the case of this one, which is definitely a hazard to anyone trying to use the Prime Path.

He reaches out and pokes it, not sure what he’s expecting, and then his mind fills with

(a warmth, glowing and red and sickly and creeping and wrong wrong wrong)

(a warmth, glowing and red and comforting and familiar and right right right)

(s t a t i c and it h u r t s)

He jerks his hand away, trying to shout, but the sound that escapes him is more of a whine. His momentum carries him backward, and he scrambles back a bit for good measure, his eyes fixed on the vine, half-expecting it to rise up and attack him or something of the like. It does not, but it takes a moment before he feels steady enough to stand, and even then, fine tremors run through his limbs, his body breaking out in a cold sweat.

What the hell was that?

He looks around, forgetting about his earlier trepidation, hoping that there is someone nearby to ask about it. But there is no one.

“Schlatt?” he calls, hating the shake in his voice. But there is no flash of blue, and no smug asshole stepping into view, so he assumes that the ghost isn’t nearby at the moment.

He lets out a breath. Runs a hand through his hair. And he keeps walking, not sure what else to do. He still doesn’t have any weapons, couldn’t do anything about that—that thing, even if he tried. So he keeps walking, giving it a wide berth, and tries to calm himself down, tries to focus on seeing Tommy. Nothing is more important than that. Not the wreckage that was once his city, not the strange and slightly terrifying red vines, not the corner of his mind that is whispering for him to get out while he still can, to leave before he’s well and truly trapped here, stuck in a new lease on life that he never wanted.

(rest rest rest if you want to rest again there’s no one to stop you yet but this is your last chance)

None of that matters.

Tommy’s house comes into sight a few minutes later, and he smiles to see it. In the end, it’s not much more than a hole dug into a hill, but it’s Tommy’s, and that’s always been what matters. He ducks inside, surveying the chests that line one wall, the doorway that leads to the room with the jukebox, a set of stairs leading downward. There’s not much in the way of decoration, but Tommy has never been one for it.

Tommy’s not here, though. The bed looks slept-in, and no dust gathers on the chests, so he’s been here recently, which is a relief. He probably won’t have to go hiking across the entire server looking for him. But he’s not here, and Wilbur’s not sure what to do while he’s not. Should he wait in his home? Maybe. But then, he doesn’t want to startle him too badly, and no one likes returning to their house and finding an unexpected guest, no matter who that guest might be.

He purses his lips, glancing around again. And this time, something tucked in the corner catches his eye. Its shape is familiar, and his heart leaps and stutters, but—no. It can’t be.

(he doesn’t remember whether Ghostbur had it or not but that shouldn’t mean that Tommy does, shouldn’t mean that Tommy managed to hold onto it all this time, between war and exile and war again, because that would be impossible, and even if it weren’t why would he want to keep it for so long why would it matter so much to him)

But it is.

He lifts his guitar with hands that have begun to shake once again. Plucks a string. It’s out of tune, but that can be fixed. It’s a miracle that it’s here in the first place.

He lets out a breath, thin and wavering. He looks around, at this home that is Tommy’s, not his. It wouldn’t feel right to wait here, not when he doesn’t have permission, not when Tommy’s not aware of him at all. So he steps outside, and takes a deep breath; the air is humid and electric, the anticipation of the rain permeating it already. The clouds have grown darker in the minutes he spent inside Tommy’s home.

He takes his guitar and heads for the bench.

It’s Tommy and Tubbo’s bench, really. But with this instrument in his hands and rain about to fall, nostalgia is is tapping out a three-four waltz in his chest. He sits gingerly, setting his guitar across his lap, his fingers already flying across the strings and frets, testing chords, turning the tuning pegs. It takes a few minutes before he’s satisfied with the sound, and by then, a drizzle has begun to fall.

Briefly, he considers going back inside, or mining a few blocks and building an awning of sorts over the bench. But there’s no point in it, really; he enchanted this guitar to last a long time ago, and a bit of water won’t do a thing to it. And what can the rain possibly do to him now?

(he gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes, and the water means imprisonment and freedom all at once, and something settles inside him, something that pulses with the pattern of the raindrops)

Thunder rolls. But the rain doesn’t seem to be getting any worse than this light shower, so he strums a few chords experimentally. His fingers remember them better than he expected, because he’s not sure when he last sat down and played, truly played. Before Pogtopia, at least, and with that thought, he picks out a familiar melody.

(i heard there was a)

He stops. Stares out into space. The view really is nice from here, vines notwithstanding, though he’s sure it would look better in the light of the sun. Still, there is something about the rain that soothes him, fills in a few of the shattered cracks of his soul. He feels odd, distant, and he doesn’t think it will last, but he’ll take his moments of peace when he can find them, now.

He plays a different song. Something simple, something peppy. And then something else. He doesn’t dip into his own songs, doesn’t feel quite ready to do that

(though there is a song, a symphony, waiting just beyond his hearing, and if he lets them his fingers will fly)

yet, so he dips into the repertoire of songs that he knows, that he’s learned over the years, nights spent around campfires and in forests and under trees and beneath the stars and by the crackling fireplace of the house he once called home, his brothers lounging nearby and calling his playing shit, his father laughing and chiding them and watching him with a gleam of pride in his eyes, his wings tucked behind him and at rest. All of them, at rest.

He doesn’t sing. But he hums along. Quietly, at first, and then with more confidence. The sound of the rain fills his brain until it’s just about all he can hear, the rain and his guitar and his humming, and it’s as if the rest of the world has fallen away for a little while, leaving only him and this bench and the water that is slowly soaking his clothes and plastering his hair to his forehead, and this rain isn’t at all like the rain from last night, really. That rain was cold and biting and it hurt, really, especially in those first few moments when his skin felt so raw, so new. This rain is gentle. Like a caress, almost.

He barely notices what he’s playing. Until he settles on a song, and he is struck by the memory of playing it for Tommy when they were kids, trying to help him fall asleep. It always worked like a charm. Phil used to joke that it was a magic spell, or Tommy’s off sequence, a hack into his code. And then Tommy would scowl and call him a bitch, and Phil would laugh, and Techno would roll his eyes and claim he wanted to leave, but he never did, not really.

(until he did, that is, until he left for Hypixel and the only thing any of them knew of him for a long while afterward was what they could glean from his short messages and the newspapers announcing his wins)

He tilts his head up for a moment. His eyes are watering, but it’s the rain falling on his face. That’s all. He keeps playing, playing and humming, and

(Tommy is drifting off, his eyes sliding shut before he gets through the song, and he lets the chord fade away and his nah nah nah trails into silence, and he smiles and ruffles his little brother’s hair and whispers good night)

Tommy says, “What the hell?”

(take a sad song and make it better)

He hits a wrong note, his fingers spasming, and he flinches. He is suddenly very aware of himself, of the way his coat has begun sticking to him, of the water dripping down his face. The rain is coming down a bit harder now, hard enough that he perhaps should have made that awning after all. He swallows, his gaze fixed on his guitar, on the way the water evaporates when it makes contact with it, the enchantments still holding strong even after all this time.

The rain stops being a comfort. It’s just rain, now, and he feels so terribly present in this moment.

He shifts on the bench, and turns so that he can look behind him.

And it’s—

Tommy. And Tubbo, too, standing next to him. They’ve got an umbrella held between them. They’re staring at him, Tubbo in shock and Tommy—Tommy in—he doesn’t know, can’t tell

(shock yes but what else he doesn’t know is there excitement does he dare hope for happiness please let it not be horror please not anger even though he deserves it he does he knows he does)

what he’s feeling beyond the obvious surprise, and perhaps a bit of disbelief.

His fingers finally still on the strings.

“Hello, Tommy,” he says.

It’s pithy, in the face of everything. It’s weak. It’s too little, too late. It’s all he can think to say.

“What the hell,” Tubbo is saying, an echo of Tommy’s exclamation, “what the hell?” But Wilbur really only has eyes for Tommy, who is standing there, unmoving, unblinking, and worryingly mute. Tommy is never so silent. In the face of a challenge, in the face of something undesirable, in the face of anything unexpected, Tommy’s first instinct has always been to be loud, to shout and yell and puff himself up like a bird playing at being predator. And yet here he is, quiet. Just staring. Eyes wide.

Slowly, Wilbur puts his guitar to the side, and stands. No more words come to his mind. Getting to his feet seems to take all of his energy, all of his willpower, and then he’s glued to the spot. Frozen, his heart in his throat, beating out that traitorous rhythm. Tommy is still just staring, and he wishes he would do something, anything, would rail at him or curse or step forward or run the other direction, because anything would be better than this stalemate, this thick tension that rests between the two of them. Maybe then, Wilbur would be able to find the courage to bridge the gap.

(unless the gap doesn’t want to be bridged and Tommy’s changed his mind after all, has decided that he doesn’t want the return of the man who made him a soldier and then a fugitive, who stole the remainder of his childhood away and replaced it with shadows and paranoia and enemies at every turn and the worst one of all right in front of him, who was supposed to be his brother but turned into a monster and who could blame him, really, if he decided that, if he decided that his life would be better off without such a one in it)

“Tommy—” he starts, not knowing what will come next, and his voice cracks. His voice breaks, terribly, like the word doesn’t belong in his mouth anymore, like he doesn’t have a right to say the name like he used to, and perhaps he doesn’t, after everything he’s done, and then—

“Wilbur,” Tommy whispers, barely audible over the rain.

“It’s me,” he says. It’s a confirmation and it’s a promise and it’s an apology. He wonders if Tommy can hear it.

And then, Tommy is running, is charging straight at him, and Wilbur doesn’t have time to react before Tommy is barreling into him, taking them both to the ground, and all the breath exits his lungs with a soft whumph. And then, there is a fist in his face, and he sees stars, pain erupting in his nose, and he grunts. His vision clears after a moment, and Tommy’s face fills his line of sight, red and splotchy and twisted up. He’s all but sitting on his chest, making it difficult to get that air back. His fist is still raised, still poised to strike again. Wilbur’s surprised that it hasn’t.

“You bastard,” Tommy says. “You bastard, what the actual hell is this, Wilbur you bastard, you can’t just—how are you even here? What are you—how are you—”

Wilbur reaches up and touches his face.

It’s an instinct, really, to touch Tommy when he gets worked up. He’s a bit like a cat, in that way; he’ll pretend until the cows come home that he doesn’t like physical comfort, that he’s too much of a big manly man to do anything more than slap someone on the shoulder, maybe, much less hug them, but as soon as contact is made, all of that flies out the window. If it’s timed right, that is, and Wilbur has had years to become a study in Tommy. So he reaches out and holds his hand against Tommy’s face, and half of it is to calm him down and half of it is for Wilbur to reassure himself that his brother is here, that he’s fine and that he’s real, because he didn’t think that it would be an issue but now that he’s here, looking at Tommy in the flesh, he can’t get the image of Tommy-in-exile out of his mind, worn down and ragged and eyes entirely devoid of life, at the end of his rope even if Ghostbur couldn’t see that, couldn’t understand the pain he was in.

(you should have been there for him should have been there to protect him to keep him safe but you weren’t and whose fault is that and now look at him he’s grown up without you when he shouldn’t have had to grow up at all)

Tommy goes completely still.

“Tommy,” he says. “I am so fucking sorry.”

It’s like a dam has burst within him, and everything he’s been holding back floods him. He looks at his brother, his brother who is still a child and yet looks at him with eyes that have seen more war and death than any child should, and he is struck with the knowledge that he is the one who did this, that he is the one who planted the seeds, that Tommy went to war with him, for him, and he repaid him by isolating him and hurting him and pitting him and Techno against each other and insisting that there was no one he could trust. And perhaps he’s no Dream, but what difference does that make, in the end, when Dream would never have been able to get his hands on Tommy in the first place if it weren’t for him, for his stupid, selfish actions, for his weakness and his inability to see reality for what it was?

He broke, and Tommy paid the price for it. And now here they are.

His vision blurs. It could be the rain. It could be.

“I am so sorry,” he repeats, and it’s a struggle to get the words out, because his throat feels so thick, like it’s closing in on itself. “So sorry for everything, for—god, Tommy, for all of it, I never should’ve—”

“You’re here,” Tommy says, and Wilbur falls silent as the air is once again driven out of his lungs, this time by the full weight of his brother collapsing on his chest and clutching at his shirt, burying his face in the fabric. “You’re here, you fucking—you’re here.”

“I’m here,” he agrees, and he brings one hand up to rest on Tommy’s back and starts carding the other one through his hair, a motion that Tommy usually protests, but now doesn’t say a word against.

“You bastard,” Tommy mumbles. “You’re such a bitch, you—you left me, you promised you wouldn’t and then you left me, what kind of shit move was that, huh? You absolute—you complete—you stupid bitch!”

“Gremlin child,” he murmurs, and it comes out so soft and so fond and more than a little bit choked up, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry.”

“You’d better be,” Tommy says. “Fuck, Wilbur, I’m so glad you’re back.”

And that gives him pause, just for a second, a moment in which he has no idea how to respond to that, because he isn’t. Not in the broadest sense. How can he be, when the thought of the void still lingers in the back of his mind like a siren’s call, when he’s been ripped away from that peace and shoved into a body that feels everything too sharply, too keenly?

He’s not glad for that.

(he’d escape, if he could, he thinks, but he can’t afford to think on it too long, can’t afford to let that longing settle into his skin, especially not now and not here)

But Tommy can’t know that. He decides it right then and there: Tommy can’t know that. He’s been through so much already; he shouldn’t have to deal with Wilbur’s shit on top of all of it. Shouldn’t have to know that he doesn’t want to be here at all. That he meant it when he told him he didn’t want to be brought back. That he still means it. That he’s not here by choice, no matter how good it is to see his brother again.

Tommy can’t know that. Tommy can’t know that, because it would hurt him, and Wilbur knows that he is not a good person, that he hasn’t been for a long time, but he’ll be damned before he hurts his little brother again.

So, Tommy can’t know.

It’s easier than it should be, to pull together a quick facade. A bit of a mask, a bit of a farce, a bit of a lie, just enough to give the impression that he’s less damaged than he knows he is. He can be broken in private. Tommy shouldn’t have to deal with that. Shouldn’t have to see it.

(he dragged Tommy down with him once)

(never again)

“Me too,” he says,

(and it’s a lie, a lie, a lie, twisted and poisonous on his tongue, tasting of ash and gunpowder)

and smiles.

Tommy pulls away from him, enough to look him in the eyes. His face is blotchy, but Wilbur doesn’t comment on it.

“You’re not upset?” he demands.

“Why would I be upset?” he asks.

“I mean, earlier,” Tommy says. “You do remember that, right? When we talked? And you said you didn’t—you didn’t want to come back? I thought you’d be upset about it.”

“I remember,” he says. “It’s alright. I’m just glad to see you.”

(the question: how many half-truths can he tell?)

(the answer: as many as it takes, and never mind the fallout)

“Yeah?” Tommy says.

“Yeah,” Wilbur replies.

“Well then,” Tommy says, and then, he suddenly seems to realize the position that they’re in, Wilbur sprawled on the wet grass and Tommy half-lying, half-sitting on top of him. Tommy clears his throat, and his next motion is to awkwardly climb off of him, dusting off his pants and looking away awkwardly as if to pretend that none of that just happened. It’s typical, really; Tommy’s always been allergic to overt displays of affection. That much, at least, hasn’t changed.

He sighs, sitting up himself. And then finally remembers that Tubbo is here, too. Has been the whole time, standing there uncomfortably, white-knuckling his grip on the umbrella. He makes eye contact, and there, in Tubbo’s eyes, is the wariness that he was expecting to find in Tommy, that he was surprised not to see.

“Hello, Tubbo,” he says quietly.

“Hi, Wilbur,” Tubbo says. A bit short, a bit cold; not hostile, but not precisely welcoming, either.

“I owe you an apology as well,” he says. “A lot of them, really. I’m sorry for what I did.”

The expression that passes across Tubbo’s face is unmistakably one of surprise. Is it the apology itself? Or was he not expecting Wilbur to apologize to him, specifically?

“You’ll understand if I can’t quite forgive you,” Tubbo says, and Wilbur nods.

(Schlatt grinning on the stage and he knows, he knows that Techno will be unable to withstand this kind of pressure, knows that what Schlatt demands, he will be given, and there is a boy in a box shaking and begging, a boy that Wilbur has known since he followed Tommy home one day, all those years ago, a boy in a box, a sacrificial lamb, and Wilbur turns aside and doesn’t waver at the sound of his scream)

“Of course,” he says, and stands himself. The rain is letting up a bit, and he casts a glance back at his guitar, still sitting on the bench.

“Have you just been sat out here in the rain?” Tommy asks. “Why didn’t you just wait inside? How long have you been here, anyway?”

“Here? I don’t know. It hasn’t been too long,” he says absently. He picks up his guitar again, though he makes no move to play it, holding it loosely at his side. “I thought the rain felt nice.”

“You thought the rain felt nice—”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Wilbur,” Tubbo interrupts, “but how exactly are you back?”

And that—that draws him up short.

Because for the question to be asked like that implies that Tubbo doesn’t know, which means that whatever Tommy did, or got Dream to do, Tubbo wasn’t told. Which makes no sense; Tommy tells Tubbo everything. That’s just the way of the world. And when he looks to Tommy, Tommy is watching him with a curious expression, like he’s interested in the answer too, and that doesn’t make any sense, because Tommy had to have at least known that something had happened, because if he didn’t, that means—

(how many strings does the puppeteer have?)

“I thought,” he starts, and he can’t keep the dread from his voice, “I thought that I should be asking you that question. Since you said that Dream could resurrect me. I thought you got him to do something.”

There is silence for a very long time.

“I’ve been to visit a couple of times,” Tommy says quietly. “The prison, I mean. I hadn’t asked him about it yet. I’ve—I’ve been thinking about what you said a lot. And I wanted you back, so I was probably going to bring it up at some point, but I wanted to be—I wanted to try to be smart about it. I didn’t want the bastard to get one over me. And uh, that thing you said about Schlatt, I didn’t want that to happen, either. So uh, I haven’t actually spoken to Dream about it.”

“Wait, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Tubbo says. “Dream’s got a book, yeah? That Schlatt had? That’s how he knows how to do it, right? But he doesn’t have that in prison, so how could he have done anything?”

He tries not to let his reaction show on his face. But his eyes dart around, seeking out blue, trying to see if Schlatt is around to hear this. He doesn’t see anything, though that doesn’t necessarily say much.

Should he mention Schlatt? Or would that just make things worse?

“I woke up in a forest,” he says. “That’s literally all I know. I woke up in a forest, and it was fucking cold, and I was fucking alive. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing.” He pauses, gauging Tommy’s reaction, and decides to save Schlatt for another time. As well as the fact that he spent the night at Techno’s. All of that can wait until Tommy looks a little less—fragile isn’t quite the right word to use, or at least, it shouldn’t be, because Tommy has been many things but fragile has never been one of them. But there is a brittleness about him, and Wilbur can’t help but be afraid that if he says the wrong thing, if he steps wrongly, Tommy might snap. Might break into little pieces. Or might not, might fracture on the inside and pretend that nothing is wrong, might pull away and refuse to let anyone help him because he thinks he doesn’t need it, or worse, that he doesn’t deserve it—

“We’re going to have to go speak to him, aren’t we,” Tommy states, and yes, yes they are, Wilbur would love nothing more than to see the green bastard face to face and put his fist right through his teeth and wring out an explanation for himself, but—

Tommy’s eyes are hooded. He’s trying to hide it, trying not to let it show. But he’s tense. Like he’s expecting a blow.

(he rages, boils from the inside out, but he can do nothing because there is no one here to fight. no one here to blame. Dream is not here. Schlatt is not here)

(there is no one but himself)

“Yes,” Wilbur says, “but I don’t see why we’d need to right now. We can wait a bit.”

He doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to wait at all. He wants to march down to the prison right now and demand his answers. But the poorly concealed relief on Tommy’s face makes it worth it.

(there is something in him screaming that it doesn’t matter, that this is more important, that Tommy can be a bit uncomfortable if it gets him what he wants, that there is a bigger picture to worry about and they are all ants caught up in a flood, but no, no, no, he sacrificed Tommy to this voice once and he won’t do it again he won’t he’s going to be better)

“Yeah, let’s make that bitch sweat for a while,” Tommy says, all bluster, but it’s comforting in its familiarity. “I bet he’s just waiting on us to come and ask him about it. Bitch has got another thing coming.” He grins, sharp and wild, and Wilbur almost takes a step back, because how long has it been since that expression was directed at him?

(the scene: the results are in and they’ve got a majority, and Tommy is whooping and hollering and Wilbur hates himself for giving him false hope, because he’s got the results in his hand and they should have won but he’s about to have to crush that infectious joy of his, and there’s really no way to do it gently, so he waits just one more second, one more second for his brother to be happy, and then he speaks and the smile slides off Tommy’s face like chalk washed away in the rain)

Too long.

So when he speaks, his voice is entirely too soft.

“I feel like I’ve missed a lot,” he says, and it’s an obvious non-sequitur but he doesn’t care. “Would you like to catch me up?”

And Tommy grins and grins and grins, and he knows he’s made the right choice when Tommy slings an arm around his shoulder and starts talking his ear off, and Tubbo rolls his eyes but follows along with them, and it feels so good and so right and he’s missed this, he has. If life were made of only moments like these, perhaps he would be able to be happy to be here.

For now, being happy in the moment will have to be enough.

“So I’ve got to ask, you don’t feel particularly like blowing anything up at the moment, do you?”

“Tubbo, that’s so fucking rude—”

It stings, the reminder, but it’s deserved. So he smiles, and he answers, and above them, the rain stops.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #alivebur #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #with this tumblr is officially caught up to my ao3 #there should be a brand new chapter tomorrow if all goes well

27 notes · View notes

shortythescreen · 4 years

Text

The Devil

Warning(s): Gory scenes, murder, mentions of infidelity. Religious themes. Reader had a husband, so it is implied they are attracted to men but they are gender neutral.

Pairing(s): Revenant/Reader

Author’s Note(s): Shit this out at one am. Hope y’all like it but PROCEED WITH CAUTION. There are some very graphic scenes in this for what I usually come up with so be careful!

When you meet the devil, you are surprised that he is not made of brimstone and hellfire but of metal and gears.

You sit at the other end of the table from him, at an impasse. Your steak knife is gripped tightly in your hand, as though it could somehow save you from the skeletal nightmare standing ten seats away from you. The blood of your husband’s colleague is collecting beneath your porcelain plate, their head gored open by a fork you do not know how the devil retrieved. It slowly pools, creates a thick puddle beneath your silverware, beneath your wine glass. Yet you do not flinch, staring into the devil’s eyes.

They are such a pretty gold.

He tilts his head as you two stare at one another, suspended in time. Your husband is dead at the other end of the table. You can see the back of his chair through the hole in his gut, can see how the cushioned back has been torn asunder. You can still see where his hand was resting on the thigh of his assistant, whose neck was snapped backwards so viciously that if you look closely, you can see the splintered edges of her bones poking through her bloodied skin.

The devil makes his way forward and you tense, your thighs braced in your seat, your body unmoving even as your eyes do not leave him. He stands at your flank in mere minutes, his metallic feet clicking across the granite tile of the grand ballroom.

He holds his hand out to you, his fingers long, spindly, spiderlike.

“May I have this dance?”

Your wide eyes fall to his hand, dripping with blood. With your husband’s blood. You vaguely think you should be frightened. You take it anyway.

He pulls you to your feet and towers lightyears above you. His massive body fills the room and slowly, carefully, he leads you around the ballroom in a bastardized waltz. A dance you have memorized by now, know by heart, but still you find yourself unable to keep up with his footsteps.

A twisted melody rattles from his chest, whirring like the ancient grind of machinery long since used.

“What were they, to you?” Asks the devil. He twists, allows you to glance in the direction of the guests, dead at your dining room table.

“One was my husband.” You say. The devil says nothing, and you realize that even though he has spoken, that off tune lullaby is still floating around you.

“The one who had his hand in that woman’s panties?” The devil guesses and you grimace, casting him a look that could massacre. Something like laughter sprouts from his body and his fingers that have rested politely on your hip crawl around, nails dragging against your skin so that he can press his hand against your lower back. “And the rest?”

“His colleagues.”

“Then they were no one.”

You look at the group again, the scent of their bodies already beginning to rot into your AC. The blood that was pooling beneath your plate now drips onto the ground in a steady pink, pink, pink that you’ll never unhear. You turn your eyes back to the devil’s and find within those champagne eyes a glittering amusement that almost turns them orange.

“Yes,” you say, “they were no one.”

He hums again, then slows to a stop. He takes a step back, bowing deeply to you and you return the gesture. When you see your hand, it is bloodied. Darkened red.

“What are you?” You ask, though you know the answer. “Why did you do this?”

“Do you care?”

You look over at the life that the devil has ripped from beneath your feet. The husband you married, one of his many affairs at his right. The husband you married that when you dared complain about the gilded cage he had placed you in, how you could feel the sting of its wrought iron bars even beneath the solid gold he had chosen to craft it from, he would simply give you a credit card. You look at the men and women he worked with who saw you as nothing more than a dutiful spouse, who knew of your husband and keeper’s infidelities and snickered behind your back, shook their heads at how poor and naïve you were.

“Yes,” you say, turning your gaze back to the devil and hoping he could not read your eyes as easily as you could his. That he could not hear the lie in your voice, the strange easiness that you now speak to him with that you realize he is not going to hurt you.

He closes the distance between you and bends, the spine that you can see curving downwards. His face is right in yours and you can see the red lines through his ghostly pale face, the mouth that is not quite a mouth.

“I am the anomaly that your husband and his colleagues did not account for,” says the devil, his voice lowered, in a whisper that comes out like the skipping of a CD. You do not look away. You are unable to look away. “I am the puppet whose strings have been cut. I am the prisoner who gnawed off his own hand to free himself of the chains that bound him.”

“You’re the angel that fell from heaven,” you murmur, in awe the longer you look, the more you realize what this stranger has done for you. The more you realize that Lucifer was truly one of God’s most beautiful angels.

“I came back from the dead for the heads of the skinsuits that stole mine,” he abruptly snarls, and his voice sends shivers done your spine. “I am the revenant.”

“Revenant,” you say, in a whisper, reaching up, touching the side of the metal place of his face, the blood that he had smeared on your hand dragging down his cheek like warpaint.

The devil was not made of hellfire, or brimstone. He was not made of muddy pieces or shadow or fangs and teeth like you anticipated. When you look into his eyes, though, you see the fury at having been cast from heaven and you know he has come to free you from god’s oppressive hand.

#revenant/reader #revenant x reader #apex legends revenant #apex revenant #apex legends #apex legends imagines #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #tw blood #tw infidelity #tw cheating

115 notes · View notes

mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

Text

The tale of Robin and Gale Hood; Ben Hardy x reader Chap. 1

*Author’s note*

Okay so firs the gif has NOTHING to do with the story, that was just the 1st gif I saw out of the borhap gifs that was displayed. So this came after the success of my Disney Aladdin AU fic so I decided to do a Robin Hood fic, so as a little cast list for you all here’s what I’ve got. I’ll also update the cast list as each new character is introduced so that none of you get lost. Hope you all enjoy this little AU fic starring our beloved Borhap cast.

Also on a side note, any italics written like this signifies a change in narration where the character of Alan O’Dale speaks his own narration verses what I’ll be writing.

Robin Hood: Rami Malek

Little John: Joe Mazzello

Prince John: Paul Prenter

Sir Heston: voiced by Allen Leech

King Richard (mentioned): Roger Taylor.

Alan O’Dale: Freddie Mercury (think 1975 version of Freddie)

Chapter 1,

Robin Hood and Little John

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queendeakyy

@queensdivas

@queen-paladin

@wormzteef

@geek-and-proud

_____________________________________________________________

The legend of Robin Hood. Ahhh yes, that handsome rouge who robbed the rich to feed the poor, who led a band of Merry men and made their home in Sherwood Forest. But there is more to the tale than meets the eye, and more people were involved in his rise to fame and glory. Like me.

Oi I’m over here, the handsome black-haired devil with the harp. Yes hello there my darlings. The name’s Alan O’Dale, and I am a minstrel. That’s an early day folk singer, I go about parading songs from town to town, kingdom to kingdom about brave knights, fierce battles, and of course my favorite stories, love stories.

And do I have two of the best love stories to share with you lovely darlings. Thankfully it all takes place at the same time so I don’t need to run my mouth on for very long. Anyways let’s first open our tale up to two dashing young men walking through the forest.

Two of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. These two young men were known other than Robin Hood and Little John. Now it didn’t start it off that way at first, those two chuckleheads always kept crossing each other’s paths as children and constantly argued and fought over territory, women, you name it.

But when they reached their late teens, Robin was one day captured by the despicable, ugly, and revolting Sheriff of Nottingham. Fortunately with the help of an additional 3rd party, Robin was saved from the hangman’s noose and from then on, Robin and Little John were the best of friends. You don’t believe me, let me sing you a little something.

Tuning the harp, Freddie then begins to play an uplifting little tune as he begins to sing.

Robin Hood and Little John walkin' through the forest Laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say Reminiscin', This-'n'-thattin' havin' such a good time Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Never ever thinkin' there was danger in the water They were drinkin', they just guzzled it down Never dreamin' that a schemin' sheriff and his posse Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around

Robin Hood and Little John runnin' through the forest Jumpin' fences, dodgin' trees an' tryin' to get away Contemplatin' nothin' but escape an' fin'lly makin' it Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Deep in the forest on top of a tree there hid two young men in their mid to late-20’s. One was a pale white man with long shoulder length auburn brown hair. His eyes were a mixed brownish-green and he was a handsome young man.

The man beside him was around the same age, if not slightly older and had skin that almost seemed to be kissed by the sun. His eyes were an intense blue color that could almost hypnotize you and at the same time make you feel relaxed. His short jet black hair topped off his head.

Together the two of them wore a similar green and brown clothes. Similar to a ranger’s outfit. Fit to camouflage them within the forest terrain, but also enough layers to keep them warm from the elements be it rain, sleet, snow and hail.

The two young men watched as the Sheriff of Nottingham and his men gave up on the search after losing them and retreating back to the city. Once they fled the forest, the two men threw themselves back against the top of the tree branches and laughed their heads off.

“Ohh we sure showed those clowns who the real woodsmen are!” boasted Little John.

“Indeed we have Little John.” It was then Little John saw on top of his friend’s and boss’ famed yellow hat an arrow sticking right through it.

“I wouldn’t be too quick to boast my friend. Take a look at your hat. She’ll not be pleased to see that.” Robin picked his hat up and his eyes widened in surprise and he said as he took the arrow out and fiddled with the newly made hole in his hat.

“Hello. This one had my name on it didn’t it? They’re getting better you know.” He placed his hat back on top of his head. “You’ve got to admit it, they are getting better.”

“Yeah. And when that day comes the Sheriff will have a rope hanging around our necks.” Little John said gravely. He then mimed out a hanging as he proceeded to make a brief choking sound. “It’ll be hard to laugh hanging there Robin.”

“Ha! The Sheriff and his whole posse couldn’t lift you off the ground. En Garde!” he then flicked the arrow right at Little John which went through his own smaller green hat.

“Oi watch it you bastard that’s the only hat she made for me!” Little John exclaimed as he took his hat off the arrow.

“Oh come along my friend. If she can patch mine up a hundred times, she’ll patch yours up as well. At least she won’t kill you for it.” Robin said nonchalantly as he leaned up against the trunk of the tree.

“You know something Robin I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking that’s a first.” Robin teased. Little John glared at his friend before saying.

“I’m serious here. Are we good guys or bad guys? I mean our famed mantra of robbing the rich to feed the poor.”

“‘Rob?’” Robin tsked. “That’s a naughty word we never rob. We just—sorta borrow a bit from those you can afford it.”

“Borrow?” Little John chuckled. “Then we truly are in deep debt.” Before Robin could say another word, from the distance the sound of trumpets rang out.

He climbed a few feet higher up the tree till he reached the very top of it. He could hear the whole ensemble of a band playing in the distance and he chuckled softly.

“Sounds like another collection day for the poor eh Johnny me boy?”

“Yeah. Sweet charity. So, what’s the plan this time my friend?” Robin slid down the trunk to meet back with Little John and together he laid out the plan.

Just a few miles along a dirt road, the royal ensemble was walking through the forest. The royal band played an up-tempo beat, walking behind them was the royal guard all dressed in their armor and holding their spears.

Some of the guards even carried a very large treasure chest which held the taxes throughout all of England. Then shortly behind the guards was the royal coach of pure gold, and inside it was the vile, selfish, arrogant, man-child that was Prince John, the younger half-brother of the great King Richard.

An Irish bastard’s son. Who claimed right to the throne of England after his mother who was Queen. He was inside his coach happily running his hands through all the gold he had collected from the people as he boastfully cheered.

“Taxes! Taxes! Beautiful, lovely taxes!”

“Sire. You have an absolutely skill for encouraging contributions from the poor.” His talking albino python that he had named Sir Heston. He had Heston ever since he found him as a egg abandoned in the woods. With the help of some magic from the faes, Prince John gave his pet human intelligence and the ability to speak. And once he gained the throne, he allowed his snake to be his right hand man.

“The coin a phrase, my dear advisor. Rob the poor to feed the rich. Am I right?” The two of them laughed. “Now tell me, what is the next stop Sir Heston?” Prince John asked as he held the crown of England in his hands. Heston slithered over to the map and he hummed with interest.

“Why, the next stop is Nottingham sire.”

“Oh! The richest plum of them all. Nottingham.” Heston held a large mirror in his coils and held it up as Prince John placed the crown on top of his head and admired himself in the mirror. The crown slid off down his face as Sir Heston spoke out.

“A perfect fit sire. Most becoming. You look regal, dignified, sincere, masterful, noble. Chival……”

“Now, now don’t. Don’t overdo it Heston.” Prince John scolded as he adjusted the crown to make it fit upon his head. “There. That does it. This crown gives me a feeling of power! Power!”

“And how well King Richard’s crown sits on your noble brow.”

“Yes indeed I—ah King Richard?!” Prince John first started off before snarling by the end. Heston gulped and was soon choked by his master as he proclaimed again “I told you to never mention my bastard of a brother’s name!”

“A mere slip of the forked tongue your majesty.” Heston apologized. “But remember we were in this plot together. After all it was your idea that I hypnotize him…..”

“Yes. And send him off on that ridiculous crusade. Ah-ha! Ah-ha!” Prince John laughed along.

“Much to the sorrow of the Queen Mother.”

“Yes! Mother.” Prince John sobbed. “Mother always did like Richard best.” He muttered angrily before proceeding to suck his thumb.

“Your highness, please don’t do that. If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s undignified for a King to suck his thumb.” Heston said to him. He then slithered up to Prince John and his eyes began to shimmer and glow as he said in a low hiss, “Hypnotism can rid of your psychosis….so…..easily…..” Prince John began to slowly relax but he quickly snapped out of it.

“None of that! None of that!” he shouted at his snake advisor.

“Well I was only trying to help.” Heston said annoyed.

“Help. Help indeed. Now, now one more stunt like that Heston, and you will be walking to Nottingham.”

“Snakes don’t walk they slither. So there.” Heston muttered angrily as he slithered back onto his tree-like pole and lay there pouting.

Racing through the woods putting on their disguises was Little John in the lead. He wore a long blood red gypsy dress that revealed his shoulders. Once he got into the dress, he took out a few rings and placed them on his finger as well some anklets, earrings, and he quickly tied a purple sash around his waist to finish off the look.

While behind him, Robin wore a long blue dress that was fit for an elderly woman and had a long black wig on. He placed a couple of earrings on his ears and had a bandana tied to his head.

As the two of them stopped behind a tree, they saw the royal band coming in as well as the guards and the coach which held Prince John inside.

“Well this is a letdown. It’s only a circus. A peanut operation.”

“Peanuts? Why you dunce that’s the royal coach. It’s Prince John himself.” Robin snapped as his friend.

“Prince John. Alright you and her might be crazy enough to actually rob royalty but I am not having it. I’m gone!”

“What? And miss this chance to perform before royalty?” Robin said as he stepped in front of Little John. Quickly placing his hands over Little John’s fake breasts before backing off and doing a grand twirl of his blue dress. Little John rolled his eyes as he sighed.

“Here he goes again.” They waited till the coach got closer before stepping out and waved their arms in the air trying to get the attention of the Prince.

“Oo-de-lally! Oo-de-lally! Fortune tellers!” Robin proclaimed masking his voice to sound like an elderly woman’s voice.

“Fortunes, forecasts, lucky charms!” Little John proclaimed making his voice go an octave higher to sound like a woman’s.

“Get the dose with your horoscope!” Robin called out again. Prince John pulled back the curtains hearing the proclamations of the two ‘women’.

“Fortune tellers, how exciting! Stop the coach.” He ordered the guards as the entire royal party stopped their marching.

“Sire, sire. They maybe bandits.” Sir Heston whispered to his master.

“Oh poppycock. Female bandits, what’s next? Rubbish.” Prince John scoffed. He turned back to the two ladies who bowed before him and he said. “My dear ladies, you have my permission to kiss the royal hands. Whichever you like.” Both Robin and Little John stared wide-eyed once they saw the size of the jeweled rings that rested along the prince’s fingers.

“Hmm. Oh how gracious. And generous of you your majesty.” Robin said as he lowered his head to kiss the Prince’s left hand while sneaking off a ring from his tall finger. Sir Heston who had seen the ring being taken whispered in Prince John’s ear.

“Sire! Did you see what…..”

“Stop! Stop hissing in my ear!” Prince John scolded as he rubbed his left ear. Little John kissed right over the four rings on the prince’s right hand, secretly taking the jewels right off their encasement. Heston began stammering in the Prince’s other ear which made the Prince proclaim and rub his other ear like he did his last one.

“Heston! You’ve hissed your last!” he took his python by the neck and slammed him into a basket before closing it and sitting on top of it. “Suspicious snake.” He hissed lowly.

“Masterfully done. Ehh your excellency. Now the fun can truly begin.” Robin tempted the Prince as he climbed into the coach with Prince John and closed the curtains. He turned the lanterns down low and said to him, “Now close your eyes and concentrate.”

Prince John closed his eyes as Robin continued to tell him to close them tighter and not to peek. He looked around the room until he found the pile of gold, he did a soft chuckle before chanting out.

“From the mists of time, I call forth ye spirits.” Outside the coach, Little John had a glass bowl tied to a string that was attached to a pole.

“Alright you little fireflies. Glow, glow.”

“We’re waiting!” Robin sung out. That’s when Little John sent the bowl inside and he could hear Robin gasp. “Look sire! Look!”

When the prince opened his eyes, he saw three floating spirits within a crystal ball. He was in pure awe as he said.

“Incredible. Floating spirits.” He went to touch the ball until he was slapped by Robin. He chuckled a soft witchy cackle as he said.

“Naughty, naughty. You mustn’t touch young man.”

“Well how dare you strike the royal hand I—”

“Shh, shh, shh. You’ll break the spell just gaze into the crystal ball.” Robin took the ball with the fireflies and set it down on the table between him and the prince. Robin then began chanting in an ancient Arabic tongue before letting out a gasp. “A face appears.”

The Prince immediately looks closer at the crystal ball intrigued.

“A crown sits on his noble brow.”

“A crown! Oo-de-lally how exciting!”

“His face is handsome, regal, majestic, loveable, a cuddly face.” From outside Little John heard all the comments Robin was laying on the Prince and could help but mime out a gag and roll his eyes. Especially when the Prince began agreeing with everything that was said about him.

Robin then went for the treasure while the Prince was in his own head. But as soon as he reached out his hand for the bag of gold, Heston who had found a weak spot on the basket poked his head out and actually struck out at Robin’s hand.

Biting his lip as he quickly retreated his hand to see it bleeding from the snake’s bite. He let out a pained groaned which got the attention of the prince.

“Now what?” he asked impatiently. Robin swallowed his pain and chuckled softly.

“I—I see your….illustrious name.”

“I know my name! Get on with it!” the Prince cried impatiently.

“Your name will go down, down, down in history of course!” Robin said as he struggled to take the bag of gold from Heston, who had it wrapped around his tail, but with a finally good tug, Robin managed to get the gold and send it towards Little John through the back curtains of the coach.

“Ahh! I knew it! I knew it! You hear that Heston!? Oh no you can’t he’s in the basket.” He then banged the side of the basket and said to his snake, “And-and-and don’t you forget it.”

Meanwhile outside, Little John slowly circled around the coach when he took notice of the solid gold hubcaps on the wheels of the coach.

“Hmm now that’s what I call pure gold hubcaps.” He looked around and stood in front of the back one and unscrewed it from the wheel and shoved it up the back of his dress. He then moved over to the front on and did the same thing. “Oo-de-lally the jackpot.” He muttered softly as he eyed the royal treasure.

However it was completely surrounded and carried by guards. Little John pondered for a bit but remembered a trick that he learned from a friend of his.

The one sure fire way to get a man’s attention away from their post.

He whistled out to the guards and when they turned and saw him, their mouths immediately dropped and their eyes widened. He slowly and seductively untied the purple sash from his waist and began to do a seductive dance.

Shimming his shoulders and swaying his hips back and forth. Little John was light on his feet as he leaped and hopped about like a graceful deer. He then skipped on over to the first guard who was just in awe.

Little John wrapped the purple sash around the guard’s neck pulling him in a little closer. Close enough to kiss him. But to tease him, he shoved the guard’s helmet over his face before retreating back and flaunted the guard, who was still hypnotized by Little John’s performance.

He twirled around before suddenly dropping down into a full split. The guards now began to hoot and holler as they applauded, dropping the treasure. Little John then went up to another guard and took his spear out of his hands and jammed it into the ground.

With the grace of a deer, Little John then began to spin and slid down the spear’s long pole before ending with a pose with his right leg high in the air and he winked at the guards who were now applauding and whistling.

“Ohh stop it. Stop it you boys are too much.” Little John spoke his woman voice.

“That was the best show we have ever seen.” Said one of the guards.

“Well gentleman. It was my pleasure to dance for you. But of course every bit of contribution helps. For you see I—oh I just can’t say it.”

“What is it?” asked another guard.

“No it’s—it’s too painful to speak about.” The guards feeling sympathetic for this beautiful woman all started speaking up and telling ‘her’ that they wanted to hear her story. “Well…..I wasn’t always like this. My husband was beating me, cheating me, then left me all alone with no money. That’s when I—I forced myself to flee even without a cent to my name. That’s when I found Ms. Olga, the elderly gypsy woman I came with. But even then we—we hardly get by with enough food for you see…..I found myself pregnant at the time I left.”

These men were falling for the story hook, line and sinker. It was then one of the guards took the treasure chest and slid it over to Little John.

“Please, take it all.” Little John gave the young guard a surprised look and he said.

“Oh no I couldn’t possibly take all this.”

“Please. My—my mum had to raise me on her own when my father left her. For you and your baby.”

“Ohh you sweet thing.” He stroked the side of the guard’s cheek and Little John dragged the royal chest away from the guards.

As he came around the corner of the carriage, he felt someone bump into him which knocked him over the chest. He turned around and saw Robin wearing Prince John’s royal cape and surrounded by a bunch of gold pieces that had fallen out of a bag that lay on the ground.

“Nice robes your majesty.” Little John teased, his normal accent finally coming out.

“And what of you, you vulgar young hussy. I heard all the wolf whistles and cheering. I could hardly keep the Prince under my hypnosis to swipe his clothes and gold.”

“Never mind that. Just gather the gold and then help me with this.” Robin and Little John then worked together to put as much gold pieces back in the bag as possible. Robin stuffed the bag into his dress then both he and Little John picked up the chess and quickly raced off.

Prince John who had woken up from his dazed state, saw the two gypsy women running away from the scene, the elderly woman wearing his robes. He looked down and saw that he was in his undergarments.

“ROBBED! I’VE BEEN ROBBED! HESTON! YOU’RE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED YOU!!” Heston slithered out of the basket and raised half his body length up and looked the prince up and down. “I’ve been robbed.” He choked out as he covered himself up.

“Of course you’ve been robbed!” Heston hissed. Far in the forest, Robin was gleefully chanting as he and Little John made their escape with the royal treasure.

“AFTER THEM YOU FOOLS!” Prince John proclaimed. The guards now realizing they had been tricked, immediately took off running. The carriage soon began to chase after Robin and Little John, unfortunately due to the missing hubcaps, the wheels began to pop off which made Prince John hop out of his carriage and fall straight into the mud.

Leaving him stranded in the middle of the forest trail alone with Heston. He sobbed as he pounding the ground whining like a child.

“I knew it. I knew this would happen. I tried to tell you but no, no you wouldn’t listen. You just have to—” when Heston realized that he had angered the Prince, he began stammering as he tried to warn the prince as he now held a very large mirror, “Seven years bad…..” he then had the mirror smashed onto his head. “Luck. That’s what that is. Besides, you just broke your mother’s mirror.”

“Ahhh! Mummy!” Prince John whined as he began to suck his thumb once again. He took it out of his mouth as he said solemnly, “I’ve got a dirty thumb.”

18 notes · View notes

mysteira6 · 4 years

Text

IkeRev Loki Genetta - Like a Cat

Hi I’m obsessed with Loki Genetta and @maedayo’s art of him has inspired me to write these little scenarios with Cradle’s local Nyandere Cheshire Cat. Enjoy~!

(This will be in your POV, btw! I also tried my best to write this in a format similar to the game’s script. You’re welcome. :3)

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

No matter how you look at him, Loki still looks like a cat.

I chuckled at the thought as another breeze blew by the meadow, brushing the fuchsia hair of the man beside me and drawing a laugh from me. His mismatched eyes were sparkling with joy as he poked the strawberry shortcake on his plate with his fork and took another bite of it.

“Mm~ Your cakes are always the best, Alice!” He smiled at me warmly. A blush found its way to my cheeks as I watched Loki take another bite of the vanilla-coloured cake, the unmistakable glee clear in his voice. “You should really think about opening a sweets shop in Cradle,”

I scratched my head sheepishly. “That sounds really ambitious, Loki,” I shrugged at the thought of competing against all the current confectionaries in Cradle. “There are already so many talented bakers in the Central Quarter… I highly doubt that my desserts would stand out compared to them,”

“But your sweets are all so good!” Loki replied with a grin. “I bet everyone in Cradle would love them~”

“You’re too kind,” I muttered to myself, hoping that he wouldn’t hear me. Despite my earlier response, my mind began to wander along the thought of actually working in a desserts shop in Cradle. Considering that I used to work in a confectionery in London, it wasn’t a completely foreign experience to me. I could still remember all the recipes that I used time and time again back then, so maybe-

“Loki!!!”

In the midst of my thoughts, Loki had sneakily snatched the slice of cake that was on my plate, and was now happily munching away at it. “Haha, you didn’t even notice a thing, Alice! This cake is mine now!” He laughed wholeheartedly as he placed another strawberry covered slice of cake into his mouth, grinning at his success.

“Hey, that was my slice!” Placing my utensils gently on top of the picnic mat, I glared at Loki, crossing my arms. He didn’t seem to catch onto my anger, however; instead, he leaned close to me and lifted a piece of cake towards my mouth with his fork with an alluring gleam in his eyes

“Do you want me to feed you instead?”

My cheeks instantly heated up at his words, my heart suddenly beating very loudly in my ears. I was frozen by Loki’s gaze, his burnt caramel and topaz gold eyes staring back at me. It felt like a whole minute passed before my boyfriend finally broke the silence.

“Hm? You don’t want it?” He asked with a cheeky grin. I remained silent, unable to utter a single word.

“Well, I guess more cake for me then~” He said with a sly smile before redirecting his fork back into his mouth, moving away from me as he continued savouring his treat, the white icing on top of the cake smearing the side of his mouth a little. I found myself letting out a long sigh that I had been holding ever since Loki asked me that question. This guy…!!

One minute, he was innocently relishing my shortcake, the next minute he managed to steal my slice like a little devil, and now he was acting like a playful flirt. There were just so many sides of Loki that would pop out of nowhere, casting their spells to draw me deeper in love with him…

I found myself smiling warmly while fishing out a napkin from our picnic basket to wipe the extra icing on his cheeks. “Loki, you got a bit of cake on your face,” I giggled.

He quickly grabbed my hand just as I finished cleaning his face, startling me enough to drop my napkin. He closed his eyes as he affectionately nuzzled my palm, purring like a cat at my touch. “Hehe, I love it when you touch my face, Alice~” He murmured.

I sighed, though I was still smiling. “Loki, I need my hand back...”

“Aw~ But your hand is so warm!”

The cheery smile encased on his lips was enough to win me over. How in the world could anyone be so cute?

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

I mean, even his carnivorous diet is like a cat. Or was it more like a child’s?

“Bleh… Yuck…”

I turned my attention away from reading to the sound of Loki’s gags. He was sticking his tongue at the green flowered vegetable stuck in his fork, clearly not wanting to eat the broccoli from lunch.

Seated in front of him was Harr, Loki’s guardian and mentor, and to say that he was unamused was an understatement. His one eye that wasn’t concealed behind a mask narrowed at the pouting boy. “Loki, you need to eat your vegetables. I’m not going to tell you twice,”

“But I hate them…” The pink-haired teen groaned with a frown, his heterochromatic eyes drooping at the sight of his plate, mostly clean except for the cursed green pieces. “And why did it have to be broccoli, Harr? You know that I hate those the most!”

“All the more reason why you need to eat them,” The wizard replied with a deadpan look. “Look, they really aren’t that bad, Loki. And you’ve got to eat them for nutrition,”

The younger magic-user refused to listen. “I already eat a lot of fish! And fish has loads of nutrients too. I’m full--Thank you for the meal!”

Loki was about to stand up and lift his plate to the sink before Harr’s eyes glowed red, his powerful magic forcing Loki back on the chair no matter how much he squirmed. “Hey! No fair, Harr! I thought you told me not to use magic for trivial matters!” Loki yelped indignantly.

“Eat your broccoli!”

“No!”

“Loki…!!”

As I sat on the sofa in their living room, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. From this angle, Harr really looks like a father trying to get his son to eat his veggies, though he really wasn’t making any progress on the matter.

At that moment, a cheeky idea popped into my head, cueing the ends of my lips to turn upwards and form a smile. After slowly placing my book on the coffee table, I trotted over to the dining table, where Loki was pouting and Harr was crossing his arms in frustration. “Still not eating your vegetables, Loki?” I asked with a short sigh.

He immediately brightened as soon as I got close to the table. “Alice! Tell Harr to let me go!” He cried for help like a child while Harr shook his head in disappointment.

“I was thinking that he would mature a little after meeting you,” The older wizard mused, pinching his nose bridge. “But it seems that his refusal to eat vegetables hasn’t changed at all,”

I laughed light-heartedly at his words. “It would seem so,” I agreed with a sheepish grin before turning back to the stubborn man who was glued to his chair, ready to enact my plan. If Loki won’t eat his veggies willingly… Maybe I should give him some incentive…

Leaning in close to Loki, I cupped my mouth and whispered to him in the sweetest voice I could muster. “What if I give you some kisses after you eat them, hm?”

The pout on his face instantly disappeared. As Loki slowly turned his head towards me, I could see that his cheeks had turned pink and his eyes were widened at my words, his mouth agape as he stared at me. Despite my heart pounding wildly in my chest, the sweet smile on my face didn’t falter as Loki blinked at me, seemingly shocked at what just happened.

There was a short silence in the room before the Cheshire Cat let out an audible gulp and turned back to his food. The frown on his face from before returned, though it was visibly fainter than earlier.

“ … Fine,” He huffed as he picked up his fork, this time actually picking up the pieces of broccoli and chewing them in his mouth. He didn’t gag or complain, and I grinned at the sight. Success!

On the opposite side of the table, Harr’s cedar-brown eyes widened in astonishment. “My goodness…” He muttered to himself as he slapped his hand onto his forehead.

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

Loki can get pretty possessive like a cat, too…

I hummed a little tune to myself as I packed some books into the trusty bag Seth gave me earlier. Sirius was right; Harr really did have a lot of cookbooks lying around his house and he wouldn’t hesitate to lend me them if I asked him about it. Though I could remember most of the dessert recipes that I used back in London, I figured out that it would do me some good if I learned how to make other dishes for meals. And considering how amazing Harr’s cooking was, it was only natural that I’d try to learn from him.

Beside me, Loki leaned against the armrest of the sofa, nodding his head to the song I was humming. “What song is that, Alice?” He asked inquisitively, tilting his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before… Did it come from the Land of Reason?”

I nodded. “I can’t remember the name of it, though,” I replied with a shrug as I zipped up my bag, lifting the straps around my head to rest on my shoulder. “I just remember listening to it a long time ago back in London,”

“London?”

“Ah, that is, the Land of Reason,” I explained with a smile as Loki’s eyes lit up. For a number of times now, he has asked me about my world, known as the Land of Reason to everyone in Cradle. A polar opposite to this wonderland that I’ve fallen into, the Land of Reason progressed and functioned on scientific logic, machinery and phenomena instead of magic. I wonder how I would ever explain how to use a telephone to anyone here, especially Loki.

Meanwhile, the man that I was just thinking about had his gaze trained on the bag slung across my shoulder. The shades of pink and yellow in his eyes shimmered like stars, and yet I could feel them piercing through me. The lack of response from the usually vocal Cheshire Cat made my heart worry.

“Loki?” I timidly asked, not realizing how soft my voice had become.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up from the sofa and walked towards me like a predator catching his prey. As he advanced to my position, I could spot his eyebrows drooping in disappointment. The tense expression in his eyes reminded me of the day he casted a spell to force me into a deep sleep.

“You’re leaving… now?” He finally murmured in a low voice, upset that I was preparing myself to head back to the black army’s headquarters.

Oh boy, here we go again…

“Is Loki stopping you from heading back home again?” Harr let out a long sigh in a tone mixed with embarrassment and disappointment as he stepped out his room, catching the sight of Loki staring down at me with pleading eyes.

I unfortunately had to nod in reply before turning my attention back to the pink-haired man before me. “Loki, I need to get back. You remember what I told you right? It’s gonna be Luka’s birthday soon and I need to help Ray and the others practice making a cake for him,” I explained in a matter-of-fact tone. I was already used to the many episodes of Loki trying to stop me from heading back to the other black army members, after all.

He turned his head slightly at the mention of Luka, his lips curving into an annoyed frown. “I don’t like that you have to go back to their headquarters all the time,” He complained as he reached for both of my hands, holding them tightly as if I would disappear if he let go. “I wish you could just stay here with me instead,”

I let out a short sigh. As possessive and dramatic as he was now, I had to admit that there was always a small sorrow in my heart each time we parted ways. There was always the promise of seeing him the next day, but there was also the miniscule yet present uncertainty that I couldn’t do so. It was a fear I could not deny no matter how hard I tried.

I looked up at Loki with a warm smile on my lips. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay today, Loki. But I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, and then we can go out on another date in Cradle-”

“But I still don’t like seeing you leave me,” He replied, seemingly unwavered by what I’ve said, the expression on his face barely changing. If anything, his grip on my hands only strengthened.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise-”

“But if you go, that means I won’t get to cuddle next to you tonight…”

His suddenly bold words caught me off-guard and I couldn’t stop the redness from crawling up my face. In fact, my cheeks weren’t red because of what Loki said; they got red because Harr was literally right there watching us!! There was no way to really stop his possessiveness, wasn’t there?

From the corner of my eye, I could see the wizard standing by the dining table with another disappointed expression on his face. “For the love of…” He mumbled, shaking his head. It seemed that as far as he was concerned, this routine of me getting won over by Loki’s charm was never going to end.

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

And he’s always demanding attention! If that part of him didn’t resemble a cat, then I don’t know what does!

“Hey, Alice~”

“... Alice, look at me~”

As tempted as I was, I managed to steel myself not to look at Loki, my focus not leaving the work in my hands for even a second. When he sneaked into my room earlier this afternoon, he took the liberty of lying on my bed for a little ‘cat-nap’. Now in the evening hours leading to dinnertime, he was up and clearly desperate for my attention.

… Actually, I take that back. The more I consider it, the more I realised that regardless of where we were, he always would be demanding my attention. It was petty, sure, but I couldn’t deny that I still love him for that.

Today, though, I couldn’t afford to be swayed by his pleas for attention. “Not now, Loki,” I proclaimed firmly. “I need to finish making this present for Edgar’s birthday tomorrow,” My mind floated back to a few days before when Loki had tried to stop me from going back to help Ray and the others make a birthday cake for Luka. Thankfully, Harr came to my rescue, convincing the ever clingy cat Loki to let go of me. Back then, I hopelessly fell victim to his boldness; I couldn’t afford to repeat that same mistake today.

… Huh…? Why… does my ear suddenly… hurt…?

I was so absorbed in my work that I had not noticed Loki’s stealthy advance towards me, him leaning over me as I sat on my work desk. As my attention was better tuned to his presence next to me, I could feel the short silky strands of his hair tickle my ears, accompanied by… something sharp?

It was only when his hands landed on my shoulders did my mind finally register what was going on. He… bit my ear…

… Oh my god..!!!

“L-Loki?!” I involuntarily yelped as my whole body froze. Whatever was working on before now landed on the desk as my hands remained in the air, unmoving as an all-too-familiar warmth travelled up my cheeks, extending to the edge of my ears. I could practically feel the electricity coursing through my veins as his warm breath hit my skin like a piece of red-hot iron.

“Hm?” He whispered with a seductive smirk on his face, clearly ignoring the deep scarlet blush on my face. “What is it, Alice?” He continued in a somewhat innocent tone as he continued to nuzzle the back of my ear affectionately.

No matter how hard I tried, no words would come out of my mouth. All I could do was gasp as Loki’s slender fingers swept some of my hair away so that he could nuzzle my neck. I let out a high-pitched yelp at the warm sensation, my head tilting to the side as if it was second nature and my two hands automatically reaching out and searching for his, and he chuckled at the sight.

“You know, I really have to wonder…” His alluring voice returned as his hands finally met mine, lulling the sudden need that had culminated within me. “Why do you tend to think of other men while I’m here?”

“Do you need me to remind you of who you belong to?”

The heat from my face instantly spread across my entire being at the sound of his deeper voice. I couldn’t halt the quiet moans coming out of my mouth as Loki grazed his teeth against my neck, his tongue following after as he licked my skin. My heart is beating so fast… I barely registered the sensation of my chair being lifted slightly as I was spun around in midair, my whole body now facing my boyfriend.

In my half-lidded vision, I spotted a red and surprisingly seductive gleam in Loki’s eyes. He flashed his signature Cheshire grin as he raised his hand to my chin, keeping me focused on him. “I belong to you, Alice. That means that you belong to me too, right?” His grin widened as he pulled my face towards him, his lips capturing mine in a sweet kiss.

I melted into the sensation immediately, my arms wrapping around his neck as I leaned closer to him, closing my eyes to savour this feeling. Loki’s hands soon cupped my face as he tilted his head to deepen our kiss, his fingers framing my jaw so very gently, as if I was fragile porcelain. A few minutes passed before I felt Loki pull away from me, and I internally whined at the loss of his warmth against my lips. “Loki?” I asked quietly, surprised at how soft my voice was.

He just smiled at me, his heterochromatic eyes telling me that he was content. “I’m glad,” He said randomly as he interlocked his fingers with mine. The gesture, although sweet, confused me, and I blurted out my question before I could even consider its aftereffects. “Glad about what?”

He chuckled at me again as a cheerful smile found its way to his face. “I got your attention now, Alice~”

I blinked at the realization that he was right. Oh no… I fell for his charms again just like last time…

At this rate, I’ll never get any work done…!

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

… Then again… I suppose the same can be said for me, to some degree…

Loki found himself smiling widely at the little doll in his hands, her appearance looking so much like his Alice. Her long brown hair, her cute white dress, her pretty blue eyes…

The pink-haired wizard let out a small giggle. He made a mental note to thank Harr later for teaching him how to sew. Though it took him a long time to make this doll look like her without using magic (even when the urge to just flick his fingers at the doll was so tempting), Loki was still very pleased at the final result of his practice.

“Loki!!” A melodious voice rang through the air, cueing the man in question to quickly pocket the doll in his jacket before she noticed it. He couldn’t afford to spoil the surprise… not yet, anyway.

Instead, he waved at the chestnut-haired lady as she sauntered over, a picnic basket in her hands. “Sorry that I’m a little late. Were you waiting for long?” She bowed once, making Loki laugh.

“Not at all, Alice,” He shook his head politely as he reached for her free hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. “By the way, you’re looking very cute, as always~”

A pink blush spread across her cheeks as her face shifted into a flustered expression. Loki’s heart warmed at the sight of Alice looking so embarrassed. Her honest reaction to everything was the cutest thing about her, after all.

So adorable… Loki mused to himself before lowering his voice as he spoke. “Hey, hey Alice. Before we go on our date, I have something to show you,”

She tilted her head at him. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” He teased with a smirk, to which Alice logically raised an eyebrow at, but the serious look in his own eyes reassured her otherwise. Deciding to go along with his plan, she obliged. With her eyes closed, her now hypersensitive ears heard the sound of cloth being rubbed against, as if someone was searching through their pockets.

“Okay, you can open them now,” Loki’s voice brought her back to the present as she followed his words, her eyes now catching the sight of a quaint little doll resting in Loki’s hands. He was holding it with both of his hands, his fingers wrapping around the doll’s waist, right where the start of her navy blue skirt was.

Wait a minute… a navy blue skirt?

“This doll…” Alice blinked at the sight. “It looks like me…”

“That’s right!” Loki nodded excitedly. “Isn’t she adorable?” He continued, lifting the doll’s hand to imitate her saying hello.

Alice giggled at the gesture. “How did you make her, Loki? With magic?” She asked as Loki passed her the petite toy, her hands and eyes looking all over the doll and inspecting its quality and detail.

“Nope,” He replied with an unexpected answer, which cued Alice to gaze at him quizzically. “I made her from scratch,”

“From scratch?”

“Yep. She’s made from nothing but thread, cotton and cloth,”

“ … No magic?”

He grinned as if he was crossing his heart. “No magic at all,”

“Wow…!” Alice beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with awe. “That’s really impressive, Loki!”

The smile on her face was more than enough of a payment for his efforts. He could feel his heart soaring at the sight of her happiness. Oh how he’d love to capture that pretty look on her face forever…

… Oh, right.

“There’s a reason why I wanted to show you this doll, Alice,” Loki began, lowering his voice mysteriously. Alice turned to him quickly, curiosity in her gaze. “You see, the last time I came to your room, I noticed something,”

“You tend to keep a lot of dolls of me in your room, Alice,”

Alice’s sapphire eyes widened like a child would have if she was caught eating candy. “I-!!” She uttered a single word as her embarrassing side resurfaced. How… Didn’t she keep those dolls in her closet when Loki came over?

… Or did he find them by himself?

“I don’t know where you found so many dolls of me, though,” Loki mused, a playful tone in his voice as he continued his explanation. “I mean, I don’t mind you keeping dolls of me. In fact, I find it rather precious of you~”

Precious? The fact that she always cuddled a Loki toy to sleep everyday… was precious to him? Alice could not believe her ears. Had she fainted in embarrassment already? Was this just a dream?

Behind her back, she pressed a fingernail into her thumb, the stinging pain from it as real as the basket in her hands. Yep, definitely not a dream.

“It’s kind of unfair though,” The younger man pouted, a frown appearing on his face. “You have the chance to cuddle me to sleep every night, but I don’t…”

Did he just read her mind?

“So…” He said slowly, reaching out to the doll in Alice’s hands as he tenderly took the doll back, holding it in his two hands. The young magic-user then turned to the woman in front of him, a light pink blush across his cheeks and his gold-and-pink eyes shining in adoration and affection.

“You wouldn’t mind if I have a doll of you then, would you, Alice~?”

~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~♥~

Hm... How would you reply to him, Alice? :3

Thank you so much, maedayo, for blessing my day with Loki fan art. I desperately need more Loki content~♥

Also, the song that Alice was humming to in the third scenario was this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGmk_F3F0Lw

I’ve been listening to it the whole time I was writing this. It’s super sweet~ Also, I realise that some of its lyrics really REALLY fit Loki’s route. Like I want to make an animated video of it with Loki, ahhh-

Anyways, thank you for reading!

(P.S. time to start writing another Loki fanfic since maedayo just posted more art of him and Alice ahhhh-)

#ikerev loki genetta #loki genetta #ikemen revolution loki genetta #ikerev #ikemen revolution #fanfiction #established relationship #picnic #cheshire cat #ikemen revolution loki #he's such a cutie #just like a cat #a bit possessive and attention seeking but still a cutie #i love him <3

45 notes · View notes

atc74 · 4 years

Text

The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

Warnings: Fluff, parental crap, fluff, love, scary situations, canon level violence, TW: Major Character Death

Summary: Y/N finds love with a young man who is new in town. Will their love last forever like she hopes, or will it end before it’s really begun?

Pairing: Lee Webb x Reader

Word Count: 4025

Written for: @amanda-teaches Amanda’s 2K Writer & Reader Challenge (“I can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me.”), @alleiradayne‘s Summer Shut In Challenge (“Can you please come get me?”), and @katymacsupernatural Katy’s Make Me Feel Challenge (”That’s...a lot of blood.”. Writing has been such a struggle that I combined them all!

Beta’d by: @crashdevlin and @dean-winchesters-bacon. Thank you both so much for taking a look and being so supportive of a new character. Also to @dolphincliffs for continually supporting (and feeding) my Christian Kane fix.

A/N: We all know the orgin stories of our favorite, and not so favorite characters. But when a new character is introduced in the way Lee Webb was, there is so much to learn. He is a blank slate, except for his ending. We really don’t know what is and what not is OOC for him, so this is going to be so fun. I was inspired to write this after listening to The Band Perry’s “If I Die Young”. I’ve always thought this would be a great intro for a hunter, and I finally found it. I hope you enjoy the journey!

P.S. I am using my forevers and my Dean list, since he does make an appearance. Please let me know if you prefer not to be tagged, should there be future Leo installments. Thank you.

Circa 2001 - Somewhere in Oklahoma

“Mama, he’s a good man,” Y/N sighed loudly as she set the table for supper.

“He’s a drifter, Y/N. He’s only been in town a short time. And working at that place!” her mother, Ruth, spat.

“Not everyone gets a good family upbringin’. He’s had a hard life and is trying to make it better. And it’s a bar, Mama, not the Devil’s playground.” Y/N protested, slamming the last fork down harder than she intended.

“That’s exactly what it is! Nothing good ever happened in that place and you’re not going there!” It had been a long time since she had heard her mother raise her voice.

“Mother, I am twenty years old. I am not a child. Lee is a good man and I’ve been seeing him for more than three months. He’s coming to supper and you’ll be the gracious hostess we all know you are. Please reserve judgement until you’ve met him. Isn’t that what Jesus would do?” Y/N smiled sweetly, knowing how her religious mother always followed the Golden Rule.

“Of course I will, Y/N. I’m not a heathen!”

“Supper was delicious, Miss Ruth. Thank you so much for having me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal this good,” Lee smiled at her as he stood to clear the dishes.

“Well, I’m pleased you liked it. I’ve got plenty left over. Would you like me to pack you some to take home?” Ruth blushed at the compliment from her daughter's boyfriend as she searched for a container for his leftovers.

“That would be wonderful, thank you ma’am. Now, you ladies go enjoy your tea, I’ll clean up here,” Lee shuttled the remaining dishes from the table to the sink.

“Nonsense! Guests don’t do my dishes,” Ruth swatted him away with her towel.

“Then let me dry, please. It’s the least I can do after such a meal. I haven’t eaten that well in, forever I think,” Lee offered.

“Mama, let him help.” Y/N’s voice carried through from the dining room as she carried the platter of fried chicken to the kitchen.

~*~

“He’s a good man, Y/N. I can see he cares deeply for you,” her mother told Y/N quietly that night after Lee had gone. They sat on the back porch, sipping chamomile tea, as the sun set.

“He loves me, Mama. And I think I love him, too.” She smiled ear to ear. “You changed your tune pretty quick, though.”

“He told me a little about his life, ya know. How his daddy left and his mama got sick. That’s no way for a child to live. But he’s making something for himself, and for you one day,” she commented. “He looks at you the way your daddy used to look at me.”

“Yes he is, but please don’t go putting a ring on my finger. I’ve barely started living. I won’t always be working at the library, content to stay in this town,” Y/N stated.

“I know, baby girl. There’s big things waiting for you out there. But leave room for him, too.”

“Mama, three hours ago you didn’t even like the man, now you want us to run away together and get married?” Y/N laughed.

“No, baby. I want you to get married, then run away and live your lives. I don’t want you stuck here like I was after your daddy passed. It’s no life for a young woman so vibrant and with so much to give the world,” Mama sniffed slightly, running the crumpled tissue in her hand underneath her nose. She rose and kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, girl. Don’t stay up too late.”

A pack of coyotes howled in the distance as Y/N thought about what her mama had said. “Goodnight, Mama.”

~*~

“Lee, what are we doing all the way out here? Why did you bring me out here? It’s dark and creepy,” Y/N muttered as Lee led her away from his truck, the path dark and obscured by shadows from the ancient pines towering above them.

“I have a surprise for you, darlin’,” Lee smiled, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks. “Ta da!”

“What is this?” Y/N gasped seeing a crippled cabin in front of them. The porch steps sagging from years of rot, the roof following suit.

“It’s ours...well, mine. I bought it from Ed for just the deed transfer fees. It’s going to be incredible,” Lee beamed at the compromised structure, then turned back to Y/N, his smile falling as he did. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Is it safe?” Y/N asked hesitantly, brows furrowed.

“Not yet. It needs some work, but I’m gonna fix ‘er up real good. It’ll be a good home for us, darlin’.”

They sat on the hood of his truck and Y/N listened as he told her his plans for the small two bedroom cabin, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of her hand folded in his. Y/N was content to stay tucked under his arm, his body fending off the chill of the night. Time passed as they talked about their future, laid out under the slivers of moonlight. “I love you, Lee.”

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N.”

It wasn’t until the night air became too cool that they decided to head back into town. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.” As Lee opened the passenger side of his truck, the sound of breaking glass came from the direction of the small cabin. He pushed Y/N inside the cab and shut the door. “Get behind the wheel, if I’m not back in five minutes, leave! Call the sheriff.”

“Lee, let’s just go!” Y/N shouted through the open window as he grabbed a two by four from the bed of his truck. He turned and winked at her, then kept walking, right around the side of the cabin. Four minutes.

The night was too dark to see anything solid, the slivers of moonlight playing tricks on her eyes as she scanned the small clearing. Three minutes.

Y/N slid across the bench seat and started the old beast, her engine rumbling to life. Two minutes.

She heard nothing as she continued to search for Lee, her eyes darting back and forth, the headlights of the truck brightening the clearing. One minute.

“Damn, baby, you smell so sweet!” A man jumped through the passenger window, breathing deeply through his nose. And then he smiled at Y/N. Only there were far too many teeth and they were all wrong.

A scream ripped from her body as he grabbed her arm, pulling it towards him as he tried to shimmy further into the truck. He suddenly lurched backwards and Y/N heard a sickening crack as wood connected with his skull. Lee rushed around the side of the truck and wrenched open the door. Y/N scooched over to give him enough room to get behind the wheel.

“What the H-E-double hockey sticks was that?” Y/N cried, noticing the tears on her face for the first time.

Lee threw the truck in reverse and gunned it back down the dirt road to the main highway. “I don’t know, baby. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

“Something is going in this town. That man, and others have been squatting in our cabin from the looks of things. I’m calling the sheriff as soon as I get you home. He’ll figure it out. Maybe they have something to do with the two missing people,” Lee pondered as he slowed down as the highway came into his rearview mirror. He straightened the truck out and put her in drive, heading back towards town.

“Who’s missing? Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N asked.

“Coupla regulars down at the bar. I reported it to the sheriff. Not really the type of guys that people miss, but they hadn’t been in for a few nights and that’s not normal. Sheriff confirmed today, they just up and gone, or so he said,” Lee shrugged.

Lee drove the last few miles into town silent with his hand clutching Y/N’s. He pulled into her driveway and cut the engine before getting out to open her door. Always the gentleman, Lee walked Y/N to the door, but this time he came inside. “What’re you doing, mister? My mama’s upstairs!”

“Just checking that all the doors and windows are locked. Gotta make sure my girl is safe,” he winked at her before he went up to the second floor. He returned moments later. “All set upstairs.”

When he was satisfied with his inspection of the first floor, he came to a stop in front of Y/N. She was leaning against the counter, a cup of tea next to her. She pulled him tight to her, fingers trembling as she grabbed his shirt. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m here.” He pressed his lips to the side of her head, holding her gently, as if he was afraid she’d break.

~*~

The library was empty the next day as Y/N settled behind the counter, her third cup of coffee in hand. She didn’t want to work today, but since Miss Birdie was out of town visiting her grandchildren there was no one else to open the library. It’s a library, so it is usually quiet, but it was too quiet. Even the online courses couldn’t drown out the quiet today as she followed along and took notes.

Y/N was lost in the online lecture until the bell above the door dinged, reminding her she was still at work. A tall young man, dressed in a leather jacket walked through, smiling at her as he passed the desk. He headed to the back, where the periodicals are kept. Y/N returned to her laptop, but now unable to concentrate on anything for longer than a few minutes, her mind occupied with Lee, their “future” and the events of the last few days. She sighed and gathered the stack of books next to her, adding them to the cart for restocking.

It took less of her time than she hoped to return the books to their rightful place on the shelf. Y/N went back to the desk and closed her laptop, stowing it in her bag, when she heard a voice from the back.

“Dad, I’m telling you, there’s nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch!” The young man was on his phone, waving his free arm in annoyance. “Yeah, okay. Bye.”

Y/N looked at the clock, noticing the time. “Sir, we’re closing in a few minutes.”

He was walking towards her, a confident swagger in his step. He winked at Y/N as he passed. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

She flipped the lights off and followed the young man out the door, locking the doors behind them. Y/N took a deep breath of fresh air and hooked her bag across her body, starting the walk home. It was just past five in the evening and the weather was perfect, not too hot yet, but warmer than it had been. She smiled, making her way down the street. She wanted to rush home and get supper ready to bring to Lee down at the bar.

He was working so hard, for them, for their future, and he deserved home cooking more than he got it. Y/N swung left through the small forest in the middle of town. It would easily cut ten minutes off her walk and that was more time to cook for her boyfriend. Lee was indeed her boyfriend, and hopefully, with the way he talked, her future husband. Y/N smiled at that. Husband.

~*~

Y/N had said she would bring him supper even after he told her she didn’t need to. She just said he needed to eat proper and if he was being honest, he liked it. He was in love with that girl. Lee wanted to make her his wife, provide a future for her, for a family. He wanted to make her happy, even if that was letting her bring him supper at work, for now. He was such a goner. And for the first time in his life, he was okay with that.

The bar wasn’t busy being a weeknight and all, but it was still early, only a hair past nine. A few regulars at the bar, a couple new faces playing pool, and a handful taking up tables. Y/N should have been there by now, or at least called. Lee started to worry. He should call her and check in. He should have told her to stay home, with everything that was going on. He cursed himself as he reached for his phone. It started vibrating in my pocket. Y/N’s picture lit up the screen and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Baby? Are you alright? I was so worried!” Lee blurted out.

“Can you please come get me?” Y/N sniffed and she sounded small, almost fragile.

“Where are you?” He asked, signaling Ed he needed to leave.

“I think I’m at the cabin. I don’t know. Someone grabbed me on my way home from work, and now it’s dark. I don’t know, Lee,” she was crying so hard, he could barely understand her.

“The cabin? I’m on my way, baby. Hold tight!” Lee was already in his truck before the call disconnected. The cabin was only about ten minutes outside of town, but he wasn’t obeying traffic laws that night. Lee needed to get to her and now.

The waning moon barely broke through the cover of the trees overhead as he eased his truck down the narrow drive. There were no other vehicles in sight, so if someone had brought her here, they had done it on foot, or left already. Either way, it didn’t sit right. What did someone want with her? Sure, Lee hadn’t always been a law abiding citizen, but he had done his time, made his peace with God, and changed his ways. Y/N made Lee Webb a better man. He wanted to be a better man for her.

He killed the engine and slowly opened the door, trying to be quiet. Lee searched the bed of his truck, looking for a weapon of any kind, and all he could find was a length of rusty pipe. It would have to do. He slid around the back of the cabin, searching for any sign of movement or sound, but it was quiet. Almost too quiet. He crept up the back steps and the door was ajar. Someone had been there recently. Lee pushed it open and walked inside. Something fast moved in front of him and before he knew what hit him, he was flat on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs, his weapon rolling across the sagging floor.

“I knew you’d come for me!” Y/N cried out, straddling Lee.

“Y/N? Baby, what happened? How did you get here? Are you okay?” The questions flew from his mouth faster than he could process the lewd smile on her face.

“I don’t know! One minute I was walking home from the library, taking the shortcut through the woods, when a man grabbed me. I think he knocked me out, or I passed out, I don’t know. But when I woke up, I was here. Alone. I don’t know what happened or where they went, but I knew you would come for me,” Y/N recounted the events since she left work rapidly.

“Of course I came. You’re my girl and I’m going to protect you and take care of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, but I’m here now, baby. I’ve got you,” Lee cooed softly, holding her tight to him, just relishing in her safety for the moment.

“I was so scared,” Y/N sniffed, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you now. It’s okay,” he soothed before pulling back and inspecting her carefully. Y/N looked okay, a little disheveled, but she didn’t appear to have any injuries that he could see immediately. “What else do you remember? Anyone come into work today?”

Y/N shook her head. “A few families came in for story time, Billy and his girlfriend, Jenna, to study for a couple hours.” Then she remembered. “There was a man, a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, wearing a dark jacket, maybe gray. He had um, spiky, light brown hair, and was wearing a necklace, with a weird looking pendant on it.”

“I saw that guy tonight. At the bar. He was with another man, an older guy. Thought they were just a father and son, having a beer and playing some pool. Son of a bitch!” Lee growled, knowing exactly the man she was talking about. “I’m calling the Sheriff.”

“No, baby, don’t. We can do that later. Just hold me,” Y/N begged, putting her face back into his neck.

He was angry and scared that someone took her, but his instincts to hold her won. Her body was warm against him and he let his thoughts linger over what she would feel like laid out beneath him. They hadn’t gone far in that department, as much as he wanted to. He loved her enough to respect her wishes and she wanted to wait until they were married. Lee thought it was sweet, and he did love her. He had been with many women who were quick to please, but none of them could hold a candle to the woman he held in his arms.

He felt her shift above him, slowly grinding her hips into his as she licked and sucked along his neck. Lee attempted to stop her. “Y/N, baby. This isn’t what you want. You’re scared and you need me to tell you you’re okay. I’m going to do that, but not like this, okay? I told you I’d wait for you and I will.”

“I don’t care anymore about some stupid promise. I want you now,” Y/N bucked into him harder, and he responded in kind, despite how strong he thought he could be.

“No, not like this. If we do this before we get married, we’ll do it proper, not on the floor of a dirty, run-down cabin,” Lee gasped, pulling back, but she didn’t loosen her grip on him.

“No!” Y/N screamed, biting down hard into the meat of his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! What the hell was that?” Lee screamed, pushing her back and jumping off the floor.

“I’m the new and improved Y/N. If you won’t fuck me, maybe one of these men will,” Y/N smiled wickedly, Lee’s blood dripping from her lips, and that’s when Lee noticed they weren’t alone. Two men slinked from the shadows and stared him down.

Lee looked around the room, gauging the distance to each of the two exits, when he spotted a body by the front door, slumped over. And another near the hall. “What is going on here, Y/N?”

“Oh, we gave your girl here a makeover. Stronger, faster, better. We’re immortal and we’re going to live a long, bloody life with her by our side. Eat up, baby girl,” one of the men said, grinning as he took in the look on her face. She was hungry and he knew the feeling too well.

“Come here, baby. I want a taste. It’s your choice. I change you and we live happily ever after. Or, I bleed you dry and my new friends here will be my first, and second. What’s it going to be, baby?” Y/N laughed maniacally as she advanced on Lee. “You want a real taste of this tight little body? Make me cum over and over for eternity?”

“No, this isn’t you, Y/N!” Lee shouted, rounding the small table, trying to put a little distance between them.

The front door blew open, wood flying through the small cabin. The two men from the bar entered, blades raised.

“No, it isn’t Y/N!” the older one announced and the first two men advanced on the newcomers.

Lee watched in disbelief, possibly shock as well, as the older man swung his blade, easily decapitating the first man as Y/N screamed, launching herself at him. The younger fought against the second guy, fists flying and grunts filling the small room. It was like a well choreographed fight scene from an action movie until another head rolled to a stop next to him.

“What the hell is going on here?” Lee demanded.

“We can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me.” The younger man approached him, while his father restrained Y/N.

“Trust you? You just killed two men and I should trust you?” Lee bellowed. “This is my house and you better explain yourself right now!”

“Those were not men. They were monsters. They took your girl here and changed her. She’s a monster, just like them. And now, she’ll die, just like them.” The older one spoke, dragging Y/N to a chair and securing her tightly. He pulled his machete from its sheath and lifted it high, ready to swing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just stop! What the hell are you talking about? Tell me now!” Lee demanded.

“My name is Dean Winchester and this is my dad, John,” Dean said. He then pointed to the headless men on the floor. “Those are, were, vampires. And that is a newborn vampire.” He gestured to Y/N tied to the chair.

Lee looked at the girl, the woman, he swore to love forever. Her teeth were bared, long blood stained fangs brushing against the soft pink of her lips he had kissed so many times. He looked down at himself, the front of his shirt bright red with blood. Then he remembered she bit him.

“You bit me?” Lee asked her.

“You are my first meal, or should have been, if these assholes hadn’t interrupted dinner time,” she laughed. “I was going to feed on you, then turn you so you were like me and we could live forever, fucking and killing, the way it should have been.”

“What?” Lee asked, still reeling.

“Vamps think they should rule the world. No cares, just living out their basics instincts, for an eternity,” John announced.

“Feeding and fucking, “ Dean shrugged, a small smirk on his face. “Now, Y/N, sweetheart, do you have anything you want to say before we chop your head off?”

“Fuck you!” Y/N spat at the two hunters. She looked to Lee, her teeth returned to normal and smiled sweetly at him, a small glimpse of the girl he loved. “Please don’t tell my mother. Tell her I’m in heaven, please. I’m so sorry, Lee. I really do love you.”

Lee took one step closer, aching to kiss her once last time. “Y/N, I’ll love you forever.”

“Dean, son, take him outside, he doesn’t need to see this,” John ordered his son.

“Come on, man. Let’s take a walk.”

Lee hesitated, but Y/N just nodded and smiled. He turned and stepped out into the cool night, Dean by his side. He flinched when he heard a thump from inside the cabin. Their cabin. Where he planned to love her, start a family with her. Funny how forever can be severed by the sharp knife of a short life. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, before letting it out and opening them again.

He looked down at his shirt with tears in his eyes before looking back up and meeting Dean’s eyes. “That’s...a lot of blood.” Lee dropped to his knees in the dirt.

“You’re going to be okay. Eventually,” Dean told him, pressing a cloth to the side of his neck. “I’m sorry this happened to you, to your girlfriend. Everyone has a story. This is how yours starts.”

~*~

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

~*~

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @manawhaat @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @emoryhemsworth @imaginationisgrowth @babypieandwhiskey @deans-baby-momma

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore @akshi8278 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deanwanddamons

#alleiradayne's 2020 SSSI #amanda-teaches #katymacsupernatural #tw: major character death #Lee Webb #lee webb x reader #lee x reader #lee webb angst #lee webb fluff

49 notes · View notes

elviehun · 4 years

Text

Well,

In case the world gets back to near normal in the foreseeable future, may I humbly present to You All 💙Dear Hearts💙:

👺THE AMAZING DEVIL

👺 DRINKING GAME

for your future use and enjoyment!

IMPORTANT💙: Please play this game with non-alcoholic beverages if your age, health, or any other factors don't allow you to consume alcohol (or if you simply don't drink). You might want to consider playing this with milder drinks cause I couldn't fucking stop adding stuff to the list... Please don't play drinking games if you have concerns or if you don't want to. Please take care of yourself and your friends and stay hydrated!!!

Also, you can absolutely play this with ice cream as well (tried and true), but in that case you might wanna make sure you have a fork😋.

(❤️I promise this was all made up for fun. It's a JOKE (even if not a very good one😣). Also a slightly sick kind of love note? ABSOLUTELY NO DISRESPECT INTENDED towards the Band, any of the members or the songs. They are the most admirable human beings on this Earth, I LOVE them with my whole twisted soul and their music is the very beat of my heart.)

SO.

The RULES:

(You might need both TAD albums to play, but it's up to you.)

🍺🍴RAISE YOUR GLASS (FORK) WHEN:

- they say King or Queen

- Madeleine's or Joey's voice proves the existance of the Fae

- there's a reference to mythology or books, bc Reasons

🍺ONE GULP WHEN:

- you answer Joey's 'Are you alright?' in FW

- the imagery of the lyrics betray the jolly tunes

- Joey growls

- Pruning Shears starts and you go Ha! Sherlock! (based on a true story)

- anyone mentions or refers to hair

- anyone mentions any piece of clothing. Make it 1.5 if it's below waistline (yup, the thigh-high hemline counts too).

- anyone says fuck or its derivatives

🤘MAKE DEVIL HORNS AND CHUG WHEN:

- the theme of fire, burning or hell comes up

- the Creature creeps inside😱

- anyone mentions booze

- they say 'Horror' or 'Devil'

- Joey does the meme cat Mom voice ('You look healthy') in FW

🙉SCREAM IN TUNE (AND GRAB THE KLEENEX) WHEN:

- a reference to them being Immortals comes up

- the interconnections between certain pieces make you wanna scream

- wings come up

🍺🍺TWO GULPS WHEN:

- Madeleine growls

- any insider joke that makes you go plush comes up

- Joey's voice breaks, yeah, like that

- you start to pack essentials in order to go feral in the woods RRRighttttt. Nowwwww.

- Netflix is mentioned

- you wonder 'how the fuck am I supposed to listen to non-fae music from now on'

💋BLOW A KISS WHEN:

- they say Dear Heart or Darling

- they promise anything

- the Darling Rooftop Wreck comes up

- they say 'I love you'

- anyone mentions makeup

🕳️MISS A ROUND WHEN (everyone else: chug!):

-Your favourite song comes up and you screw up any of the first 4 lines

- any Easter eggs come up that make you think of The Witcher (but go have a comfort gulp if it's geraskier💔, you deserve it, fam)

🥤🍨EMPTY YOUR GLASS (ICE CREAM BOWL) WHEN:

- they whisper

- Joey's 't' - s make you shiver

- you wanna sing both of Mads's and Joey's lines at the same time and you're convinced you CAN

- 'NO NO NOT I'

Have fun and take care Dear Hearts❤️!

Tagging @gjimagine @behind-the-sin @marvagon @cookies-and-gin cause you seemed interested 🤣

#the amazing devil #tad #drinking game #shitposting is my love language #sorry #joking

18 notes · View notes

keeganbryceewrites · 4 years

Text

Playing the right Notes

That Dreamy Look in Your Eye...

(Y/n)'s Pov

"Gotcha!"

I smiled as I caught the rabbit and removed my brown arrow from its head and placed the rabbit into my hunting bag. I grabbed my arrow and continued through the forest, jumping over logs and pushing past branches.

A few years ago, about 3 to be exact, the barrier was shattered and monsters were unleashed.

Humans responded with what humans respond with anything.

Another war.

This war is probably the worst one.

There's more casualties on both sides.

There are some Humans siding with the Monsters and helping them. Of course the king welcomes them.

But me...

Nah...

I'm a neutral, I, (Y/n) Bones, don't care about the war. I care about the demons they spawn. But recently, Demons have been quiet...

too quiet.

I am a hybrid, an Angel and Skeleton hybrid... I don't even classify as a monster... I have a little girl that I take care of, I found her a year ago. Her name is Chara... she has no memory of what happened before I found her, she told me that all she remembers is darkness and a bright white light.

I took her in. At first, she asked all sorts of questions and messed with my tail. I answered all questions and allowed her to play with my tail. She asked if I was a boy or girl. I asked why, since I am mostly gender fluid and I have male traits, such as my build and voice.

"No reason." She told me.

I told her I was a girl, based on my tail as I hid it underneath my trench coat.

She smiled brightly as her red eyes gleamed, "Then can I call you Mom?"

Looking back, I realized how much of a shock that would be. A human calling a Hybrid Mother... I snickered at the thought my brother must be feeling. Chiller, my eldest brother, he has black bones and deep red eyes... he has a child named Dean.

(Artwork is mine, yes, I messed up his arm... don't judge me please. It's a quick sketch)

He is a hybrid on his own... he has a human mother and a skeleton father.

The human was named Lily. The father is Chiller. I take care of both Dean and Chara. Since Dean would probably be killed at first look since he is mostly human at a glance. Now that I think about it, they both get along great since Dean is 10 and Chara is 9

"Momma!"

"Auntie (Y/n)!!"

Speak of the devil... or devils.

I was tackled to the ground by a blur of green and a blur of blue. I look up to see Dean and Chara piled on my ribs. I laughed heavily as I pushed them off. I heard the thumping of paws behind me and was greeted with a glomp from behind from Akumu, my demon companion.

Her lantern tail lit up brightly with glee.

Master!! I brought a deer!!!

I rubbed her head in approval, "Good job Akumu. I got rabbits! Who wants rabbit stew?"

Chara and Dean raised their hands while Akumu raised her paw. "Great! I'll get them ready once we reach the abandoned neighborhood just a few miles north. Now grab your bags and Akumu, please carry the deer on your back and stay in front. It's getting very dark out."

Akumu nodded and got the dead deer on her back as she kept her lanterned tail up high. I fixed my trench coat and hunting bag and held the children's hands as we followed Akumu.

We finally reached the abandoned neighborhood. Trees grew inside houses and vines crept up the walls and around cars. I pulled my hood over my head more and ushered the kids behind me. I hid them near a bush as Akumu watched over them.

I had to be careful, Humans could've placed traps in each of these homes, whether to catch food or a monster. (Monster was 666)

I went into a house that looked more furnished and looked better then the rest. A few cobwebs here and there.

Whoever owned this had a good payment. They must've fled too since— oh that must be the owner...

I was going to say since everything looked as if the person who owned this fled at the last minute, but a human skeleton on the foot of the stairs cut off my thoughts and judging by the way his neck was bent, the cause of death was a broken neck by falling off the stairs. Poor guy.

I smiled sadly and gathered his bones and began placing them outside in a pile. I placed dried grass over the bones and lit it. I felt a cool breeze and looked up to see a transparent male, mid thirties, wearing a white polo shirt and blue jeans. He had brown hair and green eyes and wore glasses. He smiled and mouthed a thank you and disappeared. I smiled softly and went back to call in Dean and Chara.

They both ran up to me and entered the house. I heard Chara gasp and seconds later, run up to me with a surprisingly clean stuffed goat. "Can I keep it? Please!!!"

I nodded, "Whatcha gonna name it?"

"Alex!"

I padded her head, "That's a great name. Now go get changed into some sleep wear while I get stew ready."

She nodded and grabbed her bag and ran upstairs.

I helped take the deer off of Akumu and skinned it. I washed the fur and let it dry over a clothing line outside. I could make a nice bag out of that keep the scraps for leatherwork. I cut off the hooves and put them in the fire outside. I sawed off the antlers into bits to make small chewy treats for Akumu. I gave a large one to Akumu to eat.

Thank you Master.

I smiled back at her as she walked off to the living room as I placed the rest in a small pouch on my waist. I skinned the rabbits and hung them to dry. I salted the leftover meat and gave the hearts and brains to Akumu to serve as her meal. I put up the deer meat and began chopping up the rabbit meat into a steel pot full of cream of chicken soup.

I took off my trench coat and placed it over the couch when I realized that this house had running water and washed some dishes we used while we traveled.

I got out my Walkman and tuned to Kokomo by Beach Boys.

I swayed my hips to the beat and sang some of the lyrics,

"Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take you to

Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama

Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go

oh I want to take you down to

Kokomo, we'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow

That's where we want to go, way down in Kokomo,

Martinique, that Montserrat mystique.

We'll put out to sea and we'll perfect our chemistry

And by and by we'll defy a little bit of gravity

Afternoon delight, cocktails and moonlit nights

That dreamy look in your eye, give me a tropical contact high

Way down in Kokomo..."

I stopped as I felt someone staring at me, I looked over to the kitchen doorway and saw Chara and Akumu there, smiling. I smiled back as Chara pulled my ring phalange and danced with me. I laughed and pulled her into a sway and sang louder as I spun her. "... Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo

Now if you want to go and get away from it all

Go down to Kokomo

Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take you to

Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama

Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go

oh I want to take you down to

Kokomo, we'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow

That's where we want to go, way down in Kokomo

Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take you to

Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama

Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go!!"

I dipped Chara slightly and heard Dean clapping and recording with a video camera perched on Akumu's head. Akumu wagged her tail. "That was so awesome (Y/n)!! You sang so beautifully!!"

Chara beamed as I pulled her up and stirred the rabbit stew. "I know right! Her voice is like an angels!! Alex likes her voice to!" She held up her stuffed goat and shook its head.

I chuckled as I poured the stew into three bowls. "Dean, Chara, dinner is ready!"

I placed the bowls down and gave them forks and spoons. Chara frowned, "What's the matter sweetie? Don't you like it?"

"You forgot Alex Mom!"

I rolled my eye sockets and poured the stew into another bowl and placed it in front of the stuffed goat.

We ate in silence, I finished my stew and put the bowl in the sink and stored the rest of the stew in a large canteen. I came back to see the bowl in front of Alex completely empty and a chewing Akumu and a giggling Chara.

"Akumu, did you eat Alex's food?"

Akumu looked away in playful guilt. I patted her head and took away the finished bowls and cleaned them. Chara hugged my femur bones, "Thank you for cooking mom! It tasted great!"

I patted her head and told her and Dean to go play in the backyard while I set up a bed in the living room and got the couch ready. I searched my backpack to find my portable DVD player. It was like a small cinema player. I searched for a movie off the shelves, "Lady and the Tramp? Nah. Robots? Nope... oh! Mulan! Nice!"

I grabbed the animated Disney movie and placed it in the player and got to the menu.

I called them both in and got changed into large boxers and a white tank top as they watched Mulan get her makeup on.

We made it to where the fat lady put ink all over her skin. The children laughed as I impersonated her, "FA MULAN!!"

I yelled out in a goofy and grumpy voice. We laughed and watched the movie with giggles here and there. We finished the movie with yawns and sleepy eyes.

Akumu put slept at the entrance doorway as watch as I tucked them in. Dean looked up and yawned, "Are we going to see Daddy tomorrow?"

I nodded, Tomorrow, we are dropping off Dean to the new monster capital and heading up north to Michigan to Canada to get away from the War.

At the pace we're going, we could make it.

As long as we don't run into the Royal Guard.

#gaster sans x reader #gaster #gaster sans #g!sans #g!sans x reader #writers on tumblr #papyrus #papyton #sans x reader #sans undertale #echotale #undertale #chara undertale #frisk the human #ut frisk

48 notes · View notes

missjanjie · 5 years

Text

Branjie Fic - Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer (2/?)

Title: Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer Summary: Brooke Lynn is a graduate student anxiously embracing her new position as her favorite dance professors’ new TA. Vanessa is a sophomore dance major who just might make her way into being more than the teacher(assistant)’s pet. (lesbian/university AU) Word Count: ~2.4k (this chapter)/~5k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Vanessa ‘Vanjie’ Mateo/Brooke Lynn Hytes) Rating: T Note(s): rating is subject to change, this is based on the story so far

Read on AO3 | Ch. 1

While it is called the ‘fall semester’, classes always start during the summer, often at the end of August. This gave way for heatwaves hitting in the middle of the week, especially in densely-packed places like New York City. No one talks about this time of year in the city that never sleeps – it is devoid of the awe and whimsy that so often surrounded it in media. Artists don’t wax poetic about days like this, where the air is thick and hazy and smells of sweat and melting garbage. Where, despite it being the lunch rush, the streets were scare, and everyone is hiding in the comfort of air conditioning or high-powered fans.

Cut to the graduate student residence hall – more specifically, Brooke’s apartment. There, she and Nina sat on the floor in sports bras and shorts, drinking glass after glass of ice water and being eternally grateful that the a/c had been fixed just before the start of the semester. Nina looked on as Brooke stared catatonically at the ceiling and nudged her leg with her foot to get her attention. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to say this to anyone but myself, but I think you’re being overdramatic,” she told her.

“I’m not!” Brooke sighed in exasperation. “It’s only day two of the school year and I’ve already kissed a student. I couldn’t manage a full twenty-four hours on campus without jeopardizing everything,” she groaned, now laying on the floor. “It wasn’t even a cute cheek kiss, I almost slipped her tongue, Nina!”

Nina didn’t mean to laugh, trying to cover her mouth when she snorted. “What exactly do you think is going to happen? That she’s gonna tell Katya? That Katya’s gonna fire you?” she didn’t let her answer before she continued, “I don’t think you’re actually afraid of getting in trouble. I think you’re afraid of catching feelings for this girl.”

“Thanks for the insight, Dr. Phil,” Brooke huffed and pushed herself back into a sitting position. “Look, just because she’s beautiful, funny, and kissing her made me feel like glitter was exploding inside of me, doesn’t mean I’m about to fall for her.”

Nina stared at her blankly, hardly able to believe the level of denial she was stuck in. “Do you hear yourself? Because you sound ridiculous.” She swung her legs over to the side so she could shift and look at her. “You know it isn’t the end of the world to have a crush on someone, right? It’s a thing that happens to most of us humans every now and then.”

Brooke groaned and buried her head in her hands. “But why did it have to hit me now?” she couldn’t help but wonder, if it was in another time and place, would she be this stressed over the encounter? She supposed it was possible that she would try to find another excuse, or maybe she’d be in Vanessa’s bed instead.

“Because sometimes life is an asshole that takes its joy in screwing with you, and you just have to tough it out. That’s how I got into comedy,” doing improv and stand-up had become Nina’s way of coping, and Brooke’s way of coping was…not.

And she couldn’t counter her point either, leaving her pouting and looking at the floor. “So, what am I supposed to do in class tomorrow?”

Nina shrugged. “Just try not to make a big deal of things, it’ll just be business as usual. I’m sure she’s just as nervous and confused as you are.”

“She wants me,” Vanessa said to her friends. They were all sat in the dining hall during lunch, the group having just listened with interest as she recounted the events of the day before.

“You sound real confident about someone that deadass ran away from you,” A’keria retorted, pointing her fork at her as she spoke.

Vanessa shook her head, swallowing the food in her mouth before speaking. “Nah it wasn’t a ‘running away’ moment. She just got cold feet, I ain’t taking it personally,” she sat upright with a smug grin, proving a sincerity in her belief.

“So, what are you gonna do next? Like in class?” she furrowed her brows.

That was when she realized she hadn’t actually planned ahead, which was never her strength in the first place. While it was often a hindrance academically, she usually enjoyed the spontaneity that came with potential budding romances. But with Brooke? She might have to take another approach. “Gotta play the long game, babe.”

“The long game?” Blair chimed in. While she had a girlfriend, she was endlessly interested in her and A’keria’s dating lives – especially comparing and contrasting the two. They were both extroverts that thrived at a good party or club and were openly flirtatious with whoever caught their eye. The difference, perhaps, was the number of girls that caught their respective eyes – A’keria didn’t like leaving any outing empty-handed, while Vanessa had the tendency to pick and choose, even when drunk beyond belief.

Vanessa clicked her tongue and smirked. “She ain’t just gonna get with me overnight – you gotta finesse that shit when you’re aiming for, you know, a lady of Brooke Lynn’s caliber.”

“As opposed to us hoes?” A’keria arched her brow.

“Exactly, bitch!” Vanessa laughed.

“I think it’s sweet,” Blair hummed. “You’re changing your major to Brooke!” she said to a pair of blank stares. “Fun Home? Seriously? God, I waste my best musical theatre material on you guys,” she huffed.

Even though Vanessa didn’t understand the joke, she understood what Blair was getting at. Out of curiosity, she looked up the song she’d referenced, listening to it on her walk to class. “Oh, I get it now. That was clever,” she said to herself before she sat down in the lecture hall.

The class was about half full when she arrived, students filing in for the next five minutes or so. At one point, a girl took the seat next to her. She sat poised and upright – Vanessa wondered if she was a dancer too. “Nice bling you got there,” she told her, gesturing to the large earrings that stood out against her shaved head.

“Thanks,” she replied, casually looking her over. “I’m Yvie.”

“Vanjie.”

She quirked her brow. “Is that your given name?”

“No, it’s Vanessa. But that’s what I go by,” she replied, rifling through her bag and humming quietly to herself as she took what she needed out.

Yvie nodded in understanding, looking forward and scribbling aimlessly along the margins of her notebook paper. “So, what’s your major?”

“Brooke.”

“What?”

Vanessa’s eyes widened and she shrunk down, momentarily considering walking right out of the class and calling it a day. “Dance! I-I meant to say dance,” she sputtered out. Oh, she was going to get Blair later. It was her damn fault bringing up that musical.

“I’m not even gonna ask, girl,” Yvie shook her head. It was more out of sympathy, seeing how embarrassed she was, than an actual lack of interest. Frankly, she was much more tempted to press for more information, but then the professor called attention to the front of the class, and the various conversations died down, much to Vanessa’s relief.

Wednesday morning, on its own, seemed to promise a better day. The heatwave had passed, and the city was bustling with its usual energy. Even in the dance studio, Katya was the first one to arrive, which gave Brooke – who came in next – one less thing to worry about. She decided not to tell her about the kiss, lest she be subjected to an ‘I told you so’, making her hope all the more that the class would go by without incident.

Brooke scanned the room as each student entered, trying to make it seem like she was paying every one of them the same amount of attention. But then Vanessa walked in and suddenly no one else existed. This time she had on shorts and a tank top, and her hair was tied into a neat bun, and Brooke was able to study her for a good couple moments before their eyes met.

“Morning, Brooke,” Vanessa still seemed happy to see her, but her tone was calmer, more controlled. It was the same tone she had when she comforted her in Starbucks, and it brought on the same sense of ease it had then.

It baffled her, when she thought about it. Brooke’s emotions were so easily swayed – Vanessa could get her riled up and calmed down within the same conversation. That sort of thing might bother others, but it had something of an addictive quality to it. She wanted to get to know her more, to get another hit of her energy. “Good to see you, Vanjie,” she replied. And she meant it, truly.

After Brooke took attendance, Katya stood at the front of the class to begin the lecture. “Today we’re going to work on having to work with a partner. I know you guys touched on some dances last year, so we’re going to build off of that. I’m just going to go down the line and pair everyone up,” she paired up everyone as she walked across the studio, until she got down to the last three girls. “Looks like we’ve got an odd number today.”

One girl shrugged. “It’s fine, we can work in a gr—”

“No, no that just work,” she looked at the three girls, making it seem like she was really thinking about it. “You two pair up. Vanjie, you can work with Brooke,” she announced, actively refusing to acknowledge the way Brooke was staring her down.

The devil works hard, but Katya works harder, Brooke thought as she got up and went to sit by her new dance partner. She tuned out while Katya explained what dance steps they’d be doing – she had gone through all of this before and knew it by heart – especially considering how many times she had gone over the lesson plans. Instead, she took that time to remind herself to stay calm, that the only reaction she should have is no reaction at all.

“You ever tango before?” Brooke asked as she, Vanessa, and everyone else got to their feet.

“You heard her, we did this last year,” Vanessa shrugged as a simple tango tune filled the room from the speaker Katya hooked up to her laptop.

And each set of partners assumed the starting position – one hand on the other’s shoulder and the others clasped together out to the side. Some students were counting the steps out loud, while others were doing turns and back cortes.

Unsurprisingly, Vanessa was on the more advanced end of the spectrum, demonstrated both by her skill and her desire to take control. “Why can’t you let me lead?” she huffed.

“Grow six inches and we’ll talk,” Brooke retorted, dipping her in time with the music, earning her a scowl from the shorter girl, but she only found it as cute as her smile. Almost as if to further flaunt her size advantage, she moved her arm around Vanessa’s waist, lifting her up for a twirl.

But Vanessa was quick on her feet. She landed and wrapped a leg around her waist, and Brooke put a hand on her thigh and pulled her close. Another dip, and back up. As the music died down, they came to a stop, breathing heavily, close enough for their breath to hit each other’s faces.

“Now that’s a tango, ladies!” Katya had apparently been going from pair to pair, coaching and critiquing, not that this pair would’ve noticed. “I call it The Tango: Branjie!” she said with jazz hands for flourish. “Get it? Because, you know, you—and she—" she looked around at the stone-faced class. “Damn, tough crowd. Class dismissed,” she shrugged and walked to turn off her laptop.

“For the record,” Brooke said as she set Vanessa down and took a few cautious steps back, “as the student, I think you should get the credit. It’s called The Tango: Vanjie now,” she turned to gather her things, but Vanessa didn’t budge.

“I like the ring that has to it, but I ain’t leaving til we talk about that kiss,” she stood firmly, hands on her hips and head held high, only to cock a bit to the side as her pursed lips twitched to a smirk. “Or til I get another one.”

So that was how it was going to be. Brooke was impressed by Vanessa’s boldness, and perhaps a bit aroused. She gently placed her fingers under her chin, tilting her head up and pressing a kiss to her lips. “Goodbye, Vanjie,” she whispered sweetly, tapping her cheek lightly before sending her on her way. It was when she stood back up and turned to pick her bag up that she let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck, you’re still here.”

Katya was bouncing on the balls of her feet with a cheshire grin. “This is the best moment of my fucking career, bitch,” she ran over to Brooke and grabbed her hands, jumping up and down. “You guys are gonna have such crazy sex!”

Brooke’s eyes widened and she clapped her hand over Katya’s mouth. “Not if you keep running your fucking mouth!” she hissed in a stage whisper. She waited a beat, then let her hand drop to the side. “I swear, if you breathe a word—”

“Would you turn the paranoia down for like, five minutes to realize no one’s out to get you for whatever happens between you and Vanjie?” Katya gripped on to Brooke’s shoulders. “I think you need to go home, have a drink and a smoke, and go rub one out. You’ve got plenty of new material, now,” she bumped her elbow into her side.

Brooke exhaled and shook her head. “I’m gonna kill you,” she muttered before stepping out of the studio. She had only taken a couple steps towards the exit when she paused and turned around. Of course.

“So,” Vanessa pushed herself off the wall and took a half-step towards Brooke. “You off to follow Professor Katya’s advice?” she asked with the same type of grin the aforementioned woman had.

“No,” Brooke scoffed and tossed her hair off her shoulder. She waited until she saw something of a disappointed look on her face before adding “I’ve been trying to quit smoking,” she bit her lip and winked before turning on her heel and walking out of the building.

Vanessa was left stunned, but well-affected, nonetheless. “Just keep playing the long game, Vanjie. She’ll come around.”

#branjie #branjie fic #branjie fanfic #branjie fanfiction #rpdr rpf

27 notes · View notes

alltimewhat · 5 years

Text

ABCs of Death

I THINK this is the longest one out of all of them, but I’m not 100% sure. this one took a while to write bc i kept wanting to add more and more lmaoooo

also as they might be giants say: can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding

D contains: BLOOD, GORE, BODY HORROR, GENERAL HORROR, and DEATH

CHARACTER(S) THAT DIE IN THIS FIC: mike

A/B/C/D/E/F/G

D is for Demon

“This is a horrible idea. Why am I letting you convince me to do this?” Mike said, his voice wavering.

“Would you shut the hell up already? We’ve been standing here for, like, five minutes because you’re too much of a baby to go inside!” Lucas said. His head was already beginning to ache from Mike’s non-stop, panicked rambling. Mike opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed again.

Mike looked up at the building in front of them one more time, anxiety filling his guts like worms, squirming and writhing around and making him feel like he was going to puke. The building was massive, an old victorian-style brick house, with ornate features and decorative trim seeming to cover every surface of its exterior. It was beautiful, but its beauty was marred by the thick black layer of soot caked onto the bricks and the shattered windows. The lawn was overgrowing and the house gave off an energy that Mike could only describe as evil.

He really didn’t want to go inside.

“I-I’m just saying, I really don’t think this is safe, plus I’m- I’m getting this vibe, you- you know?” Mike rambled as they walked inside, looking around frantically.

“Listen. If there is something in here, you’re only attracting it to us by talking so much. Even then, this house has been like this for years, there’s no way anybody is still living here.” Lucas said, glancing over at Mike. The other man was tucked into himself, clutching his flashlight like it was his lifeline, his eyes wide and terrified. He nodded weakly at Lucas’ words, and his posture relaxed slightly.

“Y-yeah. Probably not. Why’d- Why did you even want to come in here?” Mike asked, beginning to peer into the other rooms from the foyer. Lucas could see him shaking.

“I just wanted to check it out. I’d heard a lot about this house, mainly that nobody knows what started the fire that burned it down, and nobody’s even tried to visit it since it did burn down.”

While it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t quite the truth, either. There were mysterious circumstances surrounding the building, but the real reason Lucas wanted to visit was because he’d heard stories of people seeing a kid living in the house, and those who saw him said they had felt a sense of evil coming off of him, like he was some evil spirit or demon or something. Lucas wanted to see if the kid was real, so he brought Mike to the house with him. He thought his friend would be a little more open to the idea than he was.

“Great. It’s great. That’s great!” Mike muttered, wandering through the rooms, shining his flashlight on old furniture that was blackened and melted. The wind whistled through the cracked windows, giving an eerie kind of soundtrack as they wandered through the rooms.

The floor level of the house was empty other than burned and blackened furniture, so they met at the base of the stairs, staring up at the landing on the second floor.

“After you, sir.” Mike said, gesturing up the stairs. Lucas rolled his eyes, cautiously taking a step onto the lowest stair, pressing his weight on it to make sure it wouldn’t break. Slowly, he ascended the stairs, wincing every time they creaked or crackled underneath him.

About halfway up, he heard something scurry across the floorboards on the second floor. Whatever it was, it was too big to be a rat, but too small to be a person of their age. A ball of anxiety began to form in Lucas’ stomach. Did he really want to do this?

“What was that?” Mike’s voice came from behind him, high and shaking.

“I- I don’t know. Probably a raccoon. Didn’t sound big enough to be a person.” Lucas said. He continued to make his way upstairs, peering down the hallway once he had reached the top, able to see movement near one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Sucking in a breath, Lucas shone his flashlight on the thing, bracing himself. The moment the light passed over it, it panicked, bolting in their direction. Lucas shrieked, expecting to get his face ripped off by some vengeful demon child.

A raccoon bolted past him and Mike on the stairs, scurrying down the stairs and running out of sight down on the first floor. Lucas laughed airily, looking at a confused and panicked Mike.

“Jesus, man, don’t scare me like that!” He hissed, climbing up next to Lucas on the second floor.

“Sorry, I just- I thought it was.. Something else.” Lucas said, making his way down the second floor hallway and shining his light into the rooms.

“Did you expect something else to be living here?” Mike asked from the opposite end of the hall, his flashlight pointed cautiously into a closet.

“N-no. Not really.” Lucas lied, biting his lip. He pushed the last door on his end of the hallway open, taking a step back as he shone his light over everything.

It was a child’s room, seemingly untouched by the fire that had ravaged the rest of the building. There was an old rocking chair in the corner, and a tiny bed that was fit for a child of barely ten years old. There were stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes scattered about the room, and, worst of all, there was a tiny child jammed behind the bed, clutching a ratty old toy lion to his chest. His eyes were dark and wild and he appeared to have been living there for a while. Lucas opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

“Mike? Can you come down here?” He said, keeping his eyes locked on the kid. At the sound of Lucas’ voice, he winced, pressing himself further into the wall.

Mike appeared at Lucas’ side, looking into the room with the eyes of someone who doesn’t want to watch a horror movie but can’t look away. His face paled at the sight of the child.

“Is- is that a kid?” He asked, stepping into the room.

“Mike, wait-!” Lucas tried to grab Mike’s shirt, but before he could pull Mike away, the light in the ceiling of the room flickered to life. The boy hidden behind the bed shuffled closer to him, his eyes wary and scared.

“Lucas, it’s just a kid! He can’t do anything.” Mike said, grinning lopsidedly at Lucas.

Lucas swallowed thickly, watching as Mike inched closer to the child on the floor, crouching low to appear less threatening. The boy watched him closely, dark eyes narrowed in fear. Mike held out one of his hands.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Do you wanna come with us? We won’t hurt you.” Mike murmured. The boy looked at his hand with distrust for a moment. Lucas licked his lips. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything or not. The kid looked normal, but his room was entirely clean, and nothing in it (except maybe the stuffed lion in his grip) had any soot or signs of fire whatsoever. Mike moved a bit closer, and Lucas saw the boy shift his weight almost imperceptibly.

“Mike, be careful-” He started. Mike looked at him with confusion for a moment, before the boy placed his tiny hand in the center of Mike’s palm.

The moment they came into contact with each other, Mike felt a wash of goosebumps flood through his whole body. It felt as if static electricity had run through him like a circuit, standing every one of his hairs on end.

Then came the pain. Sharp, burning pain exploded through him like somebody was sticking needles into every one of his pores, followed by an almost unbearable heat. Images flashed in his mind, too fast to see, but he could feel them. Each one sent a high buzz through his nerves, striking his fight or flight reflex like a tuning fork.

Scrambling back from the boy, Mike screamed, kicking his legs fruitlessly as he tried to get away. He could see the kid grinning at him, and suddenly he heard it. The boy’s voice, soft and high and perfectly clear (he wasn’t moving his mouth how could mike hear it he wasn’t speaking his lips weren’t moving).

Hello, Michael. It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Will. The boy said in Mike’s head, and he screamed again, scrambling to his feet. Tears were streaming down his face and he turned to Lucas, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Where did he go?” Lucas asked, his voice shaking. Mike whipped around, but the boy- Will, his name was Will -was still there. Mike pointed with a shaking hand at Will, looking back at Lucas’ confused expression. The boy was grinning at Mike with a smile that reminded him of the cheshire cat, wide and full of too many pointed teeth.

“H-he’s right th-there, c- can’t you see him?” Mike asked desperately. He heard Will shift behind him, and he whirled around again. Will was behind him, one tiny hand outstretched for Mike to take.

“No. H-he disappeared when you- you touched him.” Lucas said. Mike felt a cold dread slide down his throat. He looked to Will, who was waiting for Mike to take his hand, looking so tiny and innocent with the toy lion in his arms. He frowned, an impatient expression flickering across his face.

“H-h-he’s right there, he- he- spoke to m-me, I- I heard him L-Lucas, I heard h-him.” Mike sobbed, terrified of the tiny creature behind him. He felt Lucas’ hands on his face, cool against his hot, blotchy skin.

“H-hey, Mike, it’s- it’s okay. You’ll b-be okay. Let’s- let’s go home, okay?” Lucas said. Mike nodded, tears streaming down his face. He turned to look at Will again, but Lucas pulled his head back.

“Don’t look at him! It’ll only make it worse. Look at me, Mike. Look at me.” Lucas said, gently leading Mike out of the room. He kept Mike facing forwards, pulling him along.

A tiny hand gripped Mike’s fingers.

He screamed, jolting away from Lucas and turning to face the creature that was attached to him. Will was grinning at him, his hand still wrapped around Mike’s fingers. His eyes were a dark red color. A whimper escaped through Mike’s teeth.

“Please, w-what do you want?” Mike asked, his lip quivering.

I just want to be friends with you, is that so bad? Will’s voice filled Mike’s head. Mike shook his head, ever-so-slightly, and Will’s grin widened.

“Mike? W-what did he say?” Lucas’s voice echoed down the hall, sounding far away.

“He- He wants to be f-friends.” Mike said. He looked down to see if Will’s expression had changed, but the boy was gone. His stuffed lion was lying on the floorboards.

“He’s gone. He’s gone- Lucas- we need to leave-!” Mike shrieked, skittering towards the stairs, away from the plush animal. Lucas joined him, grabbing his wrist to soothe him and trying to calm him down as he led Mike downstairs.

“It’s okay, Mike. You’re okay.” Lucas murmured softly, leading him back to the car and ushering Mike into the passenger’s seat. Mike was shaking violently, muttering things under his breath. Wide paranoid eyes flicked back and forth from the house to the windshield, his breathing raspy and sharp.

Lucas drove Mike back to campus silently, a knot of guilt stuck in his throat and his stomach. Mike was curled in a lanky ball in his chair, wrapped awkwardly around his seatbelt with his feet pressed against the glovebox, his dark eyes staring ahead at nothing. Lucas could hear his breathing, quick and shallow. That was his fault. If he had just told Mike about the demon in the house, none of this would have happened.

He pulled into the parking lot in front of their dorm building, walking around the front of the car and helping Mike out of his seat. He led Mike by the arm up to his dorm (he lived there alone would he be okay what if the demon tried to get him) and let him crawl into bed, too close to catatonic for Lucas’ liking.

“Goodnight, Mike.” Lucas said, turning the light out as he stood in the doorway. He heard Mike shift behind him.

“Can we look him up tomorrow?” his voice came from behind Lucas, soft, tentative. “I want to know about him.”

Lucas turned. Mike was watching him closely, dark eyes narrowed in the dim room.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can.” Lucas said. He turned from Mike and left, allowing Mike to go to sleep. He wasn’t sure he wanted to research Will. He didn’t think he would be able to handle it.

“Here it is, Mike.” Lucas said, producing an old newspaper. On the front, there was the headline ‘BYERS’ MANOR GOES UP IN FLAMES; BODIES DISAPPEARED’, in a thick, almost mocking print. The pictures on the front were of the house in flames and of the family that lived inside. Sure enough, Will was pictured on the front of the paper, that same lion toy in his hands. He was grinning at the camera. He looked young, innocent. happy. Mike swallowed thickly. He hadn’t seen Will since the night before, but he’d felt something when he was in bed. Something heavy on his consciousness, like something was living in there.

“‘Says nobody knows what started the fire. ‘There appeared to be no damage to any of the interior workings of the mansion, and there were no stray matches or cigarettes that could have started the blaze.’” Lucas read. He dropped the paper on the table so Mike could look at it, though he wasn’t sure he wanted Mike to see more of the child. He was curled up in his chair similar to how he’d been in the car, all 6-and-a-half feet of him tied up in a lanky knot as he reached over to pull the paper closer to him.

Mike didn’t pick up the paper, instead staring at the picture of Will on the front of it. He looked so innocent and sweet, but memories of the feeling he’d sent through Mike’s body flashed through his mind, forcing him to read the article.

The article said that Will and his family had been living in the manor for generations, and that he’d never really gone outside. Some sources, according to the paper, claimed that he had started the fire somehow, removing the evidence before anyone could find out and locking himself inside. Mike didn’t believe it. Frowning, he glanced at the picture of the burning house again. Flames leapt around the solid brick walls and poured from the windows. Mike felt sick looking at it.

And then it moved. The pictured moved, the flames suddenly springing to life, licking up the sides of the house and flickering back and forth. Mike watched in silent horror as the flames engulfed more and more of the house. The newspaper began to flutter on the table as if air were blowing underneath it. Mike straightened out, his heart beginning to thump in his chest. The paper flapped some more, and Mike realized the picture of Will with his family had changed. Instead of him posing with his mom and brother, grinning happily, he was alone, clutching the lion toy in fear. He looked at Mike (he was looking at mike he was looking at mike he could see him oh god), and began to cry, reaching out for Mike to help him. Mike sat up in his chair, scooting away from the newspaper.

A melted, skeletal hand reached from the image, it’s clawed fingers grasping for something. Mike shrieked, scrambling away from the paper. He knocked his chair over as he stood, pain zinging through where it had hit his calves.

The hand continued to reach blindly for something to grab onto, gripping the edge of the table and pulling itself upwards. An equally scorched arm followed, and then a head. Mike could only watch in silent horror as the melted, twisted corpse of Will Byers crawled from the paper, his face contorted in pain. High, whistling breaths emanated from him every few seconds. He pulled himself forwards onto the table, his skin melted and torn off across his chest and face, exposing the bone and muscle underneath. Mike screamed, tripping over his chair in an attempt to get away from Will’s melted body as it dragged itself closer to him. It pulled itself out of the paper and reached out for Mike, a high scream piercing through his brain. Its fingers found the front of his shirt and it grabbed him, pulling itself closer to him. He pulled at its wrists in an attempt to get it off him, tears beginning to stream down his face.

It opened its mouth, and blood poured out, dripping to the floor and all over Mike’s chest and oh god it was hot he could feel it burning his skin.

Mike sobbed as he tried to push the thing off, its melted fingers scrabbling at him and pulling him back towards the paper.

“Mike!” Lucas’ voice broke through the sound of the burnt corpse’s wails and whistling breath, and suddenly he could feel Lucas’ hands on his shoulders and somebody was helping him stand. There was still blood on his shirt and the corpse was still there, but it fell to the ground. Mike couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

It began to change, its skin smoothing out and becoming clean again, its clothes restoring themselves, and worst of all, two red, curved horns forming on either side of its head, ram-like and wicked looking. Mike’s breathing shallowed as the demon got to his feet, a grin on his face. The lion was in his hands and Mike could feel the heat emanating off of him. Before Mike could speak, Will was gone in a flash of flames and red light, leaving him huffing in the back room of the library, Lucas’ hands on his shoulders.

“Mike, what the hell was that?!” Lucas asked. Mike opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a high sob, followed by more and more. He crumpled at Lucas’ feet, images of the melted corpse flickering through his mind.

He could feel hands under his arms tugging him to his feet, trying to stand him up.

“Mike, what happened?” Lucas asked. Mike shook his head, his sobs slowly quieting.

“It- it was him- it was Will- he- he was all burnt and he was screaming- he was screaming and it was so loud and he spit blood all over me and- a-and-” Mike took a breath, but then broke down again, sobbing as he leaned against Lucas.

“Woah, woah, take it easy. You wanna go lay down back in your room?” Lucas asked, trying to get Mike to look at him. Mike sniffled once, straightened himself out, and shook his head.

“N-no, no. I- I’m gonna go study, I h-have an anatomy test t-tomorrow.” Mike said, his voice still wavering. Lucas nodded slowly, releasing Mike’s arms so the taller man could gather his things and leave.

Mike shakily grabbed his bag off of the floor and dragged himself into the main room of the library, slinking to a table in the back corner of the room. SIghing, he shook the image of the burnt corpse out of his head and forced himself to study. He dropped his anatomy textbook on the table with a massive thump, pulling it open lazily and flipping to the page his worksheet was on. He realized he forgot a pencil and swore, leaning down to retrieve one from his bag.

Straightening back out, he pulled his book closer to him to begin studying. He felt something watching him, and he looked up.

The toy lion was on the table.

Mike hissed, pushing the thing away from him and watching it topple off the table to the floor. Narrowing his eyes, he looked for any sign of the demon. Not seeing anything he returned his attention to the book.

About halfway through his studying session, the book began to make noise. It was a deep, quiet gurgling, like the sound of a bathtub draining. Frowning, Mike leaned closer. There was definitely some sound coming from the crease in the center of the book, but nothing visible was happening. Frowning, Mike leaned away from the book again.

A tiny bubble of blood grew from the crease of the book, ballooning outwards until it was the size of a golf ball. Mike watched it silently, a growing sense of dread filling his stomach. The first bubble popped, spraying blood all over the table in tiny droplets.

More bubbles followed that one, each one exploding in little fountains of blood. Mike inhaled sharply as blood began to rise higher and higher from the center of the book, bubbling and gurgling as it soaked into the pages and pooled out onto the table. Mike watched it with growing horror, his windpipe tightening to a pinhole in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. One of the bubbles of blood exploded in fat, hot droplets across Mike’s face and he had to resist the urge to scream. Looking around him, he could tell no one else in the library could see the blood. Panicking, Mike slammed the book closed, ignoring the way the blood felt on his hands, hot and thick and dripping down his arms. He shoved the still-bleeding book in his bag and ran out of the library

The blood began to seep through his bag on the way back to his dorm and Mike could feel it on his legs, spilling into his jeans and burning his skin. He rushed up the stairs and to his dorm, slamming his weight into his door and threw his bag to the floor, ignoring the spray of blood that came up from it.

Will was sitting cross-legged on Mike’s bed, cracking open one reddish-brown eye as Mike moved around. Mike stared at him, rage beginning to boil in his veins.

“What’s your problem, huh? Why do you have to keep fucking with me like this?!” Mike asked. The demon didn’t respond, but his eyes slid open slowly. The lion was back in his hands, and he stroked its mane leisurely.

“So now you’re not gonna give me an answer? You’re just gonna drive me crazy and scare me half to death when all I wanted to do was help you-”

Mike was cut off as the demon on his bed opened his mouth, allowing multiple massive, squirming centipedes to drop to the sheets, scrabbling along Mike’s bed blindly. Mike growled, balling his hands into fists.

“What does that MEAN?!” Mike howled, stamping his foot into the floorboards. The demon shrugged, spitting up one last centipede before closing his eyes again. Mike hissed, surging forward and grabbing Will around the waist, carrying him off of the bed and dropping him on the floor. The demon pawed at him, wailing indignantly.

“Just leave me alone, please.” Mike said, exhausted. Will frowned at him from the floor, but picked himself up and nodded, disappearing with a flicker of flames. Mike sighed, turning back to his bed.

The lion was on his bed, with a note under its plush belly. Pulling the note from under the toy, Mike flipped it open, waiting for it to bleed on him or scream or try to bite him or something.

It was plain paper, with red ink that only had one word on it, in the wiggling, large print of a child:

SORRY

The ink flickered and ran, and then the whole note disappeared in a flash of fire. MIke looked to his bed. The lion was gone as well.

He wouldn’t see Will again until a few days later.

He was walking to one of his lectures, and happened to glance across the quad to see a group of students laughing together next to one of the fountains next to the school. A soft smile came to Mike’s face before he realized he recognized someone in the group.

Will was behind them, his dark eyes focused directly on Mike’s. Even at the distance he was standing at, Mike could feel the heat emanating from the demon’s body. He had some kind of lollipop in his mouth, the stick poking out through his teeth as he grinned at Mike.

He pulled the candy from his mouth and Mike realized it was a human eye impaled on a stick, the iris dark and unseeing. Mike felt like he might puke. Will waved at him, and Mike could hear the demon’s giggling in his head. Jumping, he turned his head forwards and walked on, gripping his bag tighter to his chest.

That night, he returned to his dorm to find the lion on his bed.

His throat tightening to a pinhole, he reached forward and grabbed it, looking for some kind of note or other sign that Will had been there. There was nothing, and Mike frowned, tempted to call out for the demon. His back prickled with the feeling of being watched, and he straightened out.

The floor creaked behind him, and he turned. The last thing he saw was rows and rows of pearly white teeth in a black throat.

Two weeks later, Lucas was called to the police station. They had some questions about Mike, after finding him inexplicably ripped to shreds in his dorm. Lucas made his way to the office they’d told him to meet in, feeling a bubble of fear begin to swell in his stomach. There was an officer waiting for him, looking solemn as lucas entered the room and sat down.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your day, Mr. Sinclair. We just found something curious while we were investigating Mike’s… case, and wanted to know if you knew anything about it?” The man said. Lucas nodded slightly, barely enough to be visible.

“We found this in Mr. Wheeler’s hands at the scene. Have you ever seen it before?” He asked, reaching under the table and setting something on top of it. Lucas nearly puked.

It was a stuffed lion.

#hopefully the death in this one makes sense #if its confusing just ask me n ill explain it lmao #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #stranger things fanfiction

1 note · View note

stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

January 7, 2021: 7:49 pm:

Cries for help remain unanswered.

Twenty-five years of trying to get help while in Oregon. and more time trying while in California more than 25 years ago, all unanswered.

There remains a vacuum of assistance.

The presence of lack of rescue remains persistent.

There are no helpful people anywhere around here.

Please send help.

Please send US Military to Oregon.

Please send medical services to Oregon.

Bring your own hospital, without your own, the terror army will kill you at the hospitals if you are injured while trying to help. There are no medical services for US Citizens in Oregon, only Canadian terror army is treated for health conditions, everyone else is killed at the medical facilities. Illusion of medical treatment facilities is present throughout the state.

======================

9:50 pm:

Donald Trump “Insult to Injury” terror:

The whole nation is in such financial distress that it was decided that every citizen should receive stimulus payments, twice.

That’s pretty bad financial conditions for that to have happened.

On the other hand, it appears that things are not so bad after all, in fact, it looks like everything is financially hunky dory, as the social security beneficiaries were only granted a 1.3% cost of living increase, it maxes out at 3% for a cost of living increase for elderly and disabled persons, and is calculated by some asshole this year, because clearly the cost of living has increased more than any other year of record, and that is well documented with the stimulus payments to tens of millions of citizens.

I am getting mixed messages from my government leaders here. One team says “Holy shit!, if we don’t hand out some coins, millions of people will starve because of Corona Virus.” while another team is saying: “Yeah, but we need to save some money somewhere, so, we’ll just fuck the old people and those gimpy fucks in the wheel chairs. canes, and crutches, they are all a bunch of leaches anyway, so, fuck ‘em... give ‘em a 13 just to let them know we mean business, and not to talk about the cut rate increase... they are all a bunch of Tiny Tim wanna bee’s... fuck Tiny Tim, and everyone who looks like him.”

Insult to injury, Christian style, from the top 1%.

It’s 1.7% light on the increase for cost of living.

Woodstock, 1998 Live Version of Edge of Seventeen by Fleetwood Mac.

youtube

The song is all fucked up in this version and the venue looks like three farmers took the barn apart to build the venue stage and fencing with a “Farm Pack” from the local lumber yard, for the “Jesus was a Carpenter” version of Edge of Seventeen in New York Catskill Mountains at Woodstock.

Google “Farm Pack” if you don’t understand what that is, or why the Farmer wants to be a Carpenter.

Mixed messages is a life-size thing, is giant blender where old and disabled people are tossed into along with some small children, for making a product that is sprayed onto the roadsides as a erosion abatement, keeps the mudslide from being noticed after the reigns come, for a prophet, and contracted by the state.

========

1-8-2021: 2:01 pm:

The Woodstock Version features Stevie wearing gold, she is famous for white and black, not gold.

It’s the “Sympathy for the Devil” version with a “Welcome to Jamaica, have a nice day” tattoo version, comes with a helicopter and alternate Harmonic Vocal Tuning, and, as noted, the screams of the crowd, were indeed heard.

=======

10:30 pm:

In the event that someone wants to do that math on “Jesus was a Carpenter” and why it’s associated to “Edge of Seventeen“ so heavily, need to have a look at 1985-ish United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America Journeyman Wage Scale for Residential Carpenter Pay Rate.

There, you will find that the scale was about $17.50 per hour, while pay scale for Commercial Journeyman was about $22.10 per hour.

The $17.50 Residential Carpenters used to have a lot sayings, one is “I owe, I owe, so off to work I go” another was “Another day, another seventeen-fifty... and another oweee, damn, that hurt when I fell yesterday”

The Carpenters Union was hijacked back then, the story about is long and complex. It’s an important part of why the White House and Congress are all occupied by terrorists bent on ruling the world in league with Britain and the Vatican.

no one will speak to me to hear the story of Jesus worked as a Residential Union Carpenter who was making about $17.50 per hour when he was hit over he head and nailed to a cross on the jobsite.

Adam Schiff was there, part of the takeover of the carpenters union in the 1980′s. He worked for L & M Builders of Ventura County (Thousand Oaks and around there) and used the name “Cory” last name unknown, we used to have a Saturday night poker game together with some of the guys on the crew at the time.

I could be wrong... but I could be right... it was a long time ago, and “Cory” once told me he was an actor, just on the job to check things out, then one day, Cory said “I’m going to Montana”. He left, and that was the last I saw of him until I met him again here in Oregon at a dinner party at a friends house, Kurt Hill, the fork lift driver of Longboard Lumber in Merlin. There he was, “Carpenter Cory of Montana”, at the dinner party, some 25 years later on Jumpoff Joe Creek Road in Josephine county, where I was shot at by someone who ran into the forest after shooting, when Cory said “Can you go over there, and hand me that thing there...?” kind of way to put me in range. Paul Birch was owner of Longboard Lumber, turned out to be a hardcore Christian terror operative here in Merlin, and built hundreds of “Bomb Carts”... I never was able to learn more about the “Bombs” though, only that there was talk of tunnels, and a cabinet shop at Union Ave and Ringuette near the hospital. The carts were made of dimensional lumber and plywood, about four feet square, with a vertical back on one side, heavy duty castors, could haul about 1,000 lbs each, and there were hundreds made at Longboard Lumber by “Will”, an employee there at the Lumber yard, who also turned out to be a terror soldier who kept trying to kill me, for about 16 years so far, he used to stalk me to the Walgreen’s last year, often had a small boy with him. I think I killed Will at the Walgreen‘s in defense about one year ago. Paul Birch took his business dealings to Newport Oregon, to start a terror cell there when Longboard Lumber closed down about 10 years ago-ish.

Like I said, it’s a long story. is important, includes Fleetwood Mac, and Buckingham Palace.

============

1-8-2021: 3:17 pm: additional:

“Carpenter Cory Montana”: My memory is that his last name started with the letter n: neuman; newsome: neuter... something like that. “Cory Newsome” sounds hauntingly familiar.

There may be a connection to a US Postal Mail Carrier by the name of “Mo” who was the carrier for this route for many years when I first moved here to Oregon in 1996. Mo, used to always wear a beany, I have “Mo’s Beany”, but I do not know why, or how I obtained “Mo’s Beany”. The words “That’s Mo’s Beany” have been said my many a terror intruder into my home over a long period of time, as I keep “Mo’s Beany” clearly on display at a place in my home where terror intruders tend to hide when they enter. There are only very few places to hide inside my house these days, I have all of the rooms nailed shut to keep intruders from hiding in them. Had I not closed off all of the rooms in my house, I would have been killed a long time ago.

I advise US Citizens to reduce their living spaces to a bare minimum, as the intruders tend to hide, and wait quietly until the intended victims are asleep in their beds. That is the reason I have not slept in a bed in more than ten years... it’s far too dangerous to use a conventional bed. Sleep is a luxury I cannot afford, neither can you.

============

I think “Adam Cory Schiff” was stalking the L & M Builder’s owner’s son, Cory Reese, who was also part of the Saturday night poker game crew, back in the day when a card game was just a game of Dealers Choice, not global annihilation done by SAG Actors.

I considered Kurt Hill to be a friend until one day I saw him wrap a Pharmacist with cellophane shipping warehouse style plastic wrap, and drag the pharmacist out of the Service Drugs that used to be on 6th St. and toss him into a truck, and drive away from there. It was dusk, at the time. Kurt was a big giant of a man, very strong. I think I killed him in defense out by the mailboxes about ... a long time ago, in defense after some geese were seen running around with no heads on them, making horrible sounds out front on the road.

Seventeen-Fifty is the connection to “Edge of Seventeen“, Union Journeyman scale wages.

=================

11:28 pm:

Other Carpenter Union take over details:

There was a local union hall either on Ventura Blvd in Woodland Hills Ca, or near there, I belonged to that one for awhile, then moved my card to District Counsel 844. I learned that carpenters were being hired by the framing contractors, and they were being signed up as Journeyman, even when they had few skills, but I was not one of those, I did, however, join as a Journeyman having worked non-union for my whole life by the time I joined the union. There was a housing boom, carpenters were on short supply. (it turns out that the housing boom was a “manufactured housing arrangement”, so to speak, to create housing for the upcoming influx of Canadian terror soldiers. Tracts of houses, many thousands each tract, all in phased of one-hundred to four-hundred homes each phase, all around Southern California) Those Journeyman newcomers were paid union wage scale, worked forty hours per week, but were only actually paid for some other amount of hours, typically, about 20 hours were paid out at scale wage for a 40 hour week worked on the job. A carpenter and an employer came to agreement on the side, about hourly rate, about $10 was norm, so, the math was worked to pay $10 per hour, while reflecting full scale on the pay check, with reduced hours showing for the full week of work, making illusion that they only worked part time, about 20 hours or so.

Those carpenters were robbed of the necessary accumulation of hours to become vested for pension.

I demanded one dollar over scale, I was paid one dollar over scale, always, after I learned of that weird arrangement of hours. I was hurt before I became vested.

L & M Builders had a jobsite I worked on where a police officer was shot, and hand cuffed to his steering wheel, I heard him, used his radio to call for help, he died though right there in the car after I got his cuffs unlocked. That jobsite in Thousand Oaks, north side somewhere, at the edge of the city limits, was the weirdest place ever... they built the model homes, five or six different layouts, in a culdesac, to demonstrate what would be for sale later. We built those, then, some other crew of special people came and took the model houses apart piece by piece, then, we built the same floor plans again, on the same slabs. The houses were about 4,000 sq. ft. two story homes, all taken apart after completion of all trades... roofs were on, drywall was all done, plumbers had finished, electrician ran the wire, the HVAC was done... all done. Then, they took them apart, so we could build them again.

Same thing happened here in Grants Pass. The place that just is being completed now called Cascade Public Storage, was all built, completed, done... about ten of maybe twenty years ago... they took the whole thing apart, made it look as if the place was never there, and now, decades later, the exact same structures are there again. The place is weird. The construction techniques include every kind of method there is, block, iron, wood frame, metal frame, concrete... every kind of tradesman on earth was needed to build that thing, twice.

My guess is that the terror army is advertising for help wanted at that site in far away places to draw craftsmen to come to Oregon where they are captured and used as slaves, or are killed and replaced. It’s visible from I-5 at the exit 58 near Club Northwest, where the terror leadership is at, and CNW is the same as Grants Pass Chamber of Commerce as far as membership goes at the Club Northwest terror HQ. There used to be a National Security Administration Field Office next door to Club Northwest, but that seems to have been taken apart a different way, one NSA officer at a time, and was put back somewhere else as Department of Homeland Security, while they put a Department of Health Services where the NSA used to be, for confusion service. and to fulfill “insult to injury” terror protocols required by the Christian Church.

I am pretty sure that the leading Church components to the terror army are at the 9th St. Seventh Day Adventist Church, it’s next door to the Oregon State Police Field Office that’s on 7th St., but you have to hop over a block wall to get from one place to the other, last time I looked over there.

There is a fire station on Park St at the Grants Pass Pkwy intersection that is remarkable for having been built with that multi-faceted construction techniques that Cascade Storage is built with. The place is stunning to look at, is awesome building, is extreme expense for a fire station, way over the top, in my opinion.

These subjects of buildings are in the realm of a place called “Options of Southern Oregon” across from the Walgreen‘s, and another place called “Crisis Resolution Center” between where Walgreen’s and the Hospital are at, which might be the source of some of the most wicked of all of the killing contraptions used around here in Josephine County... very scary places are CRC and Options.

There are no shortages of impostors around here, so, in the event that someone who claiams to be the author of this account has found some helpful people to talk to, that’s not the author of this account. Be advised that I think it was the Sparacino terror cell that stole all of my old pay stubs from back in the day, and has stolen much personal items, to use to impersonate the author of this information. Clyde Baum at 333 Jackpine is famous for the lengths he has gone to impersonate the author of this information also. Both Sparacino of 545 and Baum of 333 are supported in their efforts to impersonate by the local Oregon authorities.

(account is hijacked again)

0 notes

doomedandstoned · 7 years

Text

Cardinals Folly: Heathens From The North Invade!

~By Stephanie V. Cantu~

CARDINALS FOLLY released Deranged Pagan Sons this week on Nine Records. Let us expect a full unleashing of ferocity on the instruments and the wizardry of frontman, Mikko Kääriäinen to lead the magikal ritual as we step into their dark, doomy circle. The composition of this record was born from the frozen north, in heavy metal capitol of the world Helsinki, Finland. There’s something about the Finnish language that is pure magik when you hear it. Here we have a true dialect of power, incantations felt in all Cardinals Folly discography. This album gains in power and freedom in the viciousness of evil expression in the vocal section, and the music, though at times hypnotic, mostly drives us forward in fast-paced blackened doom.

When the record comes on, you are possessed with groove to rock, holding the goat by the horns for this Cardinals Folly ritual. Let it be known, it isn’t a safe place, as you too will soon be playing devil’s advocate in this doom metal anthem march. There are so many elements present here, most notably a primitive, shamanistic rhythm that rocks us into doom metal trance. An aboriginal feel to this pagan theme is felt in the instrumentation, and it is evident there’s a diabolical tongue at play in Satan’s temple. Indeed we are faced with the Deranged Pagan Sons that are Cardinals Folly. This record clocks in at 48 minutes, laying down doom metal law for us in heavy metal fashion. Onward we are led.

WORSHIP HER FIRE

Opening the Gates of Power with this first track, Cardinals Folly revs us up for a wild pilgrimage behind the instrumentation. Saddle up for a doom trifecta ride on the drums, bass, and guitar as we denounce traitors and rebuild our pagan temples. For anyone hearing Cardinals Folly for the first time, Deranged Pagan Sons is a good start to sample the magik of the CF discography and get the alchemical gold this band has refined through the years. The epic quality grasped in the lyrical verse and lore of the songwriting is still present, the unique imprint of the vocalization leading this band is familiar even when unleashed, and the instrumentation does not veer far from what Cardinals Folly is, though is played more ferociously on this album.

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Cardinals Folly brings authenticity to doom metal as a scene and genre. A band raised on cold, northern traditional doom metal continues to carry the torch passed on from bands such as Reverend Bizarre, Count Raven, Minotauri, and Spiritus Mortis. In honor of the Ways of Olde, yet still completely rebellious to what our mode of conventionality is, Cardinals Folly brings the heat with Worship Her Fire as we click our hooves down the left-handed path. The metallic guitar of warlock Juho does not merely riff, we are taken on axe journeys that interweave harp-like threading and hard rhythm. Joni’s drums are centralized with a tribal beat that does not die, the blood of a war mentality heard through the ages in the pounding skins. Here is where shamanic rhythm lends its primal rawness, giving us galloping crusader rage as the bass encapsulates us in saw-like shredding.

Cracking start to the album, and a wonderful turn by turn-composition with the riffs by me and Juho. The lyrics basically continue where our cult track "Blood Axis Raiders" left off in 2009. The old gods are furious, for their heritage has been raped... fight the religion, politics, mankind’s greatest errors.

DIONYSIAN

Wine, festivity, and madness take over as the record begins establishing focus on pleasures of the flesh. Fornication and passing of the sacred cup makes its way around the Circle, a setting not highly unusual for ritualists Cardinals Folly. If you have explored their Holocaust of Ecstasy and Freedom material, you will know frontman Mikko Kääriäinen is synonymous to the serpent in the garden of Eve, forever leading us to temptation. We are reminded we must live before we die, we must retrace our steps to recover the lost divinities of sensual freedom repressed by orthodox disillusionment. We are left to ponder these twisted wisdoms that encourage us to partake in dark fantasies, as the inhibitions of religious doctrine crumble away...

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Another fiery rocking doom tune, dealing with the cult of Dionysos and pagan rites. Probably our best chorus so far? The ultimate anthem for your night with wine, woman and song...? Sometimes it´s just better to ROCK, and Dionysian shows that in beautiful fashion. Attack!

DERANGED PAGAN SONS

Invoking the gods of Chaos, Cardinals Folly assume the role of Deranged Pagan Sons, offering us a sip from their chalice of madness. This is the most powerful track on the record, with instrumentation rivaling some of the best New Wave of Traditional Heavy Metal bands out there right now. Our fork-tongued vocalist gives us lyrical verses which drive forward the doom metal agenda, reminding us we are still within the realm of evil despite more brilliant shining guitar melodies.

The doomed ones ride out With wooden pendants of blood Dark cobble-stoned alleys Feed our souls alive

Deranged pagan sons Warlocks in their prime Not asking anything But graveyards in the night

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Although this track initially takes on a more mellow and noble approach, the vicious doom groove returns soon enough to possess your body for another relentless wave. Riding out with the Cardinals Folly banner unfurling, we crusade for proclamation of the return of true doom metal. A song like this must have been born of early 80s epic metal, with some foundation of Manilla Road lore and Running Wild acknowledgement.

Our ultimate anthem about what we are. Assholes with heart of gold. Hah hah hah! Sometimes life demands hard approach with blasting old school metal riffs, yet the hardship would never change the fact that we believe in good. Through ominous ways. Beautiful galloping riffing blasts your soul on this one.

THE ISLAND WHERE TIME STANDS STILL

Here we enter a more sorrowful atmosphere which takes on more emotional aspects. Synonymously, the water element of this song’s aquatic theme successfully portrays seafaring longings of absent romance. Even if for a brief moment, we feel the deep soul of Cardinals Folly’s majestic introspection before being catapulted headlong back into fierce tides. Restless and wild, we accept there will be no easy moments for us while engaging this album. Cardinals Folly flexes their versatility and virtuosity with highly executed pace setting and rhythm changes throughout this song.

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Definitely one of the album highlights. Most successful transition from slow and mellow to fast and hard. Possibly the last CF song dealing with a Dennis Wheatley book title, and continuation of themes from our old "lost world" song series, such as "Uncharted Seas" and "They Found Atlantis."

THREE-BLADED DOOM

This song takes place in the aftermath of the raiding wars our Deranged Pagan Sons have partaken in. We are left wandering the streets with broken faith, reminded we have played the merciful fool within the false constructs of religion and society. Yet, a hand is still offered for us to join the Cardinals Folly cult as we pick up the pieces. We are given the choice to stay spoiling in the ruins or be pulled up upon mighty horses to ride out the night with fanciful pagan rites.

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Three-Bladed Doom is a steady doom metal march, with each member of this Finnish trio carving out the Truth in us like a sacrificial dagger. The verses lead us with descriptive lyrical segments championing the Cardinals Folly cause as frontman Mikko curses the vengeful Lord that was once your savior.

We´re labeled outsiders Heartless cold brutes By lord, truth, savior Three-Bladed Doom!

Honoring the code You´ve lived by the book Where lord merciful Can´t be more vengeful!

This song answers to the brutality in me. Every riff chord is like a pack of fucking icicles landing on your back when you least expect it. It´s striking. A composition living and breathing beautifully out of sheer willingness to preach with power doom. Again we keep our heads bloody, yet unbowed. It rolls on like The Gates of Slumber used to, searching for its prey...

SUICIDE COMMANDO

If there was a track on this album reserved for the decapitation of the goat in this ritual, it would be Suicide Commando. The fierce underworld howling demons channel through our vocalist in this song, making it seem as if the previous few tracks were merely preparation for the soft underbelly to be split open. Though this record is extremely brutal through and through, this track would be the closest in semblance to the pure evil evidenced in northern black metal. This influence won’t be heard in double timing drums or extreme guitar strumming, but more so in the vocal style of Mikko Kääriäinen. I believe this makes for an interesting hybrid of doom, with traditional Cardinals Folly instrumentation enabling exploration in new vocal territory. We are carried on the winds of familiarity, while still experimenting and holding true to what fans love about this band’s music.

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Suicide Commando is a relentless brute who fights against all odds. Bone-headed heavy metal power riffs support the cause of a man who is willing to parachute to a field full of haystacks -- from 100 metres if necessary. Never tell him the odds.

I BELONG IN THE WOODS

We begin nearing the record’s completion as we recapitulate the energy spent being devious and hedonistic in Pan’s abundant vineyard of pleasures. Here we find an introspective song which leads us by the hand into the most desolate of forests, to honor the hermit within and find our self-illuminating truths. After all is said and done, we stare at the chalice as it lays emptied upon the ground, wondering if our spoils have too been drunken by the earth. Our souls are bared and we are left laying naked with shivering affirmations that we can never return to the false towers built by the constructs of society. I Belong In The Woods is the invitation to remain free, to be accepting of the emptiness that returns after a frenzied feeding. The instrumentation remains a steady groove, allowing a depressive mood and melancholy to settle in without thrashing it away.

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Perhaps the most personal song for me, an ancient composition, and therefore also musically more challenging and less in-your-face. I think the melancholic Warning-y guitars work really well here. The title is taken from Pelle "Dead" Ohlin's (Mayhem) suicide note, btw. For outsider feelings and those desolate times.

SECRET OF THE RUNES

The closing of the magik Circle takes place with a last wisdom from the Viking runes, consecrating our imbued purpose. We invite the grandeur of our pagan deity to help decipher the ancient code in this Cardinals Folly ballad. Romance of the past roots us with surety of awaiting rewards of honor and knowledge after an album of devilish delights. This is reflected in noble vocalization Mikko Kääriäinen is so known for, manipulating our lasting feelings of the album in guise of the spiritual light underlying Cardinals Folly lore. Lastly, we are invited to burn ourselves clean into the fire as the final verse shelters over us the lording Right Hand of Doom.

In glowing embers of fire The secret of the runes Cleansing all our past sins Embodied in ancient priest-kings, oh!

Deranged Pagan Sons by Cardinals Folly

Staring at the ritual fire. Remembering the dead. Taking an intoxicating flame of wine in your soul. Remembering the past. And that you´re still a powerful being. Creates this epic bang of doom. Some say that slow doom songs are not in our blood. Well, sometimes they are proven wrong... like here! Very ritualistic and makes me want to raise a ritual toast to the dead. And all obstacles conquered.

☠

The Pagan Sons became Deranged at Harju Doom Church in February of 2017. Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Juha Kapiainen and Cardinals Folly.

Cardinals Folly is:

Mikko Kääriäinen -- Lord Juho Kilpelä -- Truth Joni Takkunen -- Saviour

Cardinals Folly Live 'n' Loud:

September 15th: Rhythm Repair Shop, Seinäjoki (w. Spiritus Mortis, Musta Risti) October 6th: Otto boy, Kuopio (w. Grip Of Death) October 7th: Marks, Joensuu (w. Serpent Warning) November 11th: Golden Classics, Helsinki (w. Caskets Open, Slave Hands + 1)

Follow The Band.

Get Their Music.

#D&S Reviews #Cardinals Folly #Helsinki #Finland #Doom #Metal #Epic Doom #Occult #Stephanie V. Cantu #Doomed & Stoned

9 notes · View notes