#So basically my grandmother and brother were with me and the lights started to flicker (that’s how you know someone nearby is infected)

[boo-moved]

i love having zombie dreams like yes, please show me how good I am at dodging bouts of common sense

But it was weird that Sonic was there tho

#I love realizing That at the end I had turned myself despite being the only survivor #That was cool and I actually kinda want to go more in depth #So like it started out with me vibing with an f/o fishing and playing with a dog in the water #He left and the reaper invasion started?!?! Anyways I hid like a puss but eventually popped up to talk shit #My dad?!? Charged in with a fourteen wheeler and killed the geth and then I was in a camper with my family #They were talking shit how I hadn’t seen shit and how I don’t know and stuff and then an old man chimed in to show proof #Anyways cut to me and my family searching around using the Dr/agon Age search feature function thing to fix our camper #So anyways somehow at this point I am the only one knowing about this viral infection and being openly terrified of it #So basically my grandmother and brother were with me and the lights started to flicker (that’s how you know someone nearby is infected) #I freak out and am locked into an apartment room with those two (I think my grandmother is the infected one) #Anyways time skip to the olympics(?!?) Sonic and Tails are there #Tails is infected and infects Sonic so Sonic kills them both so me and my now new group can escape #We go through the sewers loosing people as we go along #We end up in a good transplant place where everyone is infected but they all seem human? #I’m the only one left as I crawl through razors and beg that they don’t attack me #They all are confused and so I escape through the entrance and then I wake up #So anyways I likely had become infected myself and that’s why they all seemed so alive!! I liked that dream :) #elyan bleats

[rosemary-writes]

I can’t, I’m so sorry

(David x Female!Reader)

AN: this story is basically me just ranting about my experience over the past two weeks. It’s very hard going through the grief process and I wanted to share my experience through my writing. This story is kind of a self insert but I still like it

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, losing a loved one, grief, mourning, crying, unhealthy habits, recollection of memories, soft!David, maybe out of character David, general sadness, mentions of a cemetery, vampire powers.

Word count: 3.8k

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS

“I like to pretend that you ran away, that you’re living on an island and have a garden and a dog and that your brothers drop by to bring you groceries and books and that you are very happy and free.” - S.C. Pacheco

It happened so quickly. No one saw it coming, but then again, does anyone ever really see death coming?

You were preparing for finals. It was the last two weeks of your first year at college and you had been studying non stop. You were going to end this year with a bang and have a great extended summer without worry in your head.

Then, the phone call happened. It was so unexpected. Dad called and asked if you were alone. Thankfully, your psychology class was on a five minute break and you were out in the hallway. Dad immediately said that he didn’t know how to break it to you gently so he was just going to say it. Following his statement, he told you how your great grandmother had a stroke and she had about a day to a month to live. The hallway stood still and the chatter of classrooms ceased into nothing.

Tears had welled up in your eyes and began to flow down your face. Nothing stopped them as your dad kept telling you about everything that happened. Your grandparents, uncles, aunts, and even your mom went to the hospital to see her. It was a two hour drive. Your dad had said that your mother was going to bring you home when all of your classes were done, for the day, so you could be in an area of comfort. The only reason he said that was because the history of your mental health wasn't the best at all. The previous two weeks were spent being in bed because the stress of school began to weigh heavily in your chest.

The weight in your chest had lessened over the past few days but the news of your great grandmother brought it back. Your face was red as the tears kept flowing from your eyes. Dad said he loved you before letting you hang up. Your whimpers and scattered breathing echoed in the hallway. Hot tears dripped from your chin and onto your sweater as you ran into the bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and you were able to let out your cries. The yellow lights flickered as you fell to your knees. She was your only great grandmother and she loved you greatly. Everyone told you that you were special because you were her eldest great granddaughter. The passing quote in your head practically made you scream out in confusion and upset.

Many minutes passed before your psychology teacher burst into the bathroom. She found you on the floor, face wet with tears. Immediately she came to your side and began shushing you while wrapping her arms around you. The only words you could cry out were “She’s dying and I’m not there.” After that, the day fuzzed into nothing. Your close friend had to come and get you for your other classes. She told your teachers how you were leaving early in the week because your great grandmother was dying. Thankfully, your teachers understood and gave you extensions on every assignment that was late.

Later in the evening, your mother came to get you. The car ride was very quiet and so was the weekend. It was spent with you occasionally crying while listening to your family plan her funeral. It was also spent with you remembering your childhood in her house.

The smells and sounds lingered in your mind constantly. Sometimes you’d hear the ghost of her grandfather clock when you couldn’t sleep.

Sadly, you couldn’t sleep most days. A week came and went and you were in the start of your finals week. It was three days filled with exams. Tuesday was the first day of exams. Thankfully, there was only one exam. When class was over, your teacher asked to speak with you. She gave you an enormous hug and told you that you passed her class. With tears forming in your eyes she told you that your great grandmother would be very proud. After that, she wished you the best in life and you went back to your dorm with your close friend.

As if on cue, your phone rang. When you picked it up you immediately could tell it was your dad. He told you that your great grandmother passed in her sleep early that morning. You knew this news was coming but no amount of preparation could prepare you to hear that. Tears fell from your eyes as he told you to get through the next few days before moving out and coming home. You both said, “I love you.” before hanging up.

Later that night, you cried until the sun gently arose over the tall evergreen trees. The next few days were spent in a daze. Your friends comforted you and told you that they’d always be there for you as you cried and wanted to go home. You took your exams and packed up your room and left the college. You were so happy to leave with your mother and go home for the summer. However, the shadow of grief clung to your skirt the entire time, even as the evening turned into night and then stretched into morning.

With sad eyes, you had looked into the mirror as you applied your makeup and got dressed for her funeral. The dress you wore was long sleeved and it just about touched the ground. You sighed. It was going to be a long drive through the flat farmland to get to the town of your childhood. When your family got to the old cemetery, your father told you that it was a beautiful day for her to be laid to rest.

And it was. It really was. The sun was shining, there were no clouds, and the gentle breeze turned your warm tears cold. Birds and butterflies fluttered around the graves and danced with each other. Even as the priest recited the carefully picked words, you thought of how it was a beautiful day. When he was done speaking, your mother held you as you cried. She let go when she began to cry uncontrollably. Your younger cousins came to your side and wept with you as you walked amongst your sleeping ancestors and extended family.

At the end of the funeral, you tearfully kissed her headstone goodbye and whispered to your great grandfather that you know they're happy now, laying side by side. When you got into the car to go back to Santa Carla, you cried until you dozed off under the warm afternoon sun.

Before you had left for the whole ordeal, you called David and told him about everything that had happened. He knew that your great grandmother had a stroke and that your whole family was stricken with grief. He also knew that you had never experienced grief or the process of mourning. So, he made a promise that when you came back he would stay by your side. You gave a huff into the payphone as he told you that he would do anything to ease the process. Before hanging up, you asked if it would be okay if you could stay at the cave for a couple of days. He told you yes and that he loved you before hanging up.

When your family finally got back to the house, you immediately fled to your room. Your parents didn’t want to bother you so they left you alone. They didn’t know that you were going to spend a few days at the cave. Infact, they didn’t know you were dating David. Your parents just thought he was a college friend.

Grabbing a bag, you began shoving clothes into it. You grabbed a few necessities and put those in there as well. When you figured you had everything, you heard David's bike outside. However, before you left, you noticed your great grandmother's ring on your dresser. It was given to you on your sixteenth birthday. It was an heirloom that was passed down from your great grandmother. When she first saw you wearing it, she had complimented how you reminded her of her younger self. While looking at the ring, your hand flew to the pearl choker that was resting around your neck. They were hers as well.

You grabbed the ring and slipped it on your ring finger before leaving. Your parents must’ve gone to bed because the house was dark and their bedroom door was shut. In the kitchen, you pulled out a notepad and wrote down that you were going to be with friends for a few days.

You left your house and noticed David was at the end of your driveway. He had a cigarette in his mouth and he was looking at your neighbors house.

“David.” you called gently. His head whipped towards you and a smirk appeared on his lips. His fingers came up and took the cigarette from his lips. When you walked to him, he gently pulled you close and gave you a quick kiss. When you pulled away, his hand came up to your cheek. You looked up at him in the moonlight and could see that his face was laced with concern as his eyes studied your face.

“Hop on kitten, let’s go to the cave.” he said, as his hand fell from your face. You got on behind him and when you wrapped your arms around him he began to drive through the night. Usually, you would be happy and laughing with David as he drove erratically to get you excited. He loved hearing you shout as he would go over hills but tonight was quiet. Of course he knew why. You were grieving and he wasn’t expecting you to do any of that. When you asked to stay at the cave, he was honestly surprised.

However, part of you felt like you needed to shout and laugh. You had mentally prepared for her death for a week and now it was hours after the funeral. Part of you begged to be left alone with your ever changing mind and the other part wanted to be with David in his arms as you two laughed and talked trash about the people of Santa Carla.

Instead, your face was resting against his back as he drove to the cave. The night was clear and the moon was bright. In the serenity of the night you closed your eyes. Your eyes were irritated at how much you had been crying and you hoped that tonight David wouldn’t see you cry. He had never seen you cry and you wanted to keep it that way. You always stayed happy and energetic around him. Sometimes you could hear David whisper that he loved your spark when he thought you were asleep. He didn’t know that your great grandmother repeated the same thing many years ago.

You sighed as you felt David’s bike slow to a stop. Opening your eyes, you saw that the both of you were at one of the entrances to the cave. He parked his bike next to the three others and turned it off. Carefully, you unwrapped your arms from him as he got off. As you got off, David offered his hand and you took it. When you stood next to him, hand in hand, he kissed your forehead. You smiled at the affection and he led you down into the cave.

“I know you won’t mind but, me and the guys are going to go feed when you get inside. I’ll change my clothes before coming back” David said, as he led you through the tunnel. You hummed and looked ahead at the gentle glowing light ahead. In the main area of the cave you could hear the noises of the other boys. David’s grip on your hand tightened as you came to the steep slope that led to the main area. The first time he brought you here, you slipped going down. You smiled at the cherished memory as you carefully walked down. Thankfully, this time you made it to the bottom.

“Hey David, hey Scoob” Marko said, looking up as you and David walked into the main area of the cave. You scoffed as David let go of your hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that?” you asked, as David walked over towards the others. Marko gave you a teasing smile as Paul came from god knows where. Dwayne followed after him and the two joined the others.

“Anyways, I think you guys should get a move on. I can tell you’re antsy.” you said. David was breathing a bit more heavily than usual and you knew that was his body telling him to eat. Without word, the boys turned and walked away to one of the many exits. As the others ascended into the night, David turned to look at you. It was his way of saying goodbye but you also knew he was asking a question.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” you said, grabbing your bag. Without speaking, he too turned away and followed the others.

You sighed as you watched him leave. It wasn’t your first time alone in the cave. Sometimes, they would go out and feed while you slept and you’d wake up in an empty nest. But, right now, you needed to be alone to just breathe. So, you went down one of the hallways to your little sanctuary. Months ago, you found a little safe haven in the depths of the cave. It was your little room and it was filled with things you found and liked. As you walked down the dim path, you could see the curtains in the doorway. Carefully, when you stood in front of them, you pushed them aside and stepped into the little safe haven. It was dark, but thankfully you had candles in different places around the room. Setting your stuff down on the bed, you grabbed your lighter from your dress pocket. You carefully lit the candles and adjusted them to keep from scorching other objects.

When you were finished you plopped down onto the mattress that was covered in blankets and pillows. You didn’t know how long it had been since you last slept. The nights were spent with you crying until you couldn’t but by morning, you were ready to repeat the whole cycle.

It sucked. Grief wasn’t supposed to be like this. Many people told you that after a few days, everything would go back to normal. Well, you wanted the feeling to go away immediately. You hated this neverending feeling of sadness. It was like a child clinging to their mother’s skirt.

One of the worst parts of it all was the day going through your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about her funeral. Was this normal? To constantly think of the funeral? Was it also normal to cry so much? You just couldn’t understand the whole grief process at all.

Gently, you got up from the mattress and walked over to the old mirror that David found for you. The candles in the room gave your features a warm glow in the mirror. You looked at your face and how it changed. You looked different. The shadows under your eyes had darkened and your eyes looked irritated. Glancing down to the pearl choker, you felt your throat tighten. The words of the past week began to echo loudly in your head.

She wouldn’t want you to fuss over her.

Even the brightest stars have to dim.

She loved you. She loved you greatly.

Then the tears came. They came so fast that you were honestly scared by them. They fell down your face as a sob escaped your mouth.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. The pain in your body felt amplified as you sank to the floor. The worst part of it all was you couldn’t stop thinking of her. The way she kissed your cheeks when she saw you and when you left. The way her hands gently ran through your hair as you slept in her lap as a child. How she would sneakily give you chocolates after Christmas dinner and not tell anyone. Her mischievous smile flashed in your mind and it only made you cry harder. Why, why, why? Why did she have to die?

______

From the entrance of the cave, David stood still. Your sadness had reverberated through the cave like a loud radio. He couldn’t hear you but he felt the grief. Slowly, he walked to your room. He had forgotten how grief felt. It was a horrible feeling that he never wanted to experience again. However, he wanted to comfort you the best he could. As he got closer to your room, he could hear you. He heard the rapid beating of your heart as you let your emotions out. When he stood in front of the curtain, he hesitated. Would you want him in there?

David brushed the thought aside as he remembered that it was your first time with grief. He could practically smell the confusion and anger from your tears. Quickly, he opened the curtains and stepped into your room. On the farthest side of the room, you were leaning against the wall as you were trying to catch your breath. Your face was red and wet with tears. The eyeliner you wore was smudged around your eyes and David could see where it had trailed.

When you had calmed down just a little, David cleared his throat. Immediately, you turned around and met his still face. He held no emotion as he looked at your tragic form.

“Get out.” you said, quickly wiping your face. David did not move from his spot. Instead, he walked towards you.

“David, get out! I don’t want you to see me like this!” You yelled, as you turned away to shield yourself from him. He said nothing as he came behind you and wrapped his arms around you. It was so gentle that it almost didn’t seem like David. Again, you tried to say something else but it died on your lips. Instead a whimper came out as you fell to the floor and David gently fell with you. He kept your back pressed against his chest as you kept crying.

“I-I’m sorry.” you mumbled through your tears. David’s face nuzzled your neck as you wept uncontrollably.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” he quietly said against your skin as you kept trying to steady your breathing. After a few minutes, you had calmed down enough but tears still kept falling down your face.

David listened as your heartbeat kept getting calmer by the minute. It was a soothing sound to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face. You scoffed, “No, but I’ll live.” you mumbled quietly. David hummed at your response.

“David, I hate this.” you stated with a sniffle. He perked up at your words and listened carefully.

“I hate everything about grief, I hate the confusion, I hate the sleepless nights, I hate the crying and I-” you cut off the sentence as you tried to not go into another crying fit. Taking in a shaky breath, you continued, “And I hate that I don’t know what to do. This whole process fucking sucks.”

David sighed and kissed your cheek. “You’re still in the early stages of grief. It’s confusing and it’s scary to go through. Especially by yourself.” he explained calmly, “One of the best things you can do is try to think of all of the good things that happened in her life. I detest seeing you this way, but I know it’s something you have to go through.” he finished.

You sighed and wiped your face, “But, why does it have to hurt so damn bad?” you asked, turning to try and look at his face. David moved back so he could look you in the eye.

“It hurts because you lost someone you loved. Your mind can’t understand how life will be different without her. Eventually, you’ll understand how to live life like before and carry on again.” he replied, calmly.

His eyes fell to the pearl choker around your neck and his hands moved to take it off. You didn’t object to the feeling of his cold hands as they fumbled with the clasp. Carefully, he took it off and moved to set it somewhere else. “Lets move to the mattress, hm?” David suggested. You nodded and the two of you got up and went to lay down together on the mattress. Instead of laying next to you, David was sitting next to you.

You closed your eyes when your back hit the soft blankets. It was comforting but you didn’t want to sleep even though your body was begging for it. You were just scared of what you would dream of.

“Would you like me to take off your ring?” David asked, holding your hand up to his face. You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Why would I need to take off her ring?” you asked sitting up. David rolled his eyes, “You don’t want it to fall off while you sleep. It might get lost.” he said, meeting your gaze.

“Uh, it won’t get lost while I sleep because I’m not going to sleep.” you replied, moving your hand away from his.

David scoffed at your words, “Kitten, this isn’t up for debate. I know you haven’t slept in days and it’s not healthy for you.” he argued, moving his hands to your face.

“David, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” You declared. He looked down at you. His eyes were serious and you could tell that he was getting annoyed with this conversation.

“You are going to sleep and I don’t care if you refuse. I’m going to do this anyways” he said, finally. Before you could answer, you slipped into a deep sleep. Your body fell back onto the mattress and David was satisfied. He didn’t like using his vampire powers on you but, he felt like this was necessary. He looked down at your hand and carefully pulled the ring off. David got up from the mattress and set the ring down next to the pearl choker. He looked down at your sleeping form and smirked before laying down next to you. Tonight, all would be well for a while.

#marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys 1987 #David the lost boys x reader #david lost boys #rosemary writes

[tsarisfanfiction]

Choke

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Virgil, Scott, Tracy Brothers

Can’t be bothered to come up with a neat title and summary for this right now, so calling it one of my drabbles even though it’s 2k words and longer than a bunch of my published fics, oops.

Was not what I had envisaged writing - I was actually poking through my inbox to look at prompts - but the idea stuck in my head and wanted writing, so I let it happen.

Sound was an important part of Virgil’s life.  Strains of music, ivory piano keys, needle on vinyl.  Machinery roaring, murmuring, humming along as oil stained his sleeves.  His brothers, too many of them for silence to ever be an option, and even the quietest loud enough to fill his life.

He was familiar with so many sounds, could tell from the first vibrations what sort of attention it deserved, so when a throttled squeak sounded from next to him, he was moving before any of his other senses had registered the cause.

“Scott!”  His brothers, all gathered around the table, added to the cacophony as they too scrambled to their feet, ingrained instincts pulling them towards their eldest brother like moths to a flame.  Virgil was closest, and had moved first, so he was the one that won the dubious prize.

The throttled squeaking didn’t stop, somewhere on the wheezing scale, and hands were wrapped around his brother’s neck in an instinctual desperation Scott would never normally let show.  Not if he had any real control over his actions.

They were first aid trained, and something like this was right in the heart of the basics, taught at school, let alone Rescue Scouts or on their professional courses.  From the heaving of his brother’s shoulders, Scott still remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

It just wasn’t working.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil promised, muscles straining against flannel as he tugged the stool Scott was perched on backwards, away from the table.  Dimly, he was aware of the others hovering in his periphery, not crowding the two of them but there if needed.  “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Hands still around his own throat, body taut as he tried and failed to cough up whatever had jammed itself in his windpipe, Scott didn’t fight Virgil as he pulled him upright.  Already, his lips were changing hue, gaining a tint of blue that suggested it wasn’t going to be as simple as just coughing up the obstruction.

At least they were all trained first responders.

Virgil nudged Scott until he was leaning forwards, at least partially propped up by Virgil’s own strength as his hand supported his brother’s chest.  There was no point in standing on ceremony; Scott was still conscious enough to know what was going to happen.  He gave a warning out of habit; almost before he finished speaking, his free hand was moving, the heel of his palm driving into Scott’s back.

No change.  Scott was still scrabbling at his throat, his lips still changing colour.

Virgil did it again, and again when all he got was a strangled noise that was clearly Scott trying his best to dislodge the obstruction.

Two more hits continued to be useless, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers moving away – dispersing to get more equipment, he vaguely registered with the little concentration he had to spare.

The next stage, then. He bundled Scott into a pseudo-embrace, biceps pinning him in place as his hands arranged themselves, palm over fist, just below his brother’s ribcage.  This was going to hurt.

In and up, a fluid yet sharp moment that jarred the entirety of the body in his arms.  He got a faint wheeze in response, still nowhere near good enough.  Scott’s weight was increasing against him, and Virgil knew he didn’t have long before he passed out.

Another thrust, powerful enough to raise his taller brother onto his tiptoes momentarily, failed to dislodge the offending blockage, and Virgil started mentally running through the steps he’d have to take if this failed.  Steps that Scott would hate with a passion.

He pulled back sharply again.

The noise it pulled from Scott’s lips was painful, but a relief all the same as something resembling a strangled cough was accompanied by a chunk of something black and charred dropping onto the table in front of them.

“Th-” his brother wheezed. He was trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through his body, and Virgil immediately guided him down to the floor – less of a distance to fall if he lost his balance.  Scott’s hand was back at his throat, but fingers massaged rings into the skin, rather than clutching desperately.

Virgil didn’t let go.

“Water?” John offered, face still pinched with worry as he carefully knelt down in front of Scott, plastic cup in hand.  Scott’s hands were still trembling as they massaged his throat; if they needed a sign to tell them how shaken their big brother was, it was in the way John held the cup to his lips for him, tilting it just enough for a few drops at a time, and Scott accepted it.

Behind him, next to Virgil, who still had both his arms firmly wrapped around Scott for support, Gordon crouched down.  A tanned hand ran lightly over the site of the back slaps, making its own tracks up and down and round and around in another gesture that was supposed to be comforting. Scott didn’t make any moves to pull away, so Virgil assumed it was giving him what he needed.

“Alan’s gone to get a scanner,” John explained after a moment.  Scott gave a miniscule nod of acknowledgement as Virgil lightly rested a hand over his abdomen, hoping the thrusts to clear the obstruction hadn’t done any more damage, but knowing Scott would definitely be at least bruised.  He hadn’t had the luxury of holding back his considerable strength.  “How are you feeling?”

Slender fingers rested on Scott’s shoulder, not far from where Gordon was still rubbing his back lightly.

“’M okay,” Scott rasped, his own hands finally falling from his throat to rest in his lap.  “Thanks, Virg.”

As though Virgil would have done nothing while his brother choked.  “Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, and was rewarded with a slightly pained chuckle.

“Don’t plan to,” Scott promised.

“So, which part of Grandma’s cooking was it, anyway?” Gordon asked, leaning forwards a little as if he could make out the culprit if he squinted hard enough.

Scott gave a shrug, his whole body shifting.  Virgil saw the warning for what it was and tightened his hold on his brother before he could try and clamber back to his feet.  With John and Gordon both joining in as well, Scott’s bid for freedom was scuppered before it began.

“There’s no rush,” Virgil reminded him pointedly.  “Stay put until Alan gets back with the scanner.”

Scott groaned, but surrendered.  Against three brothers he had no chance, and they all knew it.

“He won’t be long,” John reminded him.  “More water, Scott?”  The plastic cup was offered again; this time Scott took hold of it with his own hands, no longer visibly trembling.  John obediently let go, but his hands hovered in catching range as Scott took another drink.

Alan appeared just as he lowered the cup again, medscanner clutched in one hand.  He looked openly relieved to see that Scott was breathing again, but still deployed it as soon as it was in range.

The light flickered over their brother, and a moment later a holographic representation of Scott was hovering in the air in front of them.  Superficial bruising, it declared, but to Virgil’s great relief there was nothing more serious than that.

All in all, Scott had escaped more or less unscathed, and with the scan proving it, they had no reason to keep Scott pinned to the floor.  Virgil still insisted on helping him to his feet again, to a fond eyeroll that said Scott was humouring him, and as a unit all of the brothers returned to the table.

None of them were particularly keen to continue eating dinner.  The black lump sat innocently on the table, a reminder of what their grandmother’s cooking was capable of, and after a moment of staring at their half-finished plates they unanimously decided not to risk any more of it.

“Takeout?” Gordon suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil agreed, pushing the plate in front of him away.  The rest of his brothers followed suit.

“I’ll go get pizza,” Scott volunteered, making his way to his feet.  Virgil’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could take a step – on Scott’s other side, Gordon had apparently had the same idea.

Opposite, John had already brought up a menu and started placing an order.  “It’ll be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes,” he said.  “It’s the usual place, Alan.”

Scott made a noise of affronted protest, but their youngest brother beamed and darted out of the kitchen with an “F.A.B!”

“Give yourself a bit longer to recover before you break the sound barrier,” Virgil told Scott, amused. His eldest brother huffed at him, but reluctantly conceded the point and sat back down again.  “So, who’s clearing this up?”

John and Gordon looked at each other warily.  For his part, Virgil pressed his shoulder against Scott’s, making it perfectly clear that he was needed on observation.  Just in case.  Neither of his other brothers seemed particularly pleased with the silent declaration, but didn’t argue.  Instead, they sprung into a game of rock-paper-scissors.

John won, and settled back smugly where he sat, tablet seemingly taking up all of his attention as Gordon whined.

“It’s not so bad,” Scott told him.  “Look, I’ll help.”  He was halfway to standing by the time Gordon clutched at his shoulders and pushed him back down again.

“No, no,” he said.  “It’s fine.  You need to stay put, otherwise Virgil’ll get grumpy.”  Virgil rolled his eyes; he wasn’t the only one that would protest, and they all knew it.

As Gordon started gathering up the abandoned plates, the blast shutters slid across, shutting out the retracting pool before the silver rocket launched into the sky.

Virgil saw the longing glance Scott sent his ‘bird as she rapidly vanished from sight and squeezed his shoulder.

“Food’ll be here soon,” he promised, knowing full well that that wasn’t the reason behind the look. They all got angsty whenever someone else took their ‘birds out instead, after all.  “Try not to choke on it this time.”

Scott swatted at him as Gordon barked out a laugh.

“We’ll make sure to cut it up nice and small for you,” the aquanaut grinned.  “After-”

In one swift motion, Scott scooped up the now-empty cup and hurled it at him.  Gordon lunged to the side as it sailed past him.

“Hey!”

“Just helping you clear the table,” Scott said sunnily.  His hand crept towards one of the plates and Gordon jolted forwards with another yelp to snatch it up first, even though they all knew Scott wouldn’t actually throw something breakable.  Grandma would kill him if he did.

“I don’t need help from someone who couldn’t swallow his food properly,” Gordon retorted, ducking away from the swipe that comment earned him.  “Why don’t you go sit by the pool for a few minutes?  We’ve got half an hour until pizza.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil chipped in, taking hold of Scott’s elbow.  “Let’s leave him to it.”  Scott smirked in agreement and stood up, leading the way out through the once-again open shutters.  Behind them, John muttered something about burning, and Virgil surmised that he wasn’t planning on becoming as crispy as whatever Scott had choked on.

Scott sprawled onto one of the loungers, and Virgil would have thought it nothing particularly out of the ordinary for the times Scott did use them, except for the hand that briefly rubbed at his throat again in passing.

It seemed to be a subconscious gesture rather than a point for concern, but Virgil pointed the scanner at him again, just to be on the safe side.  Scott jumped as the light flickered over him again, and sighed when his eyes focused on the device.

“Didn’t you already do that?”

“No harm in checking twice,” Virgil pointed out.  The result came back the same as before, to his relief.

Scott hummed at him, but didn’t dispute it.  Then again, the result was in his favour, so he had no reason to.  Content that his brother would be fine soon enough, Virgil let the conversation lapse into silence.  In the kitchen, Gordon was grumbling about clearing up by himself, and every so often John sniped something in return.  Normal sounds, at least when John was dirtside.  Beside him, Scott was also silent, seemingly content to listen to their brothers without interrupting.

There really was no such thing as silence in their home.  As long as it didn’t herald something worrying, Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #drabbles #thunderwhump #thunderfluff #choke

[tanoraqui]

*takes feelings about the Penric’s Demon series and a hearty dose of @asukaskerian‘s Midnight on the Demon Patrol fic and yeets them into a blender with a text post I saw like a year ago; hits puree with no idea where this is going*

“There’s nothing else for it, Vinnie. You’ll have to take Holmes.”

“Grandma, I am not inheriting your death demon!”

My great-grandmother had broken her left hipbone two days ago; she could barely hold her head off the pillows that propped her up and her eyes were clouded with cataracts and painkillers. She lifted her head to glare at me nonetheless. 

“Vanessa Jean Watson, I will not hear such language from your mouth, not in my house and not anywhere. You-“

She stiffened with a sudden grimace and fell back to bed limper. Tears ran down her cheeks. 

“You know better,” she finished, voice rough with pain.

“Sorry,” I said, and meant it - but mostly for the fact that I pushed one more time. “It’s just, I’m a nurse. Not a...super secret FBI agent. What am I going to do with a permanent death spirit?”

None of us really knew most of what Grandma Watson had done with her life, for work. She’d been retired for most of my life, and her stories hovered between “fanciful” and “classified beyond belief.”

“Your granddaughter is exactly right,” said Latimer - George Latimer, he’d introduced himself, when I got to my grandmother’s house and found two FBI agents in the kitchen. Director of the Spirit Crimes division. “If you’d just consider Agent Moehner - she’s one of our best, you know. Nearly a decade of experience in the field, with strong riders-”

(The other agent, currently exiled to the kitchen with a mug of coffee, while we argued in the bedroom. She was tall, dark-skinned, and looked like she could kill a man with her pinky, and I hadn’t seen her make a single facial expression when we’d been introduced.)

“Absolutely not,” Grandma snapped, with the faintly echoing undertone that meant her rider was saying it, too.

“I’m not leaving the Watsons,” she hissed - Holmes hissed, Grandma’s lips going pale as though already dead.

“And you’re it, Vanessa,” said Grandma, color returning to her face (though not much; not much at all.) “You don’t see David flying out to my bedside, much less Therese. Liz is gone, and so’s your father. And the twins are too young.”

She wasn’t wrong. Great-grandma Watson, with her snappish authority, apartment full of dead plants, and inclination to look like a corpse to let her equally haughty permanent-rider death spirit speak through her wasn’t high on everyone’s Family to Visit list, and never had been. Nana Liz had loved her, but Nana Liz passed away ten years ago. My dad had spat back her barbs just as fast and with twice the cheer, but he got shot in Syria four years ago. Mom hadn’t been in the picture since just after I was born, and my older brother Dave was busy being a suburban dad in Boston, complete with twin toddlers, a Subaru, and “Sent from my iPhone” email saying, “Heard about Grandma’s fall - give her my best!” He’d sooner discorporate the family spirit than fly across the country to take it up.

Not that I’d flown across the country. I just lived in the next city over, because there’d been a job opening in a hospital and it’d seemed like someone ought to live near the 103-year-old matriarch, rider and all. She refused any live-in help. The unspoken family vote had been me.

“And you,” she added, voice softening a little. “Stop weeping, you old fusspot. You’ve been exhausting yourself for years, keeping back the viruses and cancer and such without any proper food. This damn hip is the last straw for both of us - have a good meal of me, then go fuss over Vinnie instead. She’s a good girl, she’ll look out for you.”

Holmes shook her head, side to side against the pillow. “Jillian…”

“I’m tired, Holmes.” She closed her eyes and sighed, and for maybe the first time I realized how small she was. Short and slight to start with, and shrunken with age, pallid and wrinkled and frail. Her personality didn’t usually allow for the observation.

“Ah, Holmes,” said Latimer, “are you sure you wouldn’t consider accepting Agent Moehner as your handler? As I said, she has experience in the field, and would return to it promptly with you - as Mrs. Watson said, I’m sure you haven’t had a, ah, decent meal in a while-”

Grandma Watson’s eyes opened and snapped over to the FBI director, flat and dead.

“When Captain Watson passes away, there will be two to thirty seconds during which I am bound by little more than my own conscience,” Holmes said icily. “If I were you, sir, I should stop trying to tempt me to hunger now.”

“Captain,” he blustered, “control your spirit-“

“Not a captain,” Grandma said with a quiet smirk. “Retired. And Vinnie’s going to be a private citizen, unless you lot talk her into signing some damn thing - and if her father couldn’t, you can’t.”

She pushed herself up again, wincing, looking at me. “I am sorry, Vinnie, when you just got here - if you need to go get coffee, or break up with a girlfriend, I can…” She sank back, half-scowling at her own weakness. “I can wait. I’ll be fine.”

“I…”

I fiddled with the hem of my jacket. I hadn’t even taken it off, since coming here after work.

I thought if I left, I’d probably run and not come back.

“It’s fine, Grandma. I can- I’ll look after Holmes for you.”

“Good girl.” A bit more color returned to her cheeks as she smiled. “Too responsible for your own good.” 

She closed her eyes, looking life-sized again. “Last words, last words...well let’s go with the classic. Sherlock Holmes!”

There was a tension to the air, as though something was about to break. Latimer reaches for something in his pocket. I fought the urge to step back - I knew the spirit’s name, but I’d never seen her use it in a real, summoning way. The bedroom was suddenly cold.

Grandma’s eyes stayed wearily shut, but her voice was strong. “I commend my death to thee. Make it and consume it, and as long as it sustains thee, do my will: go with my great-granddaughter Vanessa and look after her - and don’t be too much of an ass to her, because she’s not all boiled down to pure spite like I am.” 

Even weary and wrinkled, her grin was a shark’s. I shivered in the cold.

“This I bid thee again, and a third time to seal it.”

And she died.

It wasn’t gruesome, but it was unmistakeable, and all at once. Her breath gasped out, her cheeks sunk, and she locked into rigor mortis - and darkness seeped out of her greying skin. It coalesced into a cloud that hovered above her, not quite shadow and not quite smoke.

It extended a wisp to brush against Grandma’s still forehead, and there was no mistaking the tenderness in the touch. 

Then it lunged toward Latimer like a snapping turtle. He took a step back - but only into what looked like some sort of fighting position; his hands came up and they were traced with glowing sigils - which made sense, that the FBI Spirit Crimes guy would have a rider, too. Hurried footsteps behind me were Agent Moehner rushing into the room, talk and dark-skinned and holding a long, faintly glowing knife. 

“Containment, sir?” she asked.

Latimer nodded, as the marks started floating off his hands and stretching wide and glowing toward Holmes.

But Holmes had already pulled away from him, to circle me. It was a bit like being caught in a very small, freezing cyclone. Which somehow radiated impatience.

“Oh, I…”

Grandma’s pocketknife was on her bedside table; I grabbed it and, telling myself it was just like administering a needle, sliced the back of my forearm.

“Sherlock Holmes, for blood I bid thee to my aid-” Basic words you learned in kindergarten, along with your ABCs. The difference was, it was normally for nameless wild spirits - flickers of luck or light or peace of mind that everyone called on here and there. With a name on my lips for a century-plus-old spirit, it was like wrestling a very personal thunderstorm. I could feel the chill and the stillness and the inevitability of death in my bones.

“I invite you to share my corporeality, um-” That wasn’t kindergarten, or anything outside of a more advanced class - except Grandma had spent an afternoon every (rare) visit drilling any descendant she could pin down. 

“Terms and conditions!” Latimer shouted - maybe not for the first time; there was a roaring in my ears.

“-under the same terms and conditions as you had with Jillian Watson,” I extemporized at a shout.

And then I died.

Or, it really, really felt like I had, for a moment. It felt like I could easily imagine dying felt like - and considering that when I opened my eyes, there was a chill presence in the back of my mind that was unmistakeably Sherlock Holmes, a sentient manifestation of death, I don’t think I was wrong.

I’m sorry, I said silently, because I couldn’t help but feel his grief.

Go deal with the military idiot, he scoffed, and somehow turned away, crossing his arms at the back of my skull. They’ll want you to fill out some registration forms, for a Class A-1 spirit possession. Just don’t sign anything that gives them actual authority over us.

#sherlock holmes #original fic #my fic #'possession by/of a sentient manifestation of death' is halloweeny right? #fuck i have to do dishes before bed #but also wake up at 8:30 at the latest #hmm mistakes may have been made

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 15:  The Perfect Plan

Donna and Stephen; he'd gone through a lot of trouble to learn those names. He'd spent many nights spying on Jiminy Cricket and his new friend Geppetto, only to find that for once in their miserable lives Myrna and Martin had been telling the truth about the names of the "new puppets for the show." Fate worked in mysterious ways. At first, he'd lamented the loss of Martin and Myrna under his thumb, they weren't much, but at least he'd know what he was getting with the pair of them. Donna and Stephen were an unknown factor. The first time he'd made them human to assess their worth, he'd realized he was in luck. They were a young couple, so young their faces born little trace of stress or deceit. They were clean, baby-faced, and that made them easier to trust than Myrna and Martin. Though they had been good at playing the role of invalid and elderly, Donna and Stephen were welcoming, warm, and kind. They had faces that made it easy for others to have sympathy for, and trust with just a glance. And they were perfect for the job he had in mind.

In the two months since Granny's rejection, he'd learned that she was not the only werewolf in town, just the only one who didn't know or accept who she was. The Lucas Clan was a family of ten children, all of them wolves. He'd learned that every month at the full moon they left their home to go on a "hunting trip", which really meant they abandoned their home to go romp about the woods together. Happy as their little family trips seemed for them, it served a purpose for him, the small barn on their property was left unattended.

The potion that had turned Donna and Stephen into his puppets had ensured that none of their personality remained. And once he had their hearts in his hand and whispered instructions to them before placing them back in their chests, they were helpless but to do exactly as he told them to do. Stephen had one job in this, Donna had another.

Granny, he'd learned, made a living for her mother by selling pies that she made, breads as well. Every morning she took them into town hot and fresh in her little basket and stayed until they were all sold. She had a very unique strategy at the end of the day to be sure they all sold. She peddled food outside other places of business and only swore to leave when the pies were gone. The longer it took, the more of a nuisance she became. Eventually, the store owners bought her out just to make sure she'd leave.

On the final night of the full moon, he'd sent Donna into town with a horse, shapeshifted from a mouse he'd found in his castle, a cart, and a thick, heavy chain in the back. She left the cart in the square, and when Granny began to show, she pulled the chain out, only to struggle to push it back in again. He watched from the trees, underneath a heavy cloak that blocked his scent and hid most of his face. He blended in. Donna did not.

"Oh! Oh, please! Help me! Could you please help me?! Help!" Predictably, Granny, who was on her last pie of the day and just so happened to be standing outside the same store, put down her basket and came to her aid. The blessing of werewolves was that they retained certain abilities even in their human form, and he watched as Granny hefted the chain with ease. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" Donna choked out as she put her hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath. "Boy…you're strong!"

"What's the chain for?" Granny questioned, ignoring her praise and looking it over in the back. He'd chosen that chain for that very reason. If she was serious about chaining herself up, he was about to find out.

"Oh, you know…this and that," Donna answered. My husband and I just moved here and we're still getting the house done."

"Why isn't he helping you?"

"Oh, he's off at work like everyone else. Men! It seems to be all the men in this town do: work!"

"Well, tonight is the night of the full moon so, actually, later, all the men will be-"

"Hunting!" Donna provided quickly. "Oh, we know, someone already told us! Can you believe it?!" Donna shook her head and put her hand on her hip. "That poor creature. I just…I feel so bad for that poor wolf. They've labeled it a beast but it just doesn't seem fair. I think half the reason it gets so riled up during the full moon is because everyone goes after it with torches and pitchforks. I mean, if you were just minding your own business and someone started chasing you, wouldn't you get a little miffed?"

"Right…" Granny muttered. Her eyes had gone dark, blurred, sort of. She appeared distant as Donna spoke, and it was exactly what he wanted. That was exactly what he'd prepared Donna for after her sympathies were made known.

"You know…I know I don't know you very well, we've…we've only just met, but you look like you could use someone to talk to?" she offered with the friendly, innocent smile he was positive Myrna could never have pulled off.

Granny's eyes focused once more, first on the chain in the back and then on the woman before her. "Oh, no, that's just…that's just how I look," she dismissed.

"Are you sure?" Donna pressed in a warm tone. "I'm a really good listener, and you did help me with this chain. We could go back to my place!" she suggested with excitement. "Maybe you could teach me how to make one of those pies, and we'll tell each other all our secrets!"

Granny gave a small snort but didn't share the same look of enthusiasm Donna did. He was worried, this had to work, it was the last night of the full moon, they couldn't keep coming up with ideas. He summoned his magic and found the magical connection that pulsed from him to Donna.

"Press harder!" he snarled under his breath.

"Oh, please!" she begged immediately. "You're the first friendly face I've met since coming here, and I haven't really had anyone to talk to myself. My husband and I live so far from town."

"Yeah, well, everyone lives far from town out here."

"Yes, I've noticed," she muttered with a wilt in her voice. "Please, I'd be glad for the company. And you know, you've sold all but one pie. We could split it! Come with me?"

Granny cast a predictable look at the mid-afternoon sky, and a few minutes later, she nodded.

That was part of the plan, but Donna's job wasn't done yet. He followed them home, but this time he stayed high up in the firm branches of the trees where he could watch their progress, and his scent would be truly distant from Granny. It was going to be a long day; he knew that much. To the average person, it might appear that he'd accomplished his goal simply by getting Granny to go with Donna, but he wasn't a simple person. He was the Dark One, and he'd already judged that Granny wasn't the type to disclose her secret to a stranger on their first meeting, no matter how sympathetic or friendly she was. No, Donna's job of kindness was only half the job, the other half was endurance. For from now until the sunset, Donna was not to leave Granny's side, no matter if she begged, yelled, screamed, hit, or ran. Ultimately it wasn't out of trust that Granny would tell her the secret; it would be out of fear.

Once they arrived at the empty Lucus house and went inside, he lounged amidst the branches and attuned his other senses to what was happening inside that house. He watched as Donna carefully shut the curtains to the outside world one by one so that she couldn't see out and as smoke began to rise from the chimney. He heard a basic conversation about how long they'd lived there, lies about how Donna and Stephen had bought the house, what they were doing to decorate it. He heard descriptions of the townspeople, stories about Granny's mother and grandmother, he even had Donna question her about the scars on her arm. Granny answered with a sad version of the story she'd told him about her brothers and father, and then…it began.

Suddenly he heard Granny's heart begin to race. She realized how late it was; she'd lost track of time, she had to go!

"No, wait…I'll take you back on the cart. Surely you can't walk home in the dark. There are wolves out!" Donna stressed as Granny stormed out of the home.

"No!" she argued sharply, "I've lived here my whole life. I'll be fine, you needn't worry."

"Your word doesn't prevent it! And…I can't. I can't let you walk back by yourself. I'll walk with you."

"No! No, you can't!" Granny insisted, finally turning around to face her. If not for his perfect eyesight, it would have been difficult to see them in the dying light, the woman must have known that.

"Why can't I?"

"You just, you can't!" he watched as Granny began to jog away. But Donna, helpless against his wishes, jogged along beside her.

"What I can't do is let you go out there by yourself! Not this late, not with wolves and a hunting party out there!"

"Stop! You don't understand; you can't be around me right now, it's dangerous!"

"Dangerous? I've just spent the afternoon with you, what's dangerous?"

The woman was on edge, very aware of the path the moon was taking, and with his magic he created a howl that rose up in some distant place in the forest that made the young women stop in their tracks. She looked around with wide, terrified eyes. It was too late. And now her eyes fell on the cart by the door still weighed down by the heavy chain that Granny had helped lift. It was a perfect temptation. Just as he'd planned.

"Donna…I need your help!" she exclaimed suddenly, reaching out to take her hands.

"Yes, of course, anything, you need only ask."

"I need you to do something for me that's going to sound crazy, no questions asked."

Donna swallowed as if nervous, but the flicker of kindness never went out in her eyes. She was, in many ways, the perfect puppet. "Ask," she urged.

"I need you to take that chain you got at the market and chain me up inside your barn, make sure all the animals are out and don't come back until morning. No questions asked, can you do it?"

"Are…are you sure?"

"Yes! Can you do it?"

Of course, she could. It was the plan all along. If Granny found anything suspicious about the easy agreement, then she didn't mention it as the women hulled the chain into the barn together. A few minutes later only Donna emerged holding the key she'd used to lock her away. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Task complete, her shoulders instantly straightened, the kindness in her eyes evaporated into blankness, and the personality he'd given her faded. She walked with unnatural precision back to the house to await her next orders. Her job was done, and marvelously so, but he he'd worry about turning her back into a doll later because Stephen's job was only just beginning.

He'd sent him to work in the fields that day, to chop wood as Alexandra's husband would and then instructed him to join the hunt for the wolf for a very specific purpose.

"Hey, did you hear that?" he questioned, pulling Jethero to the side of the group. When he found the group, there were perhaps twenty of them, and they were going in the wrong direction. But he wasn't worried Stephen had his orders.

"Hear what?" Jethero asked, looking annoyed.

"That howl…hey, listen…I hear they are offering twelve shillings to anyone who can kill this wolf!"

That caught his attention. "Twelve shillings…I've never heard that before…who are you? I've never seen you before."

"I'm new here, just got into town today actually. But I've been hunting since I was six so when I heard about the search party, I knew I had to leave my wife at home and help. It's my duty, you know." In the treetops above, Rumpelstiltskin let out a small snort. Stephen did play his role well, though he had to admit that the bow and arrow he'd given him to hold certainly helped him look the part, especially next to the others who held only heavy branches for bludgeoning and pitchforks. Jethero seemed impressed. "So, when was the last time anyone killed one of these things?"

Jerthero shrugged. "Never, it's eluded us for years."

Stephen let out a sigh and shook his head. "They're going the wrong direction…"

"Okay…well then let's tell them and-"

"No!" he hissed before pulling Jethero to the side, away from the rest of the group blindly trampling through the forest. "We tell the group, and we have to split those shillings with everyone, we'll be lucky to keep two pence for ourselves, but…if we go together…" Stephen breathed before looking him over first with skepticism, then with judgment. The look he gave afterward suggested that Jethero was lacking but would do for the task at hand, and by the look on his face, it seemed like Jethero read that look as easily as if he'd said it. "Listen, I'm new here, I don't know this forest, but I bet you do. Help me capture this creature and make sure I don't get lost along the way, and we'll split the reward money, fifty-fifty."

Stephen straightened the quiver of arrows on his back before offering his hand to Jethero. There was a pause that he hadn't counted on, he figured a lowlife like Jethero would be pleased to take up such a deal without a second thought, but he did think about it for a few moments before he finally put his hand in Stephen's they shook with a nod.

"Fifty-fifty…" he agreed. Some people would do anything for money.

He followed them as they went in the opposite direction of the group, who didn't even seem to notice they were gone, only instead of hiding in the trees, he walked a fair distance behind them, darting behind trees whenever he got a moment. Unlike the women who were chatty, the men were quieter but strategic. As they wandered, Jethero provided the little bit of intel he could about where they were, who the property belonged to, what they were hearing, and Stephen provided an appropriate amount of bull shit regarding what he really didn't know about hunting a werewolf. All he did know was that they were nearing the property they were supposed to be at, and he knew it without Jethero having to say "we're right at the edge of the Lucas property, poor goat farmers, I think they sell milk and make cheese at the market, but I haven't seen them the last few days, and they never go on this hunt with us. They're reclusive and sort of-"

"Shh!" Stephen finally hissed as they made their way to the edge of the treeline so that the barn and house were both in sight. He was thankful that Granny was silent inside that barn, it hadn't dawned on him until this moment he should have put a silencing charm over it.

"What?"

"Hush!" Stephen insisted. "Stop moving!" With perfect fluidity, he reached over his shoulder, drew out an arrow, and notched it as Jethero stopped and watched him with scared eyes. Stephen remained vigilant, looking about, or at least appearing to look about and listen to everything. "I think…maybe…it's behind us…" he finally whispered.

"What?!"

"Shh!"

Rumpelstiltskin smirked as he stepped forward onto a branch he saw lying on the ground and deliberately let it snap. Jethero jumped. He looked over his shoulder and began to whimper when his pathetic human eyes turned up only darkness.

"When I give the word, run as fast as you can to the nearest shelter, don't look back, don't do anything until I come for you, am I clear?"

Jethero nodded quickly, his entire body trembling. Miserable, adulterating cur.

"On the count of three. One…two…three…go! Run!" Stephen cried as the pair of them took off in the direction of the Lucas barn. Stephen ran with him for a bit, until Jethero broke through the treeline. "That barn! There! Go!" he had Stephen shout, then, just because he could Rumple waved his arm and Stephen dropped to the ground with his quiver and bow, only now, Stephen was only a puppet of wood again. It was an easy disappearing act, but simple enough that when Jethero got to the door and looked back for Stephen, he was terrified to see him gone. He made a small noise of fear as he lifted the lock, opened the barn door, and quickly closed it behind him. Only then did Rumpelstiltskin emerge from the shadows and cast a new spell over the entrance to ensure that it was well and truly locked.

He smiled as a feeling of satisfaction passed over him. One monster had taken refuge from another in a barn without knowing the real terror was inside. It was a plan well executed.

He'd barely had time to smile with pride before the screaming began.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #rumpelstiltskin #Granny #werewolf #fanfic #ouat

[extraterrestreilegal]

Chapter I

Growing up is an adventure all on its own. You are your own person so you feel like you are who you are meant to be. Aside from all the confusion that goes along with growing up, we grow up into the version of ourselves that we hope will take us to the life we want to be living. But what happens when everything you once thought was right, turns out to be wrong? What happens when a boy grows up fearing not only the world, but himself. Of what he could become… of his potential. It was 2002 and I was only five year’s old. A year after tragedy struck the United States of America by the hand of Osama bin Laden, I found myself at Benito Juaréz Aeropuerto International in the heart of Mexico City, Mexico, my home.

My mother told us that our father was coming home. Being five year’s old, I didn’t understand where he had been. Growing up I always heard the story of how my brother and I cried when the world trade center was struck. Not because our father was there, but because we didn’t know where he was and all we knew he was in America. So we cried because we thought our father was gone. My mother would say she calmed us down and told us he was safe. But I remember not believing it until I saw him at the airport. I remember feeling relief at the sight of his face. But the thing was, I didn’t recognize the man who was towering over me when he walked up to us at the airport. I only felt excitement and a sense of what was going on because my older brother, Alex, ran up to him, cried, and hugged him. I rarely remember this day, but I remember the feelings I felt. I remember confusion of why I was hugging this man. I didn’t recognize him, but my brother called him dad. So it must be him.

Though my mind was young and I only have flashes of memories left in me, I remember a few days later my mother and grandmother were arguing. My grandfather was upset and I couldn’t quite understand why. But I knew there must be either something wrong because I hadn’t seen them argue a lot since my father had left. A few days later, we’re packing backpacks with 2 pairs of clothes, some water, snacks, etc. Me being a child, I remember feeling excited. We only did these things when we were going to the beach, or on a family trip. Except this time, it was only my mother, father, and Alex that were going to go on a permanent trip to America. I felt sad because I remember wanting the rest of my family to come, I grew up always going on family trips with everyone. But not this time. This time, it felt more quiet. Like there was something else going on, but I was young. So I went along with it until I found my mom looking at our house in the city that my grandfather had built for us. I saw a look in her eyes that I can’t ever forget. It was the sight of hope. I always knew my mother was a strong woman. But neither her or I had any idea of what seeing our home for the last time, would do to us. It was the last time I saw that in her eyes, and I would always remember how I felt. Hopeful.

Driving through Mexico City in the mornings always felt like a day dream. The view from the highest elevated roads leading down towards the city always made it feel like a rollercoaster in a movie. You knew it was a beautiful city, you knew where you were going, it was the center of Mexico, I never understood why we’d ever want to leave it. After overhearing my grandfather talking to my parents, I started realizing that it might be the last time I would ever get to see my city. I hesitantly asked my grandfather if my brother and I could ride in the hatch of his truck. He smiled, stopped the truck, and let us hop in the back. Looking into the distance, we could see the sun rising over the beautiful city we called home. Fiery reds, deep violets, and plush pink streaks filled the sky. I remember feeling scared and happy at the same time. I couldn’t explain it then, but deep down I felt uncertain.

About an hour had gone by since we left the city limits. We were in the middle of no where. The sun was beating on our faces as we arrived to what appeared to be an abandoned house. Shortly after our arrival, another vehicle pulled up next to us and out came two American women. Cheerful and ecstatic, they came up to our car and knocked on the window and asked in Spanish, “Hi, I’m Sarah and this is Karrah, I was just wondering if you guys are the one’s we’re supposed to be meeting here to *whispers* take us to America?” My father smiled and explained to them that we ourselves were going to be taken there as well. After a brief conversation, what appeared to be a moving truck was heading towards us in the distance. It pulled up in front of our parked vehicles and out came two men. The men were carrying guns and I think it scared my mother because she grabbed my brother and I and pushed us behind her. One introduced himself to the grown up’s as Enrique, and the other as Humberto. Enrique was carrying a hand gun at his waist and Humberto climbed out of the passenger side carrying an automatic rifle proudly in his grip.

After awkwardly standing behind my mother for a few minutes, it must have been time to go because my mother started saying goodbye to our grandfather as tears streamed down her face. After we said our goodbyes, we were led by Humberto to the back of the moving truck. Once the truck’s back doors flung open, I caught a whiff of what must have been a skunk because it sure smelled like it, except with a more earthy undertone. As I’m trying to figure out what the smell is, Sarah, one of the American’s, yelled out, “Holy shit! That’s a lot of pot! I thought I’d seen a lot in my life but never that much! How much is that?! Easily a ton I bet!”

Enrique came around the corner laughing at her and said, “Two tons to be exact! You didn’t think you guys were our only shipment this week did you?”

Full of enthusiasm, Sarah and Karrah climbed into the back of the truck and laid down on top of the bags of this “pot”. Then my family followed one by one. Everyone except my grandfather, who was sitting in his car waiting for the back doors to close on his daughter and her family.

As the doors closed on the what feels like the last memory I have in Mexico, two lights flickered on. It was Sarah and Karrah looking through their bags for water because they looked like they were ready to faint. I do give them credit for bringing flashlights because we really couldn’t see anything except the low sun light peaking through the door’s hinges. As the day went on, we were getting really exhausted from sitting down for so long, so I fell asleep in my mother’s arms. When I woke up, it was dark and all I could hear was Sarah and Karah talking in English. I climbed towards them and I said the only English word I knew, “Hi.”

They smiled and started talking to me in Spanish. They asked me what my name was, where I was from, what I liked to do for fun there, basic things. Then I asked them, “Why are you going to America if you’re American? Isn’t that where American’s are at?”

With a slight smile and warm voice, Sarah started to explain to me how they ended up in that truck with us. Now remember, this was 2002, shortly before the one year anniversary of 9/11. What happened was they were on vacation in Puerto Vallarta. They were out partying with some locals a few days before, one thing led to another, and they woke up with their belongings missing. Including their passports. Which normally would be an easy fix for Americans, they’d simply go to the United States’ Embassy and get a new one. But this was the year after the world trade center was destroyed by an extremist organization. The United States of America were taking such high precaution’s (with good reason), on who was coming in and out of their country. For unknown reasons though, the girl’s were flagged and were not permitted to renew their passport at the embassy after showing all the proper documents. So out of frustration after multiple visits to their embassy, they decided the only way they were going home was the illegal way. They had made friends in Puerto Vallarta and they set out looking for anyone who could help them “hop the border” as they put it. Eventually they spoke to the right people, got their parents to send them the amount of money needed for the service, and that led them to the back of the truck we were currently sitting in.

Shortly after they explained to me their story, everyone else started waking up. I had no idea what time it was, I just knew I had been up talking to Sarah and Karrah for a few minutes. Once my mother finally woke up, she gave my brother and I light snacks to munch on. We sat there for a while just talking amongst ourselves and then all of a sudden we heard the truck coming to a stop. We all seemed confused because we had been sitting in the back of a truck full of pot, in the dark, with two men who were driving it around with guns. We heard footsteps approaching the back and as soon as the doors flung open, we saw a dark blood red sky filling the scenery with Humberto standing there to help us out of the truck. It must’ve be sunrise because they told us it would be safe right there to stretch our legs and walk around cause we had a long day ahead of us. My parents first got off and they helped my brother and I off. After a few minutes of looking around at nothing but dirt, Sarah and Karrah got curious and asked my parents if it was okay if they took my brother and I on a short walk. Hesitantly but surely, my parents allowed us to go. Before we went on our walk, I remember my mother telling Alex to be careful and to keep an eye on me. He agreed, and then we ran towards Sarah and Karrah who were a few feet away.

As we were making our way around the desert, we decided to go over a hill that was in the near distance to see if we could see anything else if we got up higher. As we were climbing, we could see the beauty the stillness of the desert brought to our sight. Taking in the view, we noticed there was a seemingly abandoned building at the other side of the hill. Out of curiosity, we slowly made our way to what we soon discovered was an abandoned car shop. I remember being fascinated by how this structure was still standing despite all it’s flaws. The way the blood red sky peeked through the cracks showed me how beauty could be found in the darkest and scariest of places. As we made our way around the building, we saw a statue of a saint in the distance. It looked like a massive one so we made our way towards it. Sarah and Karrah were talking amongst themselves. But Alex and I eventually stopped and they bumped into us about 20 feet in front of the statue. Confused they asked us what was wrong, and then they heard what we were hearing. A low growl started coming from the statue. Next, ice blue eyes appeared from the top of the saint’s head, grey hair with the blood red sky reflecting off it started appearing. Without any hesitation, Sarah and Karrah each picked my brother and I up one by one and they ran with us in their arms. I remember looking back as they were running, whatever that was, it wasn’t coming for us. It seemed like it was more disturbed than anything. Eventually the eyes and fur disappeared into the distance and we were back with the others. Seeming nervous of whatever was out there, Enrique and Humberto told us to to get back in the truck. So we did hopped back in and again, we were locked in the back once again.

Hours later I remember hearing music playing and people talking outside of the truck. We eventually heard the truck come to a stop and again, footsteps approaching the truck. This time when Humberto opened the truck, the scent of carne asada filled our nostrils. The sound of banda music playing burst through my ears. It was as if I was back home, only I wasn’t. Once we made it out of the truck, Sarah and Karrah smiled and told us, “Welcome to America! Enjoy your stay!” And that’s when I knew, I was no longer in Mexico. I was no longer home. And that was the last time I would ever see Sarah and Karrah again. I hope they made it home okay.

#illegal #alien #extraterrestre #ilegal #undocumented immigrants #undocumented

[senatorrorgana]

Young Gods - Three

a/n: finally got a new chapter done! i had a little bit of writers block going on between school, work, and my brain just saying "nope, not today", but i just sat down as soon as i got home from seeing guardians of the galaxy vol 2 and set my mind to finishing this chapter! hope you guys like it! <3

rating: m

ao3: (x)

“Ben, this isn’t you, this isn’t who you are.” Rey pleaded.

She was talking to her brother, not some monster that hid behind a mask that had been cast aside on the floor, she saw Ben for the first time in years - just Ben. He had a vibrant red scar over his right eye now, and for the first time since he left there was emotion other than anger behind his dark brown eyes. Rey didn’t know where they were, trapped in some room consumed with red light, the floor beneath them shaking and threatening to give way; all she noticed that stood out other than Ben were the people around her. The lieutenant Finn was directly behind Ben a few feet away, holding his shoulder that suffered a wound. On one side there was Luke...with her father...he was older but she could spot their father from a galaxy away, he was on the floor, Luke’s hands pressed on his stomach to put pressure on a wound. On the other side of them was the commander, Poe, his face littered with bruises and scars, hand holding his side and a blaster in his shaking grip.

“It’s who I’ve become.” Ben replied, his voice filled with pain and eyes welled with tears threatening to fall.

Before Rey could say another word, the shot of a blaster ran through the room while Ben’s face went blank as he crumpled to his feet.

“NO,” Rey shouted, “no, no, no, Ben!”

She grabbed ahold of Ben and pulled him into her grasp before he hit the ground, kneeling and keeping him close while tears fell. She just got him back, how could someone take him away? Rey turned to see that the commander had lowered his blaster now, his eyes locked on her and searching for something, she knew it must have meant something but -

Rey woke with a start, sitting upright in her bed and covered in a layer of sweat with most of her blankets kicked off. She’d always gotten her most vivid visions when she was asleep, she often mistaken them for nightmares, but this one was so real, she knew it was a vision. Ben had no influence on it either, she didn’t feel the pain he left behind after prying into her thoughts, this was an honest vision of something that was to come - something that could be changed if she knew how to change it. Rey couldn’t explain it fully, but she felt she could change something with the commander, the way he looked at her in that vision told her that when that event happened, she had a connection to him somehow. He shot Ben, but why? Was Ben the source of his injuries? Did he think Ben was going to kill her?

It bothered her, visions like this usually held great meaning, no one was there by accident or chance, they were meant to be there in that moment. So what did a commander Rey knew nothing about other than his name have to do with the possible death of her brother?

Naboo was silent, as Ben had expected it would be. Naboo was a planet filled with people trying to live up to his grandmother's ideals, and a planet trying to forget the dark Emperor that came from it. Stormtroopers, even those under Phasma’s command, could only get so far with fear and intimidation tactics. Ben had already been halfway to Naboo by the time Phasma called to let him know that no one was willingly or forcibly cooperating, at least not with their tactics. It took Ben ten minutes to accomplish the task, the ship was headed for Tatooine, more than likely a pit stop point for Luke and Rey to switch ships in case they’d been followed. Ben had to admit that the old man was still pretty smart, but not smart enough to anticipate what he’d do to get the answers - to get Rey back.

“Sir, should we send another party to question witnesses to Tatooine?” Phasma asked, walking in step with Ben as he head back to this shuttle.

“No need, I’ll see to this myself. Return back to base, summon the my Knights for me, I’ll have a mission for them when I return.” Ben ordered, his own distorted voice coming through the mask was something he had grown used to over the years, it made it easier to believe that he was truly a different person now, that he was Kylo Ren and not Ben Organa-Solo.

“Yes, sir.” Phasma replied.

There was something dark on the horizon, Rey could feel it. Not just from the dark vision that plagued her last night, but through the Force itself, something hanging over her that she knew Luke and her mother would be able to feel too. She was on her way to find Luke and ask about this darkness, if it was Ben growing stronger, or Snoke, or something else entirely. Rey didn’t get the chance as fate seemed to have something else in mind for her - a pilot to be exact, crashing right into her with a curious little droid at his feet.

“Kriff, I’m sorry.” He mumbled right away, his thoughts seemed to be somewhere else from the look in his eyes, but he mustered up a smile either way, the kind of smile that was contagious if you were around him long enough.

“It’s alright,” Rey assured him, “Commander Dameron, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, that grin still present while something in the Force shifted around him, his own subconscious attempt to cover up whatever had been bothering him beforehand. “You’re the General’s daughter, Breha, right?”

“Rey actually.” She corrected him, Breha Organa-Solo was too big of a name to live up to in her eyes.

The little round droid beeped at his side, growing up with Artoo as one of her constant companions proved to be more than helpful over the years with understanding other fellow droids. This one, however, who called himself Beebee-Ate, was far more innocent and cheerful than Artoo had ever been in her lifetime.

“I am Beebee-Ate! It is nice to meet you Rey!” The droid had chirped.

“It’s nice to meet you too Beebee-Ate.” Rey smiled down at it.

“You understand him?” Dameron asked now, his smile seeming to be a bit more genuine, though the smile could have fooled just about anyone without Force sensitivity beforehand. “Not many people understand binary like that.”

“I grew up around droids, once you get the basics it’s easy to understand,” Rey shrugged, “then again, Beebee-Ate has a much cleaner mouth than the Artoo I grew up with.”

“He’s been here with you guys one day and that little droid has mouthed off a few words even I had to stop and think about.” Poe laughed, something just as genuine as his smile now and whatever had been troubling before seemed to completely vanish from his gaze.

“Be glad you didn’t have to grow up with him,” Rey laughed in return, “I remember when my father called me once after - “

She stopped herself short, her father, she hadn’t talked about him in ages, she hadn’t let herself really, it was easier that way really; if she didn’t talk about him, it was easier not to think about him, Ben always told her the moment she arrived on Ahch-to that he wasn’t worth the time, that he would disappear from her life the way he did from his. Still to this day, she hated that Ben had been right.

“Everything okay?” The Commander asked, his expression of joy faded and replaced with concern while his gaze flickered over her features. Why was someone she just met so concerned about how she felt?

“No, yeah, it’s fine.” Rey shook her head, trying to shake the memories racing through her mind now out of her thoughts - the time her father taught her how to fly, how he accidentally brought her out on a smuggling job because she stowed away on the Falcon, the time he taught her how to play Dejarik with Chewbacca. “I should go.”

“Okay,” He nodded, “I’ll see you around.”

Rey gave a brief nod before returning to her mission of finding Uncle Luke, she wanted to think about anything other than Han Solo right now.

“Oh, Rey, by the way,” Dameron called out, catching her attention, “you can call me Poe.”

“Poe,” she repeated back, trying to commit it to memory, “I’ll see you later, Poe.”

He smiled back at her, and for just a moment despite knowing what she knew of him from her vision, she felt just a bit happier too.

#damerey #my writing #star wars #poe dameron #rey

[dreamsunderconfinement]

Bulletin 3: Places that are other places

A collection of ‘Metamorphosing topographies of dreamland’ from the dream document - assembled by JS, 14 April

Dreamt that I arrived in Santiago de Chile by bus, except it was in southern Spain.

Late evening in London. Brother’s been arrested so I go to bail him out. When I get there he’s already out, waiting for me in a bar from the 80s Japanese movie Violent Cop.

Was in a dream last night inside a flat that contained different rooms from all the different places I stayed when I still lived in Edinburgh.

Im at S’s flat in jerusalem, it’s not the flat but it is.

Dream is set in “Brussels Archive” located in Paris.

I am in Berlin at his place tho everything looks very different than in “real life”

i am in Florida. i seem to work at Disneyland, or at least the university is situated there. we are being sent home. there is a catastrophe or something we've done wrong. with jess we want to cross country but we don’t know if we have a car. something is too late. i am in a georgian square near my parents’ house in London - some kind of remunerated sexual act with a businessman who came to pick me up one afternoon on a motorbike.

Am in a big market place, later which later becomes fixed as 19th century les Halles, but I’m in Norway, for now it is faceless

It’s Norway except it’s clearly 19th century Les Halles and Devon stitched together.

I dream in fragments, all intense, all differently city-flavoured. My mind is trying to convince itself there are still places to go?

I’m at a crowded club which is also a theatre and an airport.

We’re in a room, a big white room. No: it’s more of a zone, a situated space that turns into something else as it lands. At one point, it feels like the sandy bed of a dry river – all white sand bushes bright sky and us free exercising. And then it’s a room again. Clear huge walls, so huge we can’t see where they end and the roof starts. But we live here. Actually it’s a club and we live upstairs and we are the new roommates

The setting was based on a photograph I made of the Block Island Ferry, which I realized later. We were there, on that Long Island Sound, but this ferry boat was actually in the Mediterranean and the angle of view (frame) was different than this camera I used in the photograph of the Ferry, because I was experimenting lazily at this moment in with a 6x9 frame, but the dream frame today was more like my normal 6x7, tighter frame,

I had to meet my friend Jane at a pub in Galway and it was snowing and I was on a bike but it looked actually like a tiny Prussian-empire kinda town

all seemed to take place in M’s bedroom.  At least the house ‘compressed’ into that space, which is differently configured in the dream.

We’re heading back to the house of one of L’s relatives, in a village called Les Malades, “The Sick Ones”. I suggest cutting through the fields, rather than walking along the road, and claim that it is more direct. The field becomes a mountain

I was in Ibiza, except it was clearly Bournemouth seafront.

I am in China. It looks like a mixture of LA and an affluent North London neighbourhood. A lot of standalone houses with incredible windows.

I’m in an airport lobby, I’m going to Brazil. I am going to someone’s birthday, but the first thing I do when I get there is to go to a luncheon with one of my friends from college (IRL she is protestant and used to be very into theology, went on to work in the Economy Ministry and now has a baby girl with a French guy). A guy I hate, who used to go out with one of my best friends is also there, with his girlfriend (IRL as well as in the dream all the girlfriends he’s had since my best friend are basically always the same girl, they all look a lot like my friend, the same exact features and always super nice. They all stay the same age while he gets older and older). We talk a bit, but I don’t remember what we talked about; this guy is a class A mansplainer, but I think I was actually enjoying this conversation. We are eating black beans, wonderful feijoada and rice. My friend from college starts laughing and says that they took the lunch from the patriarchs, I realize that we are actually in some kind of farm,

I’m looking for somewhere to live on the internet, in the physical space of my dream, the room I look at adjoins directly on to the room we live in

Dreamt I was in Ms Wheeler’s maths class again. But it was in Scotland and I was doing A Levels. I see someone running along the seafront and into the water. The room I am in is in Bloomsbury anti cuts space and it is high up on a platform. (On reflection I suppose this space resembles the first floor of the CLC - community learning centre - which was built at my school in the 2000s to make it a ‘specialist learning’ school, merely because the quality of education and the grades were so bad and the school was possibly on ‘special measures’). On the east side is a garden, on the west side, an airport which is a similar rectangular room at an angle to the rectangular room we are in, or a walkway or highway leading to an airport.

I’m going to the airport. The road for the airport is on the left, it adjoins on to the room I am in. Off to the right, something else - it is like the Beirut highway city system, where you emerge up onto a highway and can see the sea.

On our way to the airport we stop by a mall, which finds itself near to the maths classroom, on the ground floor, to the North side of it.

I move home. To a big house, in an anonymous location, except the trees are like those by the Forum in Rome, and the air is sunny, slow and grainy-grey. It may be Tunbridge Wells, possibly a private school.

He was traveling back to California from Berlin, going to his parents’ home first then coming to visit me. He was on his way, in traffic, it would take about an hour and a half.

I vaguely remember walking and running around this house which looked more like a ship made of wood than my actual flat, but I felt it was my home. I knew this place very well even if all the furniture and the architecture was different. The next thing I remember is me standing in a room that kind of looked like my bedroom, but without a roof and the op bjen sky.

I was in London (that of course had nothing to do w london, and was more of a mashup between green hills and product design degree show booths

I am moving through a city in an uncertain light flickering between day and night, there is a

I dream that my parents have bought a new house during quarantine. In my dream I call it a tudor building in my head, but really, it’s a kind of suburban red brick Victorian construction, like a mixture between what you find in the North of London, next to the M25, and Victorian Gothic in Salt Lake City.

On the way to Berlin, somewhere level with the south of France there were chaotic scenes of my adolescence, changing schools, and I got caught in a loop going round and round St Pancras way and Camley street in a caravan of vehicles going through the bayou.

Some images of Cubitt street and suburbs (Cubitt st is a kind of street where the council puts all kinds of ‘social cases’, it is a kind of containment strategy of theirs), that I float through or watch from a distance. It is like Nice: lilac-y grey modernity, palm trees. It looks like an architect’s drawing, a twilight zone.

We are in my grandmother’s house. But it is not her house, it is much more English, like a house in a Wilkie Collins novel. It is more ornamented, English and gothic than her house is. She is dead.

Very briefly it’s the 2nd version, with some dispute as to who sleeps where in a series of connected messy rooms on slightly different levels of what feels both like an office building and an 18thC (?) European battle ship a la Billy Bud maybe, separated by short staircases and strewn with floor mattresses. Money is due someone - police are in the distance, invisible but working to close in on us (‘us’ is who knows).. Dissolves into what I recognise as my room.

I walked through an urban street. I felt I was both in London and a Midwestern American city. I passed under what had been a theater awning with hundreds of individual light bulbs; many were missing. I thought how nice it must've been when this city was in its heyday. I saw a black London taxicab, which suggested I was in London.

I dreamed that I visited you. Except it was Australia.

I was in central London, maybe Paris, maybe Norwich, in a place like the Southbank. There was a large concrete wall / bank which was inset with a huge array of telephone exchange connectors.

I am walking through narrowish streets in the city I’ve been living in, maybe it’s Leeds or London or Glasgow or maybe it’s just a mix but it feels more like London, and up a back alleyway, at night,

My next dream ends with looking at a map of the Firth of Clyde OS map (which hangs next to my bed) wondering where I could do a long bike ride and realising that the town of Ayr isn’t actually on the coast any more but inland, just southwest of Glasgow. Then I find myself with my friend Callie out on some marina or dock on the Clyde estuary or the sea itself.

#covid19 #coviddreams #confinementdreams #dreamsunderconfinement #topographies #places #quarantinedreams