#and she dies in marlene's dead grasp. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doumadono · 4 months

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Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! villain!Hawks, f!Reader, non-con, taken captive, elements of necrophilia, murder, blood, bondage, forced orgasm, unprotected and rough p in v, Hawks is an ass here, minors absolutely do not interact - a kitten dies if a minor reads this! Synopsis: Hawks has some "fun" with you after catching you spying for the Commission A/N: this story was written for @lewed and it's a contribution for the Secret Santa event hosted by a wonderful @ectologia

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

Pain. As you slowly opened your eyes, it was the first sensation that greeted you — burning, irresistible pain spreading throughout your body.

The surroundings were dark, and you found yourself uncertain of whether you were still alive or perhaps already dead. Attempting to move, you realized the cold sensation around your wrists indicated the presence of some form of handcuffs.

"Marlene!" You whimpered quietly. "Marlene!"

There was no response, only a lingering, eerie silence.

You tried to move, but you couldn't — your legs felt numb, and you were tethered to some metallic structure. Your entire body ached; every attempt to shift, every shallow breath, was accompanied by pain.

Suddenly, a metallic lock clicked open with a key, and a stream of light flooded the room for a moment before disappearing as a tall, dark silhouette stepped in, closing the door. A few seconds later, a dim light illuminated part of the room as two old lamps hanging on either side of the door flickered to life.

You caught sight of him, and your blood turned icy cold.

Thick combat boots, dark pants paired with a fitted black t-shirt adorned with golden patterns, and a pair of massive red wings.

You shook your head, still reluctant to believe your own eyes. "Where's my friend?" you inquired anxiously.

"She's alive," came the calm response from the man with red wings.

A glimmer of hope sparked in your eyes. "Can I see her?"

There was a measured pause before the answer, "If you cooperate."

Your dry, blink-filled gaze met his. His emaciated face betrayed no hint of the intentions behind those words.

Hawks observed as you settled into the discomfort, bound wrists and ankles causing a persistent ache. The worry emanated from you, a palpable scent of pungent sweat, akin to a cornered prey navigating the uncertain terrain.

Hawks fixed his gaze on you for an extended moment, a silent observer in the dimly illuminated room cast by the faint light of aged lamps near the sturdy metal door.

Slowly, he withdrew to the room's shadows, disappearing momentarily. Amongst a collection of cartoon boxes, a triumphant grin crossed his face as he discovered his sought-after item – a hefty hammer. Returning to your vicinity, he playfully toyed with the ominous tool in his grasp.

"Please, let me go. I won't breathe a word to anyone," you pleaded, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure.

His grin widened, feathers rustling slightly. "Oh, I wish I could, little one. But we've stumbled upon a problem. You and your best friend have gotten a bit too close to the truth about me and my colleagues from the League. Weren't you warned about the dangers of working for the Commission?”

“Please, I swear I won't tell anyone…”

Takami approached you with a frown, his golden eyes bearing a weight of seriousness and intrusion. With a rough hand, he tightly pulled back your hair. "I've made it clear before – cooperation is the only ticket out of the mess you've landed yourself in.” He set the hammer down.

"Please," you implored, devoid of weapons or the freedom of your limbs. Contemplating the distance, a fleeting thought of a potential headbutt crossed your mind. Standing could be an advantage. However, all these options dissipated as a tear traced down your cheek. His hand, not occupied with your hair, coiled around your neck, constricting your airflow. A soft sound escaped you, but as his grip weakened, you hastily gulped in air.

"Good girl. Breathe while you still can," he remarked, his hand tenderly patting back your hair, while your eyes held a bitter scorn.

"Please, take me to my friend. What have you done with her?" you pleaded.

"Oh, she's safe. For now," Hawks declared, rising to his full height.

Your eyes scrutinized the young man, assessing every detail. There was a darkness in his aura, a stark contrast to the times when Hawks, the former Pro Hero Number Two, was known for helping people. Something had transpired between him and the Commission, and the Hawks people once adored had transformed into a ruthless villain, now one of the most perilous figures in Japan.

Hawks firmly gripped you under the armpits, drawing you in close. Thick ropes of chain encumbered your feet, challenging your balance. Your wrists and ass clung to the pole you were tethered to, seeking stability as the shackles jingled against the unforgiving metal pillar.

His presence pressed down on you, and you cowered beneath its weight. A hand delicately traced your jaw, toying with your dry and rough lips under his thumb. “When I tell you what I want, you’ll do exactly as I say. You wouldn't want to witness the way darkness emanates from me when I command it, girl. Mind your tone and follow my instructions. Once I'm content with you, I'll allow you to see your friend," the former hero warned.

Your whimper lingered as his thumb persisted, applying pressure to the edge of your lip. It delved in, moistening against your tongue as it pressed against the intrusion.

“Suck,” he commanded.

You vehemently shook your head in defiance, resisting against him. The notion of biting his thumb crossed your mind, perhaps even snapping it off. You strained to lean your head back, attempting to evade his grasp.

“Don’t try anything. If you do, I hurt her,” Hawks warned with an amused grin glued to his lips.

Your eyelids descended, halting an approaching flood of tears. Sealing your mouth around his digit, you sucked as per his request. His thumb pressed in deeper, and you complied.

"Good girl, yes. That'll do quite well. Now, back on your knees," he directed.

You obeyed, using your bound hands to steady yourself as you half-fell.

Hawks nonchalantly undid his belt, followed by his button and zipper. Darkened briefs emerged where the trousers opened in a V, and his hand slid beneath the band. “Now, open your pretty mouth for me, babybird.”

You followed his command, extending your tongue forward, a queasy sensation building within you.

"Excellent," he remarked, his hand delving beneath the thin fabric of his briefs, gradually revealing his long, veiny dick, slightly curved upward.

"Please, don't… What more do you want? We can erase all the intel we gathered!” you begged pathetically.

"Shut up, whore," he commanded, stroking his growing member. "I don't want anything but this from you. It might be the only thing you're good for, I think. Lick," he instructed, rubbing the reddened, swollen tip of his dick against your tongue. "Wet your tongue again for me, babybird."

You swallowed and opened your mouth wide once more.

He positioned himself against you, and your lips instinctively sucked. A salty bitterness lingered on your palate as your curious tongue explored the head of his cock.

Hawks hissed as the tip of your tongue flicked the sensitive part of his frenulum underneath. "That's right," he affirmed, pushing in deeper, causing your cheeks to bulge. Takami ran his slim fingers through your hair, keeping you steady on his cock. Pulling out just enough to watch saliva stretch from your lips to his shaft, he thrust back in, repeating the motion until you emitted a desperate noise, gagging yourself on his dick.

"Good girl. That's enough of that for now. You just saved your girlfriend from a beating. She'll appreciate that when she wakes up from her last one." Takami grinned as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your swollen lips, wiping away a fallen tear from your cheek before moving behind you. He worked at the shackles around your wrists.

You felt them loosen and drop, but his hand replaced them, gripping you firmly. He pulled you against the pole, the cold metal burning your neck. As he lifted the white shirt from your torso, you pleaded with the faceless hands to stop. The room vanished momentarily as the shirt passed over your head, landing on the floor beside you. Then, your hands were locked together once more, this time in front of you.

You shivered as the cold air filling the room grazed your exposed, bruised skin.

The restraints around your ankles were skillfully loosened with a series of subtle clicks. Your uniform pants were swiftly discarded, followed by your cotton panties, leaving you bare except for the metal-clad bindings around your wrists as you resumed your kneeling position.

A palpable shift in the room's atmosphere ensued.

Hawks, charged with desire, was visibly electrified. His engorged and reddened member pushed back into your mouth, eliciting a moan from him. "You look stunning with your mouth full of my cock," he murmured, reaching down to play with a nipple between his fingers. "And you're damn good at it." His fingers tenderly smoothed your tousled hair as he guided himself deeper into your throat. "Do you ever do this for your boyfriend, if you have one? No? But I bet you fantasize about it. Yes?" He chuckled, reveling in his revelation after your tongue flexed under the weight of his dick. "I knew it! Your boyfriend is a good boy, huh? Just the missionary routine, not letting you explore, even though deep down, you crave it. It's okay, you can imagine I'm him. I'm sure you already are, judging by how wet you're getting. Just picture me as him, but on a wild ride, eager to try something new.”

Slimy fluids trickled from your pussy, tracing a path down your thigh, the disloyal testament of desire slicking your inner folds.

His fingers continued their dance, skillfully teasing your erect nipples, each touch met with an eager response. A sharp squeeze on the left elicited a cry from you, and as he knelt before you, he drew the aching nub into his mouth. "What makes you climax, babybird? Tell me. I want it to be as pleasurable for you as possible!"

A whimper escaped your lips as his calloused finger glided through your folds, everything feeling unsettlingly taboo. A part of you yearned to resist, to break free and escape. Yet, a more primal instinct responded to his calculated touches, a primal need for closeness with a male that seemed to overpower your rational mind, corrupting it.

A creeping finger eased into your pussy. "You're so wet and tight, just look at that. Didn't want to give me a blowjob, but it's obvious it got you excited," he remarked. A second finger joined the first, curving against the walls of your vagina. The pressure felt both pleasurable and unsettling.

"Do you enjoy that, babybird?" he inquired.

You squirmed away, finding yourself seated on the floor.

He pressed your arms over your head, taking in the sight of your breasts. The supple flesh swayed like ripples on water. With one hand gripping his throbbing length and the other on your hips, he guided the two to meet. "You're making the right choice, obeying me, Y/N. I'll bring you to your friend soon. Just one more thing I need you to do for me." The head of his penis entered you gradually, a delectable stretch spreading through you.

The mingling sensations of pleasure and pain raced through you like wildfire. The boundary between anger and passion blurred, akin to smoke and cloud intertwining. "N-no," you cried, attempting to push him away by pressing your feet against his thighs.

He huffed as he thrust fully inside you, easily bottoming out. His wings fluttered as arousal overcame him. "Fuck, you're so tight, holy shit. Almost feels like you're a virgin."

An involuntary moan escaped your lips, and you cursed yourself for that.

"I just need you to do one more thing for me, babybird. I want you to cum for me. I know you can do it, little bitch."

Your eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill. His heated and girthy member glided in and out of your drenched pussy. The unforgiving concrete pressed against your back, each forceful thrust leaving bruises as he relentlessly drove you into the ground.

Hawks restrained your arms by holding your wrists above your head, his dominant hand skillfully working your clit. “Fuck, fuck, yes, little dove, I love how your pussy is clenching around me. You're such a good babybird.”

You futilely cursed at him, weakened by the onslaught of physical pleasure. His erection completely filled your pussy, allowing him to penetrate deeply from this angle. Despite the way he mercilessly circled your clit with his thumb, you resisted the urge to wrap your bloodied feet around him and ride his dick back. The struggle not to climax intensified as he sensed your unraveling, cruel laughter escaping him.

"Will your boyfriend ever fuck you like this? No, he'd probably be too gentle," Takami panted between words, thrusting into you with an unrelenting pace. "A girl like you craves it rough, needs it like this. A girl as scarred and desperate as you wants to feel something. A good girl always wants to be damaged. If you want to see your friends and family again, you'll cum on my cock.”

Frustration escaped your lips in a scream. Your ass throbbed, and your core pulsated with proximity to climax. The images of your friend and boyfriend flashed in your mind, intensifying your inner turmoil. In the dimly lit room, through tear-filled eyes, Hawks' face remained elusive. Your juices squelched, trickling down your sensitive skin to your asshole.

"You're holding back. Cum, and I'll take you to your girlfriend. Cum for me." Takami kissed your breasts, fingers maintaining a tantalizing rhythm on your clit, a friction you secretly enjoyed.

Your hips surged upward uncontrollably, and you were cursing the duplicity of your own desires and pussy.

"I told you to cum for me." He struck your face, the impact strong enough to briefly black out your senses.

Impatient, Hawks groaned, his throbbing cock signaling an impending climax. He dispatched a few feathers from his wings, their sharp edges slicing your skin on the shoulders and calves in an attempt to rouse you.

A loud hiss escaped your lips as the sharp cuts decorated your skin, tears streaming down your cheeks. "N-no, I don't... want to! Please! Please, don't cum in! I'm begging you! Please!’ you tried to move away but he slapped your face again.

A warmth surged through you, an irreversible tide that swept away any chance of retreat. Suppressing your moans, you felt your core tighten around him, forcing him through a final series of thrusts before he climaxed within your rhythmically clenching pussy. Your orgasm, though unexpected and unwelcome, was all-encompassing. Legs shaking, abdomen twitching, you writhed beneath his touch, attempting to muffle the sounds of pleasure, aware that he observed the explosion of pleasure within you. The sneer of his release transformed into a cruel smile.

"I knew you wouldn't be entirely worthless to me," he remarked, tucking his member away once again.

"That's so sad."

"W-what's sad?" you asked, still catching your breath. "You promised I'd be able to see my friend. Where is she?"

Hawks, unbothered by your voice and a wet stain on his pants from your combined releases after he retracted his cock, sent one of his feathers to illuminate the room while switching the lights on.

It was then that you saw her — your friend, lifeless, naked and hanging upside down on the opposite wall, her ankles bound to the ceiling, her torso gruesomely cut from throat to vagina.

The echoes of your own screams reverberated in your ears, but the voice seemed alien, almost primal — like that of a wild animal.

Hawks approached the suspended lifeless body and callously slapped the vagina of your deceased friend. "She wasn't as cooperative as you. Unfortunately, we had to eliminate her."

Tears streamed down your face as you choked on your own sobs, struggling against the metal restraints binding your wrists. "Why! Oh God! Oh God! Marlene!"

Hawks explained, "She didn't want to listen," just as the metal door swung open. “Such a waste. I wasn't aware that preserving one's virginity was still a concern in today's girls' world. But I must say she was fucking delicious. Not as much as you, of course.”

Entering the room was none other than Dabi, casually leaning against the wall, observing the macabre scene. "Came to check what's taking you so long, birdbrain.”

"I was reuniting our lovely Y/N with her friend. She was a good, obedient girl to me, so I decided to reward her."

Dabi furrowed his brow, rolling his eyes a little. "Memory cards, birdbrain," he reminded.

Hawks casually retraced his steps to your discarded clothes, rummaging through the pockets of your uniform pants. He retrieved two SD cards and handed them to Dabi.

The scarred villain ventured further into the room, reaching for a Nikon camera on one of the shelves. "Can't wait to get off to this little tape tonight," he chuckled, shooting you a cold glance.

A lump formed in your throat. They had recorded everything — every violation inflicted by Hawks, every involuntary response of your body. Dread enveloped you.

“Please…” you whispered.

Hawks gave Dabi a look, and the other villain nodded.

"Shush, shush, shush," Dabi cooed, crouching next to you, sizing your face with his hand, turning it more to inspect it. "Don't cry. This little tape will be sent to your dad in Kyoto, a small keepsake of you. He'll be able to see your last moments. How his precious, little daughter, working so proudly in the Hero Public Safety Commission was taking villain's cock like a cheap whore. I'm sure he'll be proud."

"What... Please, please!" Your voice rose in desperation. "Please! I won't tell anyone. I can spy for you, I can do whatever you want. Please!"

Dabi observed you with amusement. "Isn't she the sweetest?" He cast a sidelong glance at Hawks before leaning forward to lick the tears off your reddened cheeks.

You winced, trying to crawl away.

Dabi grinned and rose, exiting the room. "Just don't leave a mess here. I'm not keen on cleaning up after you, birdie."

As the metal door closed, you whined like a wounded animal. Instinctively, you knew you weren't going to make it out of this situation alive.

Hawks approached you, ruffling your hair. "You were a good girl. I want you to know that."

"Please," you tried once again. "Please, free me."

He smiled at you. "I'm freeing you."

A swooshing sound filled the air, and the next moment, you were suffocating with your own blood, unable to draw a breath. The blood quickly poured down your chest through the cut throat, and soon your head hung lifelessly to the side.

Hawks lingered for a moment, watching your lifeless body. He couldn't resist slipping his hands down and between your legs, rubbing your still warm and slick folds, pushing his finger in one last time. "Such a waste," he murmured, licking his fingers clean before getting up. He used the hammer he had earlier picked up to crush the phone he retrieved from the pocket of your uniform trousers. Following that, he doused your body, as well as your friend's, and the floor in gasoline before igniting it with his lighter.

Whistling happily under his breath, he left the room and ascended the metal stairs, leaving everything that had transpired behind, not bothering to turn around even once.

#mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #anime smut #hawks smut #keigo takami smut #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #hawks x reader smut #villain hawks #league of villains #dabi #dabi x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #keigo takami x you #dead dove do not eat

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dis-weird-person · 2 years

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So this is part of a fanfic I’m writing. Lana Black, Sirius and Marlene’s daughter is in her first year at Hogwarts when Sirius escapes Azkaban. Marlene is dead (she died when Lana was very young, but Sirius was already in Azkaban at that time so he doesn’t know) and Sirius is the dog as Padfoot but she doesn’t know that. She hates him. At this moment, she’s found the Mirror of Erised.

The brother and parents she talks about are the Malfoys because she grew up with them. Lizzie and Nora are her best friends. She’s a Gryffindor btw. She met Padfoot on a detention in the forest.

Quidditch. That was a funny sport. Much too violent for Lana’s taste, with killer balls that tried to take your head off, though Draco liked it. Lana wondered if Draco really did like it or if he was doing it to please his father. Lucius did seem to have rather high expectations of his heir.

Today though, Lana thought the sport was just that tiny bit more dangerous. That would be because the weather outside was terrible. Absolutely thundering. Half of her didn’t want to go outside for the fear of getting drenched. She doubted she would be able to see the game anyway.

‘Oh bullocks,’ she sighed to herself, halfway down to the quidditch pitch ten minutes before the game against Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Nora and Lizzie were with her, her Slytherin friends having already made their way down to the pitch.

‘What?’ Nora asked curiously, having to yell to be heard over the roaring storm. Really, they shouldn’t be able to play quidditch in these conditions.

‘I forgot my wand!’ Lana yelled back, ‘And I really don’t want to be covered in ice by the time the match is over! You guys go down, I’ll meet you there!’ Lizzie and Nora nodded, not wasting anytime in hopes of getting a good seat away from the rain. Lana turned and ran back up to the castle, barely seeing where she was going as water pelted down on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached the doors, already dreading going back out.

She walked slowly through the corridors, avoiding the late students running down the direction she had just come. It was mostly quiet, the only sounds being the rain the hammered the windows and the distant shouts from the Quidditch Pitch.

A faint glimmer caught her eye and she doubled back, peering into an abandoned classroom. There was a rather old looking mirror standing in the middle of the otherwise empty room, and it intrigued her. She really should stop letting her fascination get the better of her, she knew that, but the anticipation was just too much.

Glancing around her for anyone watching, she snuck into the room. The frame of the mirror was a dim gold and for the first time she noticed words engraved at the top.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi”

Lana knew from her history lessons when she was younger that these words read backwards meant, ‘I show not your face but your hearts desire’ though she had never fully grasped what those words really meant. Shouldn’t a mirror, even one as ancient as this, show your face?

She gazed into the mirror curiously, her pale face staring back at her with wide eyes, before the image began to change.

A woman appeared in her place. She had curled blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes, her face stretching into a smile. Though Lana had never met the woman in her life, she knew exactly who it was.

‘Mum?’ she murmured, pressing her face against the glass. It was strange to look into her mother’s blue eye’s that perfectly mirrored her own and it was even more peculiar that Marlene was only about ten years older than Lana herself.

A man appeared beside Marlene and if, deep down, she hadn’t been expecting it, she wouldn’t have recognized him. He still had his long black hair, though it was shorter now. His face was perfectly structured and his grin was just as big as her mother’s. His grey eyes were bright and full of life. He was so different from the wanted posters.

‘Dad?’ It was odd, speaking those words, because she never done so before. Lucius was always ‘father’, but never dad. Was this her hearts desire?

Yes, she thought to herself, and she knew it was true. She loved her brother and parents but sometimes, sometimes she wondered what it would be like if the war had just never happened. If Sirius Black hadn’t betrayed the Potters and if her mother hadn’t been murdered. If they had raised her.

It would’ve been an odd sight, Lana would speculate later. A girl, soaked her to foot, with her face pressed up against a mirror, standing alone in an otherwise empty room.

Lana didn’t know how long she stared into the mirror, hungrily watching her parents when they were young and alive and innocent. When she did finally rip her gaze away, she almost jumped out of her skin. A dog - the same large black dog she had seen in the forest - was sitting there, watching her almost sadly.

‘Oh hello…’ she said once she had recovered from her shock and sat down in front of the dog, ‘I was just looking into this mirror,’ she gestured to the Mirror of Erised, though the dog probably knew what she was talking about as it was the only piece of furniture in the room. ‘It shows you’re hearts deepest desires. Do you want to know what I saw?’ Lana wasn’t quite sure why she was talking to the dog. The dog tilted it’s shaggy black head to a side and she smiled bitterly.

‘I saw my parents. I’ve never seen them in person, well, not that I can remember. My mother is dead, you see, and my father… well he’s a murderer isn’t he?’ The dog shook it’s head frantically and tears welled up in it’s eyes, causing Lana to frown. Was the dog actually taking what she said into account and getting sad about it?

The dog turned away from her and trudged towards the Mirror of Erised. Lana followed it.

‘What do you see?’ she asked quietly, knowing it was a stupid question to ask since it couldn’t respond. The dog turned to her again, it’s eyes still glistening, and nuzzled it’s nose into her open palm.

Lana didn’t know what to say. Was the dog suggesting that is saw her in the Mirror of Erised? She didn’t even know the dog, didn’t even know where it came from or who owned it. Hell, she didn’t even know how it got into the castle and found her, but here it was, getting emotional over her life. Something was telling her that there was more to this dog then she knew.

This will be coming soon on wattpad! My account is harold-snotter-jk so go check out my other stories :)

#sirius blacks daughter #@harold-snotter-jk #wattpad #coming soon #sirius black #prisoner of azkaban #harry potter #marlene mckinnon #marauders era

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awesomerextyphoon · 3 years

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A Warrior’s Heart | Phase 1: Welcome – 3

A Hero’s Welcome?

Summary: When someone with a connection to Steve’s past dies, he’s reminded of the promise he made to Dr. Erskine and whether or not he’s failed. Can Ife help him see that he hasn’t?

Characters: Steve Rogers, Ifekerenma ‘Ife’, Abraham Erskine (mentioned), Marlene Erskine (mentioned), Nick Fury, Eliza Maza, Azeneth Ramirez

Main Pairing: Stucky x Black!OFC (Ifekerenma ‘Ife’)

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 5,801

Warnings: Depression, Talk of Death, Slightly Cynical Steve, Politics, Smutty Thoughts

A/N: I’m sorry that this so long. I really wanted to try something different with Erskine and the time around CA:TFA. Also, I wanted to explore how Steve would be feeling right after AoU (little bit of a downer, but it will get better). Furthermore, this story will diverge a bit from MCU in terms of Steve’s and Bucky’s abilities. Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated. Dividers were by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Thanks to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for the beta!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

<<Previous

Early June 2015

“What do you have to report, Ifekerenma?”

Ife pursed her lips together,”Wanda is doing well with her training. Djamila and Nazaret had some sung her praises during their first session.”

It took a few days to convince the team and Fury to let her friends train Wanda. Luckily Nat had her back and Wanda was able to show the compound how much she improved from what Ife was able to teach her. Unfortunately, Azeneth was unable to make it due to being tied up with a BNA mission and relocating to the NYC division.

“That’s good to hear. Have you made made any progress with the others?”

Ife’s eyes casted down in thought. Vision was a no-go for now. Pietro was warming up to her, but he thought she was still suspicious (wasn’t wrong). She didn’t want to try Rhodey yet (too close to Tony). Nat was..difficult; she’ll try again later.

“I’m going to try Steve next. He seems like a safe bet, even with the serum. Hopefully, he won’t catch before it’s time. I will need Erskine’s folder though.”

Eliza’s lips turned upward in a small smile, “Agreed. I’ll have it sent to you within the hour. Best of luck, Ife.”

And with that, Ife got dressed and headed towards the common room.

Steve leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his head in thought and vexation.

The 21st century must be fucking with him.

Right after Operation ‘Captain Briar Rose’, Steve went to Brooklyn. He could barely find any trace of his old neighborhood. The apartment complex where he and his mother lived was now a ritzy condominium with a Starbucks on the ground level.

All of the places he’d go with Bucky were now soulless veneers filled with empty promises of ‘happiness’ or ‘self-esteem’.

He remembered the time Bucky bailed him out of yet another beating by Arnie and his gang back in 1928. His mother berated him for getting in yet another fight while Bucky’s mom laughed and treated them to ice cream from the local sweets parlor. Bucky’s sisters – Rebecca, Rose, and Annabelle – were making a fuss and bursted out in giggles when Annabelle got ice cream in Bucky’s hair. It was one of the best days that year.

A T-Mobile now stands in its place.

All of his friends and comrades save Bucky and Peggy are dead; he nearly bawled in the middle of briefing when found out that Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan died and had a cry alone in his quarters afterwards.

Felt shitty about the current state of the country. It seemed as though everything has gotten worse. He found out about the Gulf, Afghanistan, and Iraq Wars. How income and wealth inequality has somehow gotten as bad as, if not worse, than the Gilded Age. Corruption has turned DC and NYC into dog and pony show.

He was furious at all of the politicians and corporations that wanted him to endorse them or their actions. They wanted Captain America’s helmet and shield to mask their heinous acts. They were the same if not worse than Senator Brandt.

Some days Steve wished SHIELD let him stay in the ice. Even worse, there were days he felt that Captain America was for an America that never was.

Nowadays, he felt even more like an anomaly.

It started when he got out of the ice. He felt a lot stronger and faster; only Thor knew the extent of it and he has to hold back a lot when fighting for fear of government asking for more of his blood. Though he suspected Ife and Natasha might be onto him.

He was a lot hungrier than before he went on ice as well. Often time, he would have late night ‘dinners’ (now it's every night), To be honest, he was a bit embarrassed at how much he ate, though the thought of pinning the blame on Ife did cross his mind. It wouldn’t work due to Ife almost never eating with the team and Sam said that he would know if Ife was the culprit. Steve suspected that Ife has been using her connections to restock the food between when he retired to his quarters and before the rest of the team came for breakfast. Also, she kept leaving him fun pop culture facts and media recommendations for the night.

Steve didn’t feel he could go to Dr. Cho since he doubted she had anything to go on in his case.

He did wonder if Ife could help him. She seemed to like helping the team and she was knowledgable about Non-Humans. Wanda’s rapid improvement in her powers and control bolstered his decision.

Sighing, Steve sat up straight in his chair and picked up the letter he received that morning. Marlene Philomena Erskine had passed away and he was invited to her funeral.

It was sad to have yet another link to his past slip from his grasp.

Steve was finishing up another book to fight off his jitters. It was the night before the operation and he needed to have a few moments of respite from the war.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he failed to notice Dr. Erskine entering.

Erskine, for his part, was eyeing several books in Rogers’ makeshift bookshelf: They Odyssey, Of Mice and Men, Murder on the Orient Express, Tender is the Night, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Homage to Catalonia, and To Have and have Not.

“What do you think of the book?” Erskine asked as he sat across the startled recruit.

“Just finished. Y’think it wise to get buzzed before a major operation, sir?” Steve noted when he saw the bottle and two shot glasses on the bed.

Erskine chucked, “Calms my nerves a bit. What did you think of the book?”

Steve pressed his lips together for a moment, “It was a good read. The book had a lot of good points for something written eleven years ago.”

“What truths?”

“Well, for one thing, how technology is used to make the populace happy, but not better. The World Government found a way to get people to willingly trade self-expression, self-awareness, and their happiness for cheap happiness and comfort. Makes you wonder if the US was next, you know?”

Erskine was taken aback by his answer. It was much deeper than most of commanding officers gave if they even read the book.

Though that last sentence was interesting.

“What do you mean next?”

“Isn’t that what happened in Germany?”

Erskine sighed, “Yes and no. Most people here think Hitler came out of nowhere, but he didn’t. Not everyone in Germany was for WWI. There was a 100,000 person march in Berlin, but it didn’t matter since the Social Democratic Party failed to rise to the occasion and went along with war effort. Many were scapegoated for Germany failure, Matthias Erzberger for instance.”

“What about the Weimar Republic?”

Once again, Erskine was taken aback by Steve’s knowledge, “Weimar Germany was a great place to be creative, curious, and make new discoveries. I met my wife, Greta, in Berlin during that time. I made a lot of friends, friends I had to leave behind.”

Erskine frowned as his face darkened,”The terrible thing, my friend, was not that Hitler was dangerous, it was that either people didn’t take him as the threat he was or they wanted to use him for their own ends. The cops and judges sympathized with the Nazi Party to get one over the Socialists and Communists. Industrialists wanted to make money off of the Nazis getting into power. Even the German and International newspapers didn’t cover him with the urgency required.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Ja, and it almost happened here, didn’t it?”

Steve nodded in reference to the America First movement and the German American Bund. He still remembers getting the crap beaten out of him by the Silver Shirts when he spoke out against them a few years ago.

“So why did you choose me?”

“I suppose that is the best question.” Erskine admitted while glancing at Steve’s bookshelf, “What do you think of the Odyssey?”

Steve shrugged, “The adventures were fun, but they were just fantasy.”

“They may not be, Mein Freund. How old do you think I am?”

“Uh, mid sixties?”

Erskine laughed, “You’re too kind. I will be 94 this September,” he smiled noting Steve’s shock, “Things are not always as they seem. I come from a long line of ‘healers’ dating back to before Rome. One of them was able to ‘make a man more’. They inspired me to go into this profession.”

“Making super soldiers?”

“Medicine and bio-chemical engineering.”

“Oh”

“Did you know that you will not be first to undergo this?”

“Who was?”

“His name was Konrad Jager. He was a lot like you: small, frail, but had a great deal of courage and compassion. He was willing to fight Nazis in the streets knowing he’d lose. One day in 1930, his parents begged me to save him as the doctors had given up all hope.

I was woking on a serum that would make the body impervious to all diseases rather than wait for the next outbreak to occur. I thought it would propel the medical field.

The trial worked and he was healed. He became much taller and broader in size as a result.”

Erskine pulled out a picture of himself next to a tall, well-built young man.

“That’s Konrad isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was able to help eight more people through the earlier version of the serum. All but one turned out well.”

“What happened to the one?”

“Ah yes, Eren Kant. He was a shy young man before the serum, but then became more like Hodge: a philander, arrogant, and bit of a bully with a temper. He ‘grew too big for his britches’ as one would say and was arrested by the Munich police. He let his arrogance blind him and he escaped in a way that intrigued Der Fuhrer and was taken to Berlin soon after. By this time, rumors had spread of my work and the Nazis were anxious to be the ‘best of the Aryans’. They were able to get my whereabouts from Eren and sent Schmitt to fetch me, but I was already on my way to Switzerland when he reached my home.”

“How did he get you?”

Erskine slightly jerked his head to the side and back, “A year prior to my attempted escape, I met a man in Geneva who warned of the dangers that lied in Berlin. He gave me his card if I needed to escape. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have waited so long before I made the phone call. I was tipped off by an old colleague of Eren entering Nazi custody.

Everything was set. My family and I were to enter Switzerland by crossing Lake Constance. We made it to Meerburg and the lake was in sight when Schmitt and his agents cut us off.

Schmitt believed that there was a power left behind by the gods. He believed himself to be a leader of a new race of men. He wanted me to ‘perfect the serum’, make him stronger than Eren. He had my children, Klaus and Marlene, taken to the outskirts of town as insurance implying that they would be sent to Dachau if I should fail.

I stalled for as long as I could hoping Schmitt would forget about me, but it was not meant to be. A few years after I was taken hostage, Schmitt stormed into my lab and pointed a gun to Greta demanding I give him the serum.”

“Did it make him stronger than Eren?”

“It did, but it had...side effects. The serum was not ready. Schmitt’s skin turned red and his face became so disfigured that Hitler called him the Red Skull. He killed Greta with his bare hands,” Erskine wiped away a few tears, “and ordered Marlene and Klaus to be sent to Dachau while I was banished to the dungeons.

Fortunately, Agent Carter and the SOE were able to save Marlene and myself. Though Klaus sacrificed himself when the agents could only save one of them.”

“Your son is a hero.”

“I only wish I could’ve told him that myself. But, back to your original question. I chose you because, like Konrad, you are a weak man. You see, the serum amplifies everything; good becomes great and awe-inspiring, bad becomes worse and a nightmare. Men who are strong their entire lives often do not value strength and abuses it. However, a weak man who is compassionate and brave will use it to help others. You were chosen because you had the aforementioned virtues and because you use your mind.

The world does not need perfect soldiers, look where that has gotten us. No, what we need right now are good men.”

Erskine poured out two shots and gave a glass to Steve.

Steve raised his glass, “To the little guys.”

The liquor was just about to touch his lips when Erskine snatched the glass from him, “What are you doing? You have an operation tomorrow. No fluids.”

Steve chuckled as Erskine bid him farewell and good luck tomorrow.

Ife found Steve in the Common Room hunched over a chair with a letter in his hands. Emotional echoes of gloom came off in waves as she approached him.

“Whatcha looking at, Steve?”

When Steve didn’t respond, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Steve finally turned to Ife, “I received an invite to a funeral. It’s for Marlene Philomena Erskine, Dr. Abraham Erskine’s daughter.”

Ife nodded in understanding; he feels that he failed Marlene by not protecting Dr. Abraham Erskine.

But in fact, he didn’t fail her.

She lived quite the life for a human.

Not long after her father’s assassination, Marlene became a badass mechanical engineer and physicist. Her designs and schematics for transportation vehicles and energy storage/distribution gave the colonizer nations a fighting chance during the Wars Against Colonialism.

Though part of it was because the UA was a little cocky at that point. Marlene sure lit a fire under their ass! Ife can still hear her Aunt Eziamaka pouting at the news of one of UA bases nearly falling into their control.

Marlene’s assistance with the war effort didn’t last long as her gratitude towards the people who saved both her and her father wasn’t enough to overlook the Military’s treatment of some her colleagues.

Her life from there was pretty standard. She became a professor at MIT, got married and had a few kids.

BNA took her off the ‘humans of special interest’ list in 1971.

Thinking back on it, Marlene may have had a better life by her father not making it past WWII.

Though Ife thought it would be wise not to mention this to Steve.

“When is the funeral?”

Steve didn’t raise his head, “It’s in a week.”

“In that case, might I accompany you?”

“Yes...and thank you.”

“No Problem! See you later.” Ife wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug and went on her way leaving Steve slightly bewildered.

Steve didn’t know what to make of Ifekerenma.

She was always asked the team how they were feeling at what seemed to be the right moment. Shoot, she even talked to custodial staff that few of ever acknowledge. Compassionate to nearly everyone, especially the child hostages during the last mission.

She’s nerdy to the point of Sam jokingly calling her a weeb (anime lover?) when she walked around in an oversized Cowboy Bebop t-shirt once. Wanda mentioned a ‘digital friend’ in her room and caught her mentioning how slow Stark’s tech was much to the amusement of team at Tony’s expense.

Steve’s certain Nat sent Clint a video of the whole thing.

Also, she was what Sam called a ‘Supreme Chef’. He contently patted his midsection remembering the feast she prepared for the team last night. Her cooking would’ve put some of Stark’s gourmet chefs to shame. She asked the team what they liked and she ended up having to create a dinner rotation. Steve was especially touched when she went to an antique bookstore for a recipe that was close to what his mother would’ve made for him.

Furthermore, she would leave out little homemade treats/ snacks at night. Pietro and Sam would sneak some when they thought no one was looking. She even giggled when he accidentally let out a huge belch after an amazing dinner a couple nights ago saying it’s a sign of thanks on her home planet, Avlenia.

Ife always called him Steve; not ‘Captain’ or ‘Cap’ or even ‘Good ol’Century Virgin’ (damn it, Tony!). She never made light of him ‘taking an ice nap’ or asking him about the 1940s in a demeaning way like some reporters and ‘little upstarts on social media’. Somehow, Ife found out about his love of drawing and got him art supplies with a list of recommended artists

She made him feel more like a person and not a symbol or a far off figure who’s emotionless.

Steve felt warm whenever he was around her in a way not unlike Bucky or Peggy though much more like Bucky. She seemed to sense that he was desperate to truly be seen in way that only Sam and sometimes Nat has.

It also didn’t hurt that she was a total knockout. He had the, ahem, pleasure of seeing her out of her uniform and training outfits a few times. She usually wore clothes that were more on the modest side...except for that one time when she wore a Sailor Moon crop top and high-waisted shorts as a dare from Nat. Half of the compound was staring and Steve spent most of the day in his quarters nursing a hard on he was so aroused.

And yet, Ife was one of the toughest women he knew; even Nat was a little scared of her (at least, he thinks). She might be the strongest person physically and she doesn’t take shit from people who badmouth her or the team; Agent Roussel learned that the hard way.

All in all, Ife was...something else, someone he wanted to get close to.

The day of Marlene’s funeral started out well enough.

Ife spent the early morning making Sam’s request of cinnamon rolls, sausage, omelettes, waffles, and hash browns since he won the raffle of Vision’s turn as he doesn’t eat.

She was handing out everyone’s first servings (didn’t care what happened afterwards) when she felt Steve’s emotional echoes of depression, melancholy, and despair noting how his eyebrows furrowed and how tense his body language was.

She just hoped she could get to him.

Steve was walking to garage hoping his outfit wasn’t too much.

Nat somehow convinced him into wearing a Highbridge Black Custom Suit with an Eastley Dobbey Blue Shirt, a Black Solid Tie, a Navy Blue Pocket Square, and Ink Black Dress Shoes.

He ‘upped the swoon dial’ as Nat put it. Could’ve sworn he heard Sam snickering.

Steve reached the entrance hoping not to keep Ife waiting when he heard clicking of heels behind him.

He turned around to find Ife looking almost unearthly.

She was wearing a black Ankara (?) dress with a cape that was black on the outside and golden on the inside with various blue, silver, and khaki rectangle clusters. Her hair was mostly contained in a wrap with a few strands framing her lovely face. Her full, plump lips were coated in a Light Plum (?) Matte Lipstick and she wore minimal gold eye shadow.

Her outfit did a splendid job of hinting at her voluptuous curves without needlessly flaunting them like the women who throw themselves at him at press tours.

Ife smiled at him and asked which car were they taking.

Steve motioned to one of the Black SUVs and the two of them strapped in for the three hour car ride.

Ife sighed and gazed out the window at the scenery. Neither one of them had said anything in the past twenty minutes. Steve wasn’t a fan of most of the music that’s on the radio despite Sam’s best efforts. Ife had to break out her puppy dog eyes to get him to let them listen to some instrumental music from her favorite movies.

It seemed that they weren’t going to say anything until Steve cleared his throat.

Ife, not wanting to suffer in silence, decided break it, “How did you know Marlene?”

Steve raided his eyebrows for a split second, “I didn’t. I just feel like I should pay my respects, you know? I mean, I should attend the daughter of the man I failed’s funeral.”

The last sentence struck a chord with Ife. Emotional echoes of despair hit her like a tsunami.

Tentatively, Ife continued, “How did you fail Erskine?”

“I-I don’t think I’ve fulfilled my promise to him. The country has changed so much since I was on ice. It’s funny; I thought that Brave New World would only have a one of two aspects come to life, but I didn’t see nearly the whole book being right.”

Ife didn’t argue with the last two points. The US was nothing but a never-ending commercial sometimes. People were too busy being ‘happy’ or trying to get the newest thrill to realize that they were living in a sham of a republic.

Though she was concerned about the first sentence.

“What was the promise you made to Erskine? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Steve turned slightly, “To be true to who I am; a good man, not a perfect soldier. To be more like Konrad.”

Ife nodded musing on his answer. Erskine would want everyone he helped to be a good person considering the dangers of such power.

Though she wondered if she knew Dr Abraham’s full history.

Abraham Erskine came from a long line of Homo Magis who specialized in Alchemy . He turned to science when it was clear that his magical powers would never manifest (being only 1/16 Homo Magi). Erskine started working on what would become the Super Soldier Serum in 1920 after the witnessing the horrors of WWI firsthand as a medic.

He made a breakthrough in 1927 when he found what looked to be an old power cell in the attic of his childhood home. Turns out it was a modified Atlantean battery dating back to the 1600s, but whatever.

Konrad Jager was the first of nine volunteers; most of whom went on to fight in the Spanish Civil War with the International Brigades and be part of the German Resistance’s Special Forces during WWII.

Needless to say, they were recruited into BNA’s European Division.

Only Eren Kant was deemed a failure in the end.

Ife shook her head at the info in Erskine’s folder.

Eren was pompous dumbass who broke himself out jail by bending/breaking the bars of his cell after getting arrested for being a player and bully by the Munich Police in August of 1935. His show of superhuman strength got Erskine’s work onto the Hitler’s radar. BNA had to send a cleaner to ‘handle’ Eren before he could get everyone in even more trouble.

She wondered if Konrad and the others would make an appearance.

“What do mean by not staying true to yourself?”

Steve sighed, “It seemed a lot easier to do so in my time.”

Ife wanted to go further, but she couldn’t. Steve was punishing himself up for something he couldn't control and it was tragic.

She hoped that she could actually help him, not for the mission, but for himself.

They arrived at the venue twenty minutes early. Steve was trying (failing) to fix his tie while Ife was looking as glamorous and poised as can be.

Sensing Steve’s unease, she gave his hand a comforting squeeze, “You’ll do fine,” she whispered as she fixed his tie while not trying inhale his delicious natural scent like a creep (again).

“Let’s go inside.”

Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing when they entered the venue. Though Ife had to hand it to the guests; no one asked Steve for an autograph or a selfie. She noted several BNA officials and a couple of Earth-based Non-Human big wigs in attendance.

Guess Marlene was popular.

“Ife!” Azeneth shouted as she strode over to from a corner and enveloped her in a hug.

“Azeneth, how are you? I didn’t think you would be back from Mexico City so soon.”

“Well, the mission was short and they wanted me in New York to accompany Eliza here. Now, who is this fine gentleman, Ife?” Azeneth queried while Steve started shifting uncomfortably.

“This is Steve Rogers, one of my new teammates and Ca-”

“Captain America. I know, Ife. I was jesting.”

Ife sighed dramatically while rolling her eyes, “Steve, this is Azeneth. She’s one of my best Earth-based friends.”

“Kickass friend.” Azeneth corrected, “How are you liking Ife? She’s not too much trouble.”

“Stop it, ‘Aze!” Ife playfully hit Azeneth’s shoulder, “Feel free to ignore her, Steve.”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will, especially after the stunt you pulled on the first day at the compound.”

Azeneth burst out laughing at Ife’s shocked expression and Steve’s sly grin. She probably would’ve kept goin if not for Eliza cutting into their conversation.

“Excuse us, Mr. Rogers. I’ll have to speak with Ife for a moment. My name’s Eliza Maza, by the way.”

Once they were out of Steve’s line of sight (Azeneth was keeping him busy), Eliza activated a noise canceller.

“So did anyone die in the attack on the Magic Council?” Ife asked as she made sure Steve wasn’t looking at them.

“No one was harmed, but several books are missing from the library.”

“Shit! Okay. Well, would Dr. Strange be available to assist Wanda with her training? Wong and Nazaret are at the Sanctum and he said that he knew of some spells that could help.”

“I’ll look into it. I should have an answer in a week”

“Okay.”

“Ife, please give me a call when you get back to the compound.”

Ife eyed Konrad Jager, Gregor Eisenberg, Sonje Decker, and Lukas Denhart making their way to Steve. She hoped they weren’t going to drop an info bomb on him today.

“I will.”

The service was short and sweet as Marlene didn’t want everyone to be bored to tears on her behalf. The crowd got a laugh out that joke.

Afterwards, Marlene granddaughter, Zahara, requested if Steve could stay for a bit. She gave him a beautifully wrapped package.

“My grandmother wanted you to have this. She saw you fighting in the Battle of New York and knew you would know what to do with it.”

“It would be an honor, Miss.”

Ife thought about her earlier conversation with Steve on the say back. She realized what’s happened to Steve was heartbreaking.

Here was a man who gave up everything for a country that only wants him as a cudgel for their heinous deeds. Someone who, if he hadn’t fallen into the ice, would’ve probably been ruined by the same country he swore to protect. They would’ve labeled him as a communist and destroyed his good name for not immediately getting on board with the next war.

To be honest, Ife didn’t think much of Steve before joining the team. She thought he was just the banner boy for colonizers to feel good; he was the reminder of that brief moment when the US was totally the bad guys (totally being the operative word).

But now?

She saw the toll the helmet and shield had on him. Ife doubted he knew that he was going to be alive for awhile judging how neither Konrad or the others aged a day since they received Serum 1.0 and Steve supposedly got one that was at least 3x as powerful.

She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she was lost on what to do.

When she got back to the compound, she gave Steve a hug and went straight to her quarters to call Eliza.

“Eliza. I can’t do this by myself, and if we’re going to pull this off, I’m going to need some serious backup because the Avengers need some serious help.”

Fury was going through some mission reports when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Oddly enough, Ife was the one to enter the room and not Maria Hill.

“Good Evening, Fury. I have someone who would like speak with you.”

“Well, give me a name and contact info and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Actually,” Ife reached in her pocket for a disc, “I can do you one better.”

Ife tossed the disc into the air and a moon-door portal formed from it. Out came Eliza, Azeneth, and Angela in her gargoyle form.

Eliza gave Ife a quick nod and turned to Fury, “Good Evening, Nicolas Fury. My name is Eliza Maza and we’re from the Bureau of Non-Human Affairs or BNA. I would advice that you lower your weapon. It won’t do you a lick of good,” Fury lowered his gun,” Good. Put Maria Rambeau on speaker, we need to talk.”

-Somewhere in France-

Maeve was enjoying her brunch while watching the footage of Eliza officially making contact with new SHIELD and SWORD.

“Well, it looks like it’s time to ‘get the band back together’ as the kids would say.” She chirped to the woman across the table.

“That expression pretty much died in the 90s. No ‘kid’ uses that phrase anymore.” Koronis deadpanned.

Maeve scoffed, “Anyone born after 1800 is a ‘child’ to me. This is what I get for trying not to sound like ‘an old hag’ as you put it.”

“Well, is everything on track?”

Koronis, or Carol, closed her eyes for few seconds, “I see nothing standing in our organization’s way. However, we should have the meeting sooner rather than later.”

“Duly noted. Anything else?”

“The new variable, Ifekerenma, will be more useful to our plans than I originally anticipated.”

“Oh, I do love surprises! I mean, I know how it will end, but I still like to be at least a little surprised. I knew it was a good idea to let Klaue be discovered by Ultron in Istanbul!”

Another woman walked up to the pair,”You wanted to see me, Mistress?”

“Yes. Svetlana, call the others. It’s time to put our plan into high gear. Hell’s Moon is upon us.”

Steve was having a shitty birthday.

The press was pestering him about the presidential election. Several outlets have called him a sellout and a coward for not endorsing anyone.

He was figuring out the best way to take a shower and hit the hay in less than 30 minutes when he found a beautifully written note taped to his door.

It said to come to Ife room wearing his best dancing clothes.

Ten minutes later, Steve knocked on her door and it instantly opened to reveal a modest dancing hall not unlike the ones he went to with Bucky before the war.

He was so lost in thoughts admiring the place that he failed to notice Ife hovering a few feet from him.

“Happy Birthday, Steve! How do you like it?”

Steve turned to see Ife in a knee-length golden yellow African Wax Print Ankara dress with cold shoulders, ruffled sleeves, and a v-neckline. He didn’t miss the modest view of her cleavage or how her legs looked oh, so smooth in the dress.

Ife, for her part, was super nervous about this. Nat said that people went to dance halls all the time in the late 1930s and 1940s and it took her five days to get the architecture, the music, and the lighting just right.

She hoped that Steve wouldn’t be angry with her.

Steve looked incredibly handsome in his simple dress shirt and slacks. His powerful shoulders, thick biceps, trim waist, and beefy thighs were accentuated by the lighting which made him look like he was glowing.

Ife would’ve drooled if she knew that he didn’t like it when most women would throw themselves at him.

“It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about the dress. I couldn-”

Steve raised a hand to stop her from going off on a tangent,”You look beautiful.”

Ife felt a flurry of warmth in her core at the compliment.

“So, what would like to do?”

Before Steve could answer, Duke Ellington’s Don’t Mean a Thing starting playing.

Steve stretched out his hand, “Would you like to dance?”

Ife took his had and they glided onto the dance floor.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

“Bucky’s mom made us learn when Bucky started getting attention from the girls at school. She thought it best that we knew how to treat them to a good time.”

“I see,” Ife giggled, “Then she was wise to make take the lessons. Though I’m more familiar with the jitterbug.”

Steve chuckled as they resumed swinging. He hummed a bit as they danced to Ella Fitzgerald, Caro Emerald, Jo Stafford, Billie Holiday, and Gene Krupa.

Ife was impressed with Steve’s dancing skills. What were those women thinking passing him up like that?!

After a couple more rounds of dancing, the music shifted to something more modern but not (it was Howl’s Moving Castle’s Main Theme) , the colors on the walls and ceiling brightened, and several chandeliers formed on the ceiling.

Steve gave Ife a slightly confused look and asked her if she would like to try a waltz this time.

The song lasted a little more than five minutes. Steve was somehow able to lead their movements in sync with the song.

Ife felt her body was aflame with gentle yet commanding touches Steve was giving her. He even lifted her a few times making her feel as though she was flying with how gently he held her.

They were absorbed in their own world they either failed to notice or ignored Nat and Wanda entering Ife room to see if they could have another spa day. Nat even got a few pictures of the two dancing.

Steve gave Ife one last life during the climax and pulled her in when the music came to a close. They were about to come in for a kiss when Ife pressed her lips together and back away.

“We should probably retire for evening. Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but left Ife’s room with a simple goodnight with Nat and Wanda in tow.

Ife frowned. She knew Steve wasn’t in the best place for a relationship and her conscience wouldn’t let her take advantage of that.

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

The Line of the Dead

AU where everyone dies.

The boy stands in front of him, all ragged hair and open wounds and blood dripping down his face. He stands like a dueller, one foot forward, wand at his side, his face utterly emotionless.

He reminds him of someone; the same haughty arrogance, the mix of rage and desperation on his face. He looks at his hand, the pale white skin; hundreds of Death Eaters, dozens of them dead and he can’t remember who the boy resembles.

The Dark Lord merely sits back on his throne, carved out of dark stone and tipped in steel. He was interested, he’ll admit, when the boy showed up at the entrance of the cave, utterly alone and unarmed besides his wand. He was interested to see how far the boy would get, how skilled he was.

He underestimated him. The boy fought like a demon, shredding through the guards on duty, turning them all into ash and mist and dust. The Dark Lord isn’t sure if he’s ever seen anyone fight like him, like he had nothing to lose in the dark and twisting caverns of stone.

The boy stares him down now. There’s nothing in his eyes - no fear or terror or even pain. Just a mindless, endless void of rage.

The Dark Lord raises his hand. Nagini lies curled around his throne and he allows her to slip through his fingers, cool scales against his skin. He’s not afraid of this boy - Dumbledore himself couldn’t mark him and he sees no reason as to why this boy could. He tilts his head, studying the boy.

“So. You’re the one who so brutally murdered my spy.”

The boy goes still.

“Yes. I saw it. You left his body in pieces on the street, ripped him apart with your bare hands. I never imagined you could be so cruel to someone you once loved.”

The boy’s breathing hitches, his face going white.

“Of course. Dumbledore watches from the safety of his high tower, watches as he sends his last against me. Knowing that I have won, that no one on this earth can stop me now. And he will not save you, boy. He will not show you mercy and neither will I.”

The boy merely raises his wand. There is still no fear there, fear of the death that was sure to come. Nothing but rage, so boiling and unending that it reminds him of his own rage.

“His name,” the boy says, “was James.”

The Dark Lord stills. “What?”

“His name was James. He was 21 years old. He had a wife, Lily Evans, who was the most beautiful girl he had ever lain eyes on. He wanted to marry her in his first year, but she said no. He was brave and loyal and reckless and you killed him when he was protecting his son, while he screamed for Lily to take him and go. He wanted to be a Quidditch Player when he grew up. He never got the chance to.”

“How - “

“Lily Evans-Potter,” the boy spat, “Muggle Born. Every year James asked her out and every year she said no until she was 17, fighting in a war that would eventually kill her. She was going to be a lawyer, someone who bridged the gap between wizards and muggles. She was fiery and headstrong, the smartest girl in Hogwarts and you murdered her as she stood over her son’s body.”

“Silence - “

“Marlene McKinnon. Blond hair and green eyes and a sense of humour so sharp you could cut yourself on it. She was the best dueller in our year and she could never back down from a challenge. You killed her, her mother, her father, her youngest sister and her girlfriend. Her name was Dorcas Meadowes, the best beater that Hogwarts has seen in years. She and Marlene got together in their 6th year, when they were 16. They had three years together before you murdered them both.”

The Dark Lord tightens his grasp on his wand. The boy shows no sign of stopping, the names pouring out from his lips, a symphony of the dead.

“Fabian and Gideon Prewett. They were twins - they never were without each other. It took 5 Death Eaters to finally take them down. Gideon died first, and for those brief seconds Fabian had to live in a world without his twin.

“Benjy Fenwick. He was American - from Ilvermorny, one of the best Quidditch Players of all time. He wasn’t even supposed to be fighting in this war - he was drafted into an English Team. When he knew he was about to die, he blocked himself in an alley. Blew up the street, as well as the 7 Death Eaters who follwed him. We never found his body.

“Caradoc Dearborn. Benjy’s boyfriend, and the best spy we ever had. When you found him, you tortured him for weeks, days on end, trying to find out where our base was, who the Order was. He never told you. When we found his body, we didn’t know who it was. He wanted to become a baker, wanted to open up his own shop in Hogsmeade.”

The Dark Lord rises to his feet in one solid motion, his hand brushing over his wand. The boy doesn’t even flinch, just continues listing the names, his voice calm and steady despite the agony in his eyes.

“Mary Macdonald. She was in the year below us. She wanted to be a healer at St Mungos, wanted to do some good in the world. You killed her 2 days before her 18th birthday. She wasn’t even in the Order yet - she was too young by our standards. You killed her before she got the chance.”

He’s growing impatient now, this list of people he doesn’t even remember. He aims a spell at the boy; he deflects it easily with a wave of his wand.

“Reg - “ The boy’s voice finally cracks. The Dark Lord savours it, the utter pain and defeat in his voice. “He was one of yours. A Death Eater. I hated him for that, hated him with every bone in my body. I protected him from our Mother, took all of her anger and tried to raise him right. When he joined the Death Eaters, I cried because I thought I would have to kill him. He died trying to take you down.”

“He failed,” the Dark Lord says. “I’ve seen his desiccated body. He died painfully, screaming for a brother he never had. I threw his body to the crows.”

“Remus Lupin,” the boy says quietly. He’s crying now, tears running down his face. “Remus John Lupin. He was 21 years old. I always thought he’d be the last one to die. He was a werewolf, a member of the Order and I loved him. I loved him and you took him from me.”

The Dark Lord tilts his head. There are too many bodies for him to remember, a mess of blood and tears and shards of bone. “What do I care for some werewolf brat?”

“He died saving me. On a battlefield. You were there and he shoved me out of the way. He died never knowing a world at piece. You took him from me. And I am going to kill you for that.”

The Dark Lord shrugs, lifting his wand in one motion. Nagini slithers around his feet in tight, lethal circles; he sends her away, suddenly wanting to kill this arrogant boy himself. “You can try. All have failed.”

The boy gives him a cold grin, and the Dark Lord can see himself in the boy’s eyes; the thrill of battle, the fire of war, all the brutal, vicious cunning that shone through. He was a warrior, this boy, forged in fire and blood and loss and the Dark Lord almost regrets having to kill him as he launches himself forward.

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atlaslain · 5 years

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@backwaterheroics / in response to: x.

zack fair has grown acclimatised to relying exclusively on himself. the treacherous pits of deepground have wrung the faith from him and assimilated him into their methods of survival: their lifestyle of anticipating the knife in one’s back before an opponent ever decides to place it there. three years of sleeping with one eye open, of waiting on the razor-edge between rage and fear for the next round of experimentation, or drowning in self-hatred whenever they make him fight and he catches sight of the blood crusted under his nails --- three years has taught him pain and solitude like nothing he has ever known. and he has clung to survival anyway, tucking away the decaying glimmer of hope in his chest that this might one day get better. that his friends are still out there. some of them. not all. not many. angeal, gone. genesis, who knows. sephiroth, gone. cloud, aerith. they’re still somewhere, aren’t they? there is light and life and warmth beyond deepground. he may have forgotten the precise airy smell of the flowers and the exact curve of cloud’s smile but they exist. zack gathers up the tatters of who he is and wraps them tight around that hope, like clinging to an anchor in a storm.

salvation comes in the form of weiss the immaculate. indirectly, anyway. his death. he rots under hojo’s influence and together they begin their reign over the world above, lighting the path out of the darkness and tarring it in blood. it is zack’s opportunity. the instant he crawls into the light he turns on his squadron, squashing what flares of guilt twist his stomach as his blade slides between ribs. ( his deepground-issue katana is lighter than the buster sword, not as hefty but far more adept at neatly cleaving skin. it feels strange in his hands, a desolate hunk of metal that isn’t his. ) sustained injuries are disregarded for now, blood wiped briskly from his face as he removes his helmet and tosses it aside. the streets are a mess; gunshots shatter the night and beasts prowl, dragging innocents into the shadows. and then, as fate would have it: a man in a ragged red cloak, faintly familiar. and a young woman --- older now, far older than zack remembers her being, an air of confidence and control about her now. yuffie kisaragi and vincent valentine. it is yuffie who stares at zack as if she’s seen a ghost, yuffie who grabs him as the force of his relief has him swaying on his feet. the first friendly face in years and she’s smacking at his arms, chiding him for vanishing, insisting he prove it’s really him and not some phantom deepground’s summoned up. ( zack reminds her of their treasure-hunting adventures and she gentles, and the world slows. ) he tells them all he knows, and then he succumbs to the loss of consciousness with the fragile hope that vincent will take care of it all. zack fair is exhausted and wounded and finally free. the slow return of reality is painful: he awakens in an unfamiliar bed, in a room he’s never seen before. his heart slams violently against his ribs. throat tight, he casts about for a weapon. he grasps a heavy book from a shelf and decides at least he can brain someone with it if need be. his legs shake beneath him as he ventures to the doorway, pausing to take in the smell of alcohol and food from somewhere below the staircase beyond. a bar? seventh heaven, tifa tells him later, after he’s done hyperventilating and lashing out at her. she avoids his initial smack with the book, hands gentle yet firm on his wrists as she encourages him to look at her, to understand she is not here to hurt him. he is in seventh heaven, in edge. deepground is gone. ( vincent took care of it all. ) zack is safe. it takes him a whole week to entertain the idea. in that time, he rapid-fires questions at tifa: what happened, how long has it been, where is cloud. she answers each carefully --- it’s a long story, three years, away on deliveries right now. you can speak to cloud when he gets back. the dim hope in zack’s chest grows, warily. perhaps this won’t be taken away from him. he doesn’t get to see cloud. he has so much to say, so much it’s whipped up into a frenzy in his head. does cloud not feel the same urgency? he returned, apparently, and left again. “did you... did you tell him i was here?” zack asks tifa, voice cracking. “yes,” she says, and the look in her eyes speaks volumes. she hands zack a rag, urges him to help her clean down her bar. she’s been giving him little tasks, as if she knows he needs to stay busy. “you have to understand, he... he isn’t the same as you probably remember. a lot has happened to him.” and so zack resolves to understand. he pushes his own impatience down, and nurtures the hope that cloud will see him in his own time. ( far more difficult to ignore is the hurt. weren’t they good friends? after everything they went through --- after everything. how can cloud not want to see him? ) two months crawl by. zack works in seventh heaven at first, until the guilt of imposing himself on tifa is too much. he falls into mercenary work then, with a sense of resigned amusement. fighting really is all he’ll ever do. he shops for a new sword, and then another new one when that doesn’t feel right. tifa insists he continue living above the bar, citing the children as reasons he should; they like him, she says. they don’t want him to go. he reads them stories at night and patrols the bar’s vicinity into the early hours. during the day, he spends time with yuffie or works on his new bike or undertakes increasingly dangerous jobs. the fractured feeling in his mind never quite goes away, but he thinks it might ease one day. when cloud returns again, drifting home like a wayward wind, tifa grabs him and makes him see zack. it’s a quick visit. it’s the sensation of something important slipping between one’s fingers: cloud stiff and unresponsive in his arms, eyes dull, as if zack were less than a stranger. like a static shock, it has zack flinching back, numbness tingling at his fingertips. he stands there, as unacknowledged as a specter, while cloud leaves again. he doesn’t think you’re really here, tifa explains. we all thought you were dead. oh. well then. that explains it. that barbed-wire feeling cinched round his heart. it’s the cold understanding that life has moved on without him and he is no longer a part of it. the zack fair everyone knew and remembered died riddled with bullets. but i’m alive, i never left! he wants to scream. the sense of being left behind is dizzying. cloud had moved on and now here zack is, tearing old wounds open. guilt batters him, sudden and strange. he goes to aerith’s church. the flowers are there, yellow as sunshine and pearly-white, suffusing the air with sweetness and life. but aerith is not. she has not been for a long time. the buster sword lays at the head of the pews like a memorial and suddenly it’s all too much. he falls to his knees and chokes on sobs. he stays there for days, murmuring to the flowers as if they might carry his apologies to aerith. eventually, little marlene wallace takes his hand and leads him back to seventh heaven. he follows in a daze and doesn’t notice when he’s led to cloud’s room and told to rest. ( he rests, his heart slowing its frenzied pulse. this feels like safety. ) he is not ready for cloud to return again. he thought he always would be, but the pain of coming to terms with aerith’s death is too fresh and sleep-deprivation has drained him. he is not prepared for more pain; it might shatter him. and yet here cloud is, slipping shadow-quiet into the room and staring with horror-struck eyes. “cloud, please,” zack finds himself whispering, praying. he is not aware of reaching out, but he registers how brittle cloud feels: like his violent shaking might rip him apart. nausea rises in zack’s throat. he is doing this. he is hurting cloud with every touch, poisoning him. “look at me,” he sobs anyway, selfish and unable to relinquish the certainty of cloud’s place in his life. in the end, it’s only more hurt. cloud, pale as a wraith, stumbles away and wails. the sound drives nails into zack’s heart. he gets tifa, because who else would they both rely on to fix their broken souls? the storm breaks, cloud sobs, and zack turns to leave. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” he is vaguely aware of repeating, frantic. “cloud, i’m so sorry.” he should have died on that cliff. he should’ve died before deepground could ruin him, before he could walk back into a life that didn’t want him anymore. “are you giving up that easily?” tifa demands the next morning, as zack shoulders his bag full of meager belongings and tries to give her a hug goodbye. she stares him dead in the eye as he squirms. “you’ve barely tried yet.” zack doesn’t mean to raise his voice but it comes out in a burst: “yes! yes, i am. me being here only hurts him, i’m taking up space in your bar, there’s no place here for me!” it tastes like a lie. there has been a place, carved out just for him. the beginnings of home here with these people. but not if he’s only spreading hurt. “i can’t watch him scream and cry every time he sees me, tifa. i won’t. i’ll --- i’ll come visit. okay?” it’s not okay. he debates saying his farewells to cloud, but recognises it as an awful plan. he leaves his old shinra phone instead, the one he kept as a soldier. it’s fuzzy and barely in working condition these days, but he squirreled it away all these years just for the old pictures in its memory. “give that to him when he feels... better. okay? you have my new number if you need me.” he tells nobody where he’s going because he just doesn’t know anymore. it’s a good thing he’s already accustomed to relying only on himself.

#backwaterheroics #drabble tag #SO I PROMISED YOU PURE SUFFERING AND I HOPE I DELIVERED #long post for ts #it got a little iffy toward the end there bc i wanted!! to add to what you'd done #but i wasn't sure what to add except 'zack's gonna leave now'#and i didnt want it to drag on forever hhhh #if need be i can like. write a follow-up after a lil plotting #● verse 03 [ den of monsters ].

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padfootagain · 6 years

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Ever After… (II)

Names

Here goes another imagine for my Ever After series. You don't need to have read the first one I posted (Seeker) to understand this one though, they're not appearing in a chronological order and are independent from one another. Ever After is just a gathering of AUs where Blackinnon and Jily and Remus and everyone else is happy ever after. So no need to have read the other imagine to understand this one.

This one is 100% Blackinnon though, beware!

I have to admit that I'm particularly fond and proud of this one, so I hope you all like it. Tell me what you thought about it.

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4871

Sirius was running faster than he had ever run. His heart was crashing against his ribcage at every frenetic beat. His legs were sore, his lungs burning, desperate for air. His eyes were clouded with tears he couldn't control and the world was just a vague cloud, a blur mess around him. He didn't care though. He didn't care about his aching muscles, his ragged breath, his rushing heart... he was too terrified for that.

All he could think about was this need he had to run. To run as fast as he could in a desperate attempt to be faster than Death itself...

He couldn't remember being so scared of anything in his entire life. He had to arrive on time. He would never forgive himself if he arrived too late, he knew he would never be able to survive this...

His eyes drifted up towards the heavens to be met with the empty stare of a green skull floating in the air, a distorted snake sliding out of its mouth.

And Sirius knew that the dark mark had been placed above his own home.

He was at a meeting for the Order, when Dumbledore had walked into the room in a hurry. And Sirius knew what he was about to say before the old Wizard would speak, it was easy to read the words in his electric blue eyes.

The building he lived in had been attacked by Death Eaters. The whole building was burning.

He wouldn't have cared about the few things he had in his flat, he wouldn't even have cared about his bike. But Marlene was supposed to go straight home after work. Sirius had insisted. Every day was darker than the previous one and it was more and more dangerous to walk out of home, in particular to go to meeting for the Order.

And it was his fault if she hadn't come with him to the meeting, his fault if she had headed straight to their flat, his fault if she was there when the Death Eaters had come.

He finally reached the right street. He didn't slow down at the sight of the building wrapped in flames and blazes, the fire dancing through the night. He didn't slow down as he reached the crowd assembled at a safe distance from the brazier. He didn't slow down at the sight of the Wizards and Witches who were trying to stop the fire from spreading to the neighbouring houses.

He didn't slow down, he shouted instead.

"MARLENE!"

He pushed people aside to get closer to the fire and hurried through the crowd that watched him with eyes full of pity.

"MARLENE!"

He kept on running towards the flames, the heat of the furnace now warming his skin, burning the air around him and making his lungs even more painful. The toxic vapours were making his throat dry and painful already.

"MARLENE!"

He had reached the inner ring of people, the ones who were fighting against the fire, when he was stopped by a strong man wrapping his arms around Sirius and stopping the young man in his crazy race.

"NO! NO! LET ME GO!"

"Sirius! SIRIUS!" Moody shouted, stopping the young man. "You can't go inside!"

"She's in there! MOODY, SHE'S IN THERE!"

Sirius was fighting as hard as he could against the Auror.

He had to get inside this building. He had to save her. He had to fight for her...

"LET ME GO!" he shouted, fighting against Moody's strong hold.

"Boy, it's useless!"

"MARLENE!"

"Sirius, stop! STOP!"

"MARLENE!"

"Sirius, listen to me!"

Moody managed to turn Sirius around so that he would face him, and he stared into the young man's grey eyes, watching the tears run down his face.

"If she was in there, she's dead."

"NO!"

"Sirius, no one can survive this..."

"NO! NO, YOU'RE WRONG!"

Sirius fought even more frantically, and almost managed to escape from the Auror's grasp, but he wasn't strong enough, he couldn't... just like he couldn't believe that Marlene was...

"MOODY! LET ME GO! I NEED TO SAVE HER!"

"STOP SHOUTING! Listen to me, son. She's gone. If she was in there she's gone. I'm sorry, Sirius."

"NO!"

Sirius turned towards the flames again, the fumes hurting his lungs, drying his throat, stinging his eyes, the heat burning his skin, but nothing, absolutely nothing was as painful as the idea of losing her...

He was ready to run straight into the flames, he was ready to get burnt, he was ready to die in there if it meant saving her. And if Moody was right and she was dead, then he was more than happy to join her, it was fine by him. He would rather have died with her in there than live without her anyway.

But Moody's hold was so strong, and he was so tired, and the idea that she was gone was more and more tangible...

"MARLENE!"

His fight against Moody slowly faded, and the Auror wrapped his arms around the young man - the boy - in a more reassuring way. Sirius's head fell down as he closed his eyes, sobbing hard by now.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he repeated.

"No..."

He was sobbing, and shaking, and trembling... A second later, his knees were too weak to carry his weight, and Moody found himself carrying him.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," the Auror breathed one more time.

"No... no, no, no..."

"I'm sorry."

"NO!"

Sirius looked up at the flames again, the red and orange and gold mingling and dancing, dazzling against the darkness of the night. He grabbed Moody's long dark coat, his hand turning into a fist, as he summoned his last strengths to shout one last time...

"MARLENE!"

"SIRIUS!"

The sound of her voice had him frozen on the spot. He was certain it was just a trick played by grief on his mind...

"SIRIUS!"

This time it felt like being stroke by lightning. He looked up at Moody, but the Auror had already set his gaze behind him, on the silhouette that was running towards the flames. Even his magical eye was fixed on the woman running towards them.

Sirius finally turned around and...

She was running towards him with the same desperate glance in her eyes as the one he was wearing during his race against Death. Her long golden air was flying around her and reflecting the red light of the flames like corn under a bleeding sunrise.

And she was alive...

Sirius couldn't believe it. But she didn't look like a ghost...

He got back on his feet again, standing up, letting go of Moody, who didn't try to stop him this time. And without him even noticing, Sirius was running towards her again...

He caught her as she jumped in his arms, sweeping her off of her feet, and the violent shock of their body colliding together while they were running at full speed stole all the air from his lungs but he didn't care.

He didn't care because he could feel her. He was holding her. He could feel her warmth oozing from her skin to run through his body. He could feel her body shaking in his arms. He could smell her scent of jasmine and sugar he loved so much. He could feel her tears mingling with his on their joined cheeks.

She was tangible. She was real. She was alive...

"Marlene?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaky. "Marlene, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

But she shook her head.

"I wasn't home," she answered, her tone matching his. "I was gone to buy a few things for dinner. I bought firewhiskey. I lost the bottle though..."

He laughed. It was both genuine and nervous, and she soon joined him.

"Are you hurt?" she asked him, but he shook his head as well.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to be able to dive into her eyes, and he crushed their lips together, kissing her more desperately than he ever had...

Behind them, the fire was still roaring and raging, and people were hurrying in all directions, and sending charms, and shouting orders, and trying to fight against the fire...

... but Sirius and Marlene were still kissing.

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

They had found shelter at Godric's Hollow. Lily and James hadn't hesitated for a second. James had joined them minutes after their reunion, and he had brought them back to his home. Lily had prepared a warm meal for the four of them, despite how tired she was because of her advanced pregnancy.

Now they were in Sirius's former room. They hadn't waited for the fire to be extinguished, for the flames to be tamed. They had left as soon as James had spoken the words 'Godric's Hollow'. They didn't have much hope to be able to get any of their belongings back anyway. And for now, it was okay. For now they were not grieving over their lost pictures, or their destroyed books, or their burnt memories. They had been so scared to lose each other, they didn't mind for now. For now, they just felt lucky to be both alive and well.

They hadn't really spoken since they had found each other in the street before the raging flames. They had just held on each other tight, and kissed, and held hands.

Sirius stared at Marlene as the young woman was watching the dying night on the other side of the windowpane, her eyes set upon Sirius's bike. He had gone to the meeting with it, it was probably the only thing they had left, along with the clothes they were wearing.

He watched her golden curls fall down across her back, her lips slightly parted, the fear that was still painted in her eyes.

He stood up from the bed, and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. She rested her hands upon his, intertwining their fingers together.

"You're cold," Sirius whispered, feeling her cool skin on his fingers.

She shrugged.

"I'm... shocked a bit. Shaken."

"It's normal, I reckon."

He tightened his hold on her, deeply breathing in her sugary shampoo.

"We're safe, Marls," he tried to reassure her, despite the fact that his own voice was shaking.

"Do you think that they were coming for us specifically?" she asked in a low voice, her throat tightening.

"No, I don't think so," he shook his head. "I think they wanted to scare people. That's all. If they were coming for us, they would have tried to follow us, to find us. They didn't. They merely burnt the building. Why burn the building if the person you're chasing is not in it?"

She nodded. It made sense. Enough for now, at least.

She sniffed, and he looked at her again, before brushing her tears away, drying her cheeks with his thumbs. He made her turn towards him, and her head immediately fell in the crook of his neck.

"I was so scared," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was so scared that you had come home early... When I saw the dark mark in the sky..."

Her voice broke, her body trembling under a sob that overpowered her body. Sirius shushed her gently, rocking her in his arms like he would have done with a young child.

"I'm fine," he whispered, tears running down his cheeks again too. "Now, I'm fine."

"Now?"

He shook his head, clenching his jaw, unable to summon enough strength to speak for a moment. Marlene looked up at him, but he was just crying too much. She soothingly ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she knew was always calming him down, and he let out a sob.

"I thought you were dead," he said, looking at her again. "You were supposed to go home after work, I thought... I thought you were in there. And I was trying to get inside but Moody stopped me and I... I thought you were dead, Marls..."

His voice broke, and this time she was the one to wrap her arms around him and to reassure him, cradling him in her arms.

"It would have been my fault," he whispered, holding her so tightly against him she could barely breathe. "If you had died tonight, it would have been my fault. I'm the one who asked you not to go to the meeting, I thought you would be safer in our home... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"I'm fine, Sirius. I'm fine, I'm unhurt. You were just trying to protect me. And I thought that our flat was the safest place in the world as well. It's not your fault. And anyway, as usual, I didn't listen to you, and all ended well..."

He chuckled despite his tears, and she soon joined him.

"I love you, Marlene," he whispered, looking into her eyes once more. "I love you... I can't lose you. I can't... I'd rather die..."

"Don't say things like that," she interrupted him.

He bit down on his lip. He seemed nervous all of a sudden. His hand rose to tenderly cup her cheek.

"Marry me," he whispered.

Her eyes grew wide in shock.

"What?!" was all she could manage to ask back.

"Marry me, Marlene."

"What?... But..."

"Marry me," he interrupted her, and there was something so urgent and passionate in his grey eyes, she didn't stop him. "I love you. I love you so... damn much and... I almost lost you tonight. I thought I had. I thought you were gone. I thought I would never have the chance to tell you that I love you more than anything in this fucking world and that... nothing matters to me but you. I love you. And I want to spend all the time I have left on this shitty earth with you. No matter if I have a few days left, or a few months, or a hundred years... You're the only one who will give me hope and make me believe that there is something good enough in this world... something worth living for. It doesn't matter how much time I have left, I want to spend it with you. And I don't want you to spend the time you have left with anyone else than me either. I know I laughed at James and Lily for getting married so young, but tonight I've realized that everything can be taken away from us in just a second. And it can happen in eighty years just like it can happen in two hours. I know it sounds crazy. I know we've never talked about this but... I know you're the one. I know it. And I don't want to wait. What if we don't have enough time left for us to wait?"

She smiled. She was crying, but she was smiling as well.

"I never thought you were the kind of guy who could get married," she laughed.

"For you, I'd do anything. Here's the final proof."

They both chuckled, until Sirius asked her one more time.

"So? Will you marry me, Marlene McKinnon? Will you make me the luckiest guy on the planet?"

She nodded slowly, still grinning and crying at the same time.

"You know I love you with all my heart, and it will never change. Of course I want to marry you, Sirius Black."

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

Marlene had a dreamy smile on her face. She was admiring the delicate engagement ring Sirius had bought for her. She had been reluctant at the idea of letting him leave the safe cottage, but now he was back and had slipped the ring around her finger and she just felt so happy...

It was such a strange situation. There was a war raging outside, her home had been destroyed, her family was gone, some of her friends were either in danger, either dead... And yet all she could feel for now was happiness.

She felt Sirius sitting next to her on the couch.

"So? Do you like it?" Sirius asked her, nudging her.

She nodded looking up at him.

"It's beautiful, Sirius," she grinned, before leaning to kiss him.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirked, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her closer to him.

"I can't believe that we're really going to do this," she breathed, staring at the jewel wrapped around her finger, an aghast look on her face.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Sirius asked, still smiling, although she knew he was not completely joking.

She was too much used to this old habit of his, he always tried to hide his weaknesses behind jokes.

"No I'm not having second thoughts, you idiot," she shook her head, laughing. "Of course not... It's amazing."

She rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"Are you sure everything will be ready in just two weeks?" she asked.

"Why not? We don't have a thousand people to invite anyway."

"You're quite right."

"I have to find a suit though."

"And I have to find a dress."

"I wouldn't be against the idea of you doing it naked..."

"Before all the guests? Before all these men who would see me naked?"

"Right... you definitely need to find a dress."

They both laughed.

"We also need a cake," Marlene said.

"I'm sure Lily and Molly will do a great job," Sirius shrugged.

"I agree. But I want chocolate."

"Anything you want, babe."

A grin slowly formed on her red lips.

"Marlene Black... that sounds quite good."

But Sirius pulled away quickly, staring at her with his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

"You're not taking my name," he said firmly.

She frowned hard.

"Sirius... we're going to get married..."

"You. Are. Not. Taking. My. Name," he said through gritted teeth, his grey eyes now burning with anger.

"I don't understand..." she breathed.

But he merely shook his head in response, and stood up from the couch. He seemed upset, and angry...

"I forbid you to do that," he ordered in a frozen voice.

But Marlene was not the kind of girl to accept orders, and she stood up as well, following Sirius as he walked into the kitchen. The blond woman suddenly found herself grateful that James and Lily were not in the house to hear her and Sirius fighting.

"Who do you think you are exactly to forbid me to do something?" she replied, crossing her arms before her chest.

"Your future husband?" he replied in an acerbic tone.

He opened the drawer to get some biscuits, but she closed it again before he could grab anything. He exhaled loudly, turning towards her again, his grey eyes now made of steel.

"My future husband will learn very soon that he doesn't have the right to give me orders," she snapped back, her voice getting louder and louder at every word. "I'm not your thing!"

He rolled his eyes.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" he snapped back.

"Why couldn't I have your name? We're going to be husband and wife!"

"I don't want you to wear my name," he repeated.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What now? Are you ashamed of me or something? I don't plan to have a secret marriage! Thank you, we've already had the secret dating in sixth year, and it was shit!"

"Of course I'm not ashamed of you! Can you even hear yourself talking bullshit!?"

"I don't understand anything right now!"

"I'm a BLACK!"

He crossed his arms before him, leaning against the sink, his jaw clenched so tightly it was painful. She could see tears in his eyes now.

And she felt so stupid...

"Sirius..." she said softly, all traces of anger now erased from her features.

But he shook his head.

"I don't want you to have my name," he repeated, his voice shaking now.

He shifted, but didn't push her away when she rested her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted at you, it was stupid," she apologized. "I hadn't thought about that..."

"Marls I..."

But his voice broke, and even if he tried to clear his throat, he was unable to speak for a moment. And Marlene seized the occasion to hold his head in her hands, stroking tenderly his cheeks with her thumbs and forcing his grey eyes clouded with tears to set upon her.

"I love you, Sirius," she said softly, tenderly. "I love you. I want to marry you. And I should share your name. I want to do it."

But he shook his head.

"I won't let you do that," he stubbornly replied.

"But Sirius..."

"I love you, Marls. How can you think for just a second that I would let you have anything to do with them? How could I let you wear my name when I'm so ashamed of it?! For fuck's sake..."

"But I'm not ashamed to be with you, Sirius."

"I'm ashamed of this name. I won't let you wear it."

"But I want to."

They stared at each other for a while, silence settling between them.

Until Sirius shook his head one more time.

"I... I can't..." he breathed, and anger had left his gaze in favour of pain and sorrow now. "It's a curse, Marls. This whole family, this name, it's... it's a curse I can't get rid of and I won't let you wear it too."

"What if..."

"Marls, I said no. Please. Please..."

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

"You don't understand, Marls."

He strode out of the kitchen, leaving her alone. She heaved a sigh, leaning against the sink.

She needed to find a solution...

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

"You look sharp."

Sirius turned around to find James smirking at him.

"Do you have the rings?"

James tapped on his pocket, nodding.

"I'm already a better best man than you were for my wedding, Pads," James joked.

"I did find the rings on time," Sirius replied.

"Because Remus and Peter helped you out."

Sirius laughed, turning towards the mirror before him again. He straightened his black tuxedo one more time.

"Nervous? It's normal, I was too," James reassured him.

"What if she realizes she could have better and runs away?" Sirius asked, turning towards James again, a panicked look on his face.

"Funny, Prongs asked the same question on his wedding day about Lily," Remus laughed, walking into the room.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sirius mumbled.

"No, you're not," Peter laughed.

"Prongs, I'm warning you, if your speech is ridiculous..." Sirius warned him.

"You'll love me, yes, I know."

They all laughed.

"Don't worry, I've planned to only say... not too nasty things about you."

"Thanks. Because my speech at your wedding was brilliant!"

"I have to admit that it was a rather good one."

"It's time, Pads," Remus patted his shoulder.

Sirius took a deep breath, before walking towards the door.

All the guests were already there. Not many people though, only close friends, most of them were part of the Order. Sirius walked across the Potter's garden, and he grinned at Dumbledore who was waiting for him under a wooden arch covered with white flowers.

"Not too nervous?" the old wizard asked him.

"A bit," Sirius admitted. "Thank you for doing this."

"The occasions to celebrate sweet moments of love are rather rare these days. The pleasure is all mine."

"We just... couldn't take the risk to ask someone we didn't trust to come."

"It's alright, Sirius. I feel very privileged."

Sirius grinned at the sight of McGonagall already preparing some tissues.

"Do you think our dear old Minnie is going to burst into tears again?" Sirius chuckled.

"Probably," Dumbledore nodded, winking at the young man next to him.

But then Lily appeared at the entrance of the garden, and everyone fell silent. And then...

Sirius was vaguely aware of the music playing, of people whispering, of James standing by his side but... the only thing his mind could settle onto was Marlene.

She was walking across the garden, her long, white dress embracing her forms perfectly, a grin on her lips red with lipstick, her blond curls falling around her and her eyes shining so brightly with so much joy...

She was radiating, and she was brighter than the sun itself.

Sirius knew that he was gawking but he didn't care if he looked like an idiot. His heart was beating so fast...

She finally reached him, gave her bouquet of daisies to Lily, before turning towards Sirius, her grin never faltering.

He took her hands in his, the same large grin on his face.

And at this moment, he knew he was the luckiest man in the world, without a doubt.

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

Their hands seemed to be sealed, glued together by an invisible force. Since they had sealed their vows with that kiss, Sirius and Marlene hadn't stopped to hold hands. Even now that the party was about to start, their fingers were still intertwined.

All the guests were now gathered around the long tables that had been set in the garden. The night had fallen, and lanterns were hovering above the little crowd to scare away the shadows of the night.

"Now! Let us all raise our glass before turning the music on!" James cried above the cheering of the crowd. "To Sirius and Marlene Black!"

Everyone cheered except for Sirius, who opened his mouth to reply, but Marlene stopped him.

"But, Marls... it's better if we set things straight now, everyone is listening."

"But he didn't get my name wrong, Sirius," she said softly, looking warily at him.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and she could see Sirius slowly clenching his jaw.

He waited for everyone to be focused on the music that was now playing to pull Marlene towards the house.

They crossed the cottage, and he didn't stop walking before they had reached the street on the other side of the house.

The music was loud enough to be heard even from the street, although the merry waves of laughter were only whispers there.

"What are you talking about?!" he asked, his voice shaking with fear more than anger.

"Don't you read any paper that you sign?" she asked back.

"No, Marlene! It's our wedding! Do you really think that I could focus on anything but you!?"

She couldn't help but smile.

"You do like my dress then," she grinned.

"We'll talk about that dress of yours later, it's not the point here."

She took a step closer to him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"I know you don't want me have your name," she said in a soothing and yet firm tone. "I know that you want to protect me from your family, from their reputation. I know that you want to stay away from this part of you. But here is the thing, Sirius... I love you. All parts of you. Even the broken child. Even the boy who wakes up in a sweat after having nightmares. Don't look at me like that, we sleep together, do you really think that I don't know that you have nightmares?"

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable all of a sudden, but he didn't look away from her eyes.

"It's okay," she went on, her tone still soft and warm. "It's okay, Sirius. You're tortured by your past, but it's okay. I love you. And I'm not ashamed of wearing your name, because to me it's not your parents' name. It's your name. And I hope... I hope we have enough time left to build our own home. A real home. Your family is shitty, and I don't have a family anymore, but I don't care, we'll build one for ourselves. We'll build our own family for just the two of us. And you know what? Let's make your mother mad because we got married and now a girl like me is wearing her name."

He chuckled, sweeping a tear away from his eye.

"You're crazy, McKinnon," he teased her.

"Black," she smirked. "It's 'Black' now."

He ran a hand through her hair, nodding slowly.

"I guess it's too late now, anyway..." he breathed.

"It is. It's signed. It's my name, now."

She raised their entwined hands.

"Come on, I want my first dance with my husband," she grinned.

He laughed.

"How could I refuse my wife a dance?" he replied, smirking now.

"You can't."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him, and he slowly made her sway to the rhythm of the music coming from the party.

He rested his cheek against her hair as they danced there, in the middle of the street, the night chased away by the lampposts that surrounded them.

"About that dress of yours," he said softly, and she could hear that he had a tender smile on his lips, "you're beautiful, McKinnon."

"Black. It's 'Black'".

"Sorry," he chuckled. "You're beautiful, Black."

"Thank you, Black."

They both chuckled.

"Black..." he whispered against her hair, nodding slowly. "Marlene Black... Yeah, I think... I think I could get used to that..."

************************************

Tag List : @geeksareunique, @giggleberts, @justanothermaraudersblog, @sad-orange-thoughts, @aylinnmaslow, @haritini2000, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @joelynnp

#sirius black #sirius imagine #sirius black imagine #sirius fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #blackinnon #blackinnon imagine #blackinnon fanfiction #marlene #marlene mckinnon #imagine #fanfic #writing

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cjgw312 · 6 years

Text

Random Musings

I wondered what Tris' fears would be after the Allegiant movie. How would they change? Here is what I came up with!

xXx

Uriah shifted his weight from one leg to the other, running his fingers over the syringe in his hand. “I don’t know about this, Tris,” he said nervously. “I don’t think anyone has used this stuff since the war.”

“I need to do this, Uriah. Please. It’s important to me.” Tris stared into Uriah’s eyes, not blinking, until he sighed.

“Okay but Four’s gonna blow a gasket.” He muttered as he turned to the computer to set the program.

Tris shrugged as she settled herself in the chair, placing the probes in their places on her temples. She looked around the fear landscape room, remembering her first time in this room. Then, as now, her heart was racing, fear making her jumpy. Back then, it had been fear of the unknown, of what the fear landscape would tell her. She felt that same trepidation now. What would the landscape tell her now that many of her fears had come true? Most of her fears had been about being powerless, losing control, losing her loved ones. She had now been in those positions and while she wasn’t sure she had actually gotten over them, she wondered if it would be easier to face them now. Tobias had told her it wasn’t about getting over a fear but being able to act in spite of them.

Her lips curved slightly as she thought of Tobias. During her first fear landscape, at least part of her nervousness had come from her proximity to the man she’d just begun to realize fascinated her. When he appeared in her fear landscape weeks later, it had both terrified and, if she was totally honest with herself, intrigued her. The thought of being intimate with him was one she had not dared to consciously think about until the landscape brought it into the open. She was positive Tobias wouldn’t show up in her fears. She no longer worried about making love with Tobias - it was now her favorite past time - and she knew, without a doubt, that he loved her. He’d proved it often enough.

When Uriah turned back to her, syringe in hand, worried look still firmly stamped on his face, Tris grinned at him. “Be brave, Uriah,” she said, deepening her voice to imitate Tobias’.

“Oh shut up, Tris,” he grumbled as he plunged the syringe into her neck. “He’s gonna fucking kill me.”

The vast muddy marsh lay in front of her. Tris knew now that there was still water in the lake, it was just much further away than it had been before the eugenics war. The mud seeped over Tris’ boots as she tried to gain leverage. As before, she was tied to a post, the city behind her. A piercing bird’s cry echoed overhead and Tris looked up, dread in the put of her stomach as she saw the crows circling overhead. She wasn’t surprised that this was still a part of her fear landscape. Being powerless, held against her will, was still something she knew she dreaded.

The first peck against her arm was a sharp prick, setting her nerves even further on edge. More birds descended, pecking at her hair, her clothes, the exposed areas of her skin. Tris took deep breaths to calm herself, to push past the fear as she twisted, fraying the rope around her wrists. She pulled them apart and raised her arms to bat away the birds. She closed her eyes, imagining storm clouds, and laughed a little when a pelting rain began to fall. Tris raised her face to the water, laughing lightly as it showered down on her.

Her laughter faded, however, as the marsh faded and she found herself in a glass box, water flowing at a steady rate over her feet. She gasped a little, looking out of the box and seeing her friends, alive and dead, standing around, watching her. She sighed as she watched Tobias throw his arm over Christina’s shoulders as Christina laughed and pointed at her. Zeke and Uriah, Tori, Lynn, Marlene, Cara, Caleb, Shauna, all stood around, watching her and laughing. Tris stood paralyzed, watching as her friends, her adopted family, stood on the other side, partying without her. Laughing while she drowned.

The feel of cold water engulfing her chest shocked Tris out of her stupor. She shook her head lightly, pressing her hands against the glass, knowing she could break it. She balled her fist and punched through the glass, shattering it. As it fell around her, the water rushing out, her friends standing and watching her.

“What the fuck, stiff?” Tris turned slowly to see Peter striding towards her. His face was twisted into a sneer as he held a small touchpad in his hand. “Why can’t you just stay dead?” He pressed the pad and to Tris’ horror, orange gas began seeping into the room from the darkness around her.

“No!” She screamed as she whirled around, watching her friends gasp for breath, clutching their throats. She turned again and charged Peter. Lowering her shoulders, she rammed into him full force. Peter fell, Tris on top of him. They hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud as Peter slammed his fist into her side. Tris cried out but didn’t lose her grip on him. Peter tried to flip them but Tris locked her legs around his waist, rearing up to punch him in the face. He lifted his hands, blocking a blow with one forearm and the other hand landed a punch to her jaw. Tris shook off the blow and managed to get her hands around Peter’s neck. She squeezed, enjoying watching him gasp for breath. Hatred welled inside her as squeezed so raw it actually frightened her. She felt like a fog cleared as she slowly removed her hands from around his neck. Her chest heaved as she drew in breath to calm herself. Tris stood slowly and backed away from him. “You’re not worth it,” she whispered. Too many people had died at Tris’ hands and while she knew she could kill him, she also knew she wouldn’t.

Tris stood slowly, backing away from him and staring down at Peter, who looked up at her pathetically. She turned and her heart stopped as she saw her friends laying prone on the ground. Running towards them, she reached Tobias first. Falling to her knees next to him, she pulled him into her arms. “Tobias!” She cried out, his head in her lap. She ran her hand over his face and his eyes opened. “Tobias, thank God!”

He blinked at her. “Who are you?” He whispered. Tris’ eyes widened and she looked frantically around the room, noticing her friends all sitting up and looking around, confused.

“NO!” Tris stood up and imagined a huge fan, sucking all of the noxious orange gas out of the room. She closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining the gas dissipating from the room, clearing the air. She could hear people murmuring, “Hey, what happened? Where’s Tris?” Tris smiled and opened her eyes.

Rather than being in the black room with her friends, Tris opened her eyes to find herself sitting in the airship next to David. He glanced over at her. “We’re nearly there. Now that we’ve secured funding, we must discuss our next step.”

Frowning, Tris stared at him. “What are you talking about? I’m not helping you. You lied to me.”

David laughed lightly but didn’t answer as he landed the airship on the pad. Pressing a button, the doors rose and Tris climbed out, her heart sinking as Matthew walked towards them.

“It’s done, yes?” David asked as he strode to intercept Matthew.

Matthew nodded, his blue eyes meeting Tris’ sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, Tris. It had to be done.”

“What? What had to be done?” Tris whispered, terror clogging her throat. She looked over his shoulder to see a body laying on a dais in the middle of David’s office. David was standing next to it, a pleased smile on his face as he stared at the body in front of him. Tris wondered if she was going to pass out as the rest of the room around her faded and all she could see was the black clad body. She moved slowly towards it and looked down, nausea rising. His incredible dark blue eyes were open wide, staring into nothing. His handsome face was covered with scratches and bruises, his full lips parted, blood trailing down from edge of his mouth. Tris’ breath stopped as her eyes looked down the length of the lean, muscular body she’d worshiped so often with her hands and lips, now broken and bruised. Blood pooled beneath his body, dripping from the table to the floor. She looked down as a dark red drop of blood splashed onto her white shoe.

She looked up from her shoe to rest once again on Tobias’ face, now still in death. The realization that he was gone made her scream. And scream. Tris squeezed her eyes shut, the sound of her own voice echoing in her ears as she felt every cell in her body shut down.

Gasping, Tris wrenched her eyes open. The sterile, white walls of the fear landscape room stared back at her, soothing her. Her chest was heaving and she became aware of the cold sweat filming her body. Tris closed her eyes a moment, trying to slow her wildly beating heart. She felt the probes being removed and she looked up, expecting to see Uriah but instead meeting Tobias’ grim expression.

“Tobias,” she whispered, her voice breaking with a sob.

“I’m here,” he murmured perching on the edge of the chair and pulling her into his arms. Tris buried her face in his chest, sobbing, clutching his warm body to her. He held her tightly, rocking her, his lips pressed to the top of her head. He wanted to rail at her, shake her, demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing but listening to her heart-wrenching cried, Tobias could do nothing but cradle her to his chest, whispering soothing words. The steady beat of his heart in her ear calmed her and reassured Tris that he really was holding her.

Once her body stopped trembling, Tris raised her head to stare at him. She raised her hands, cupping his beloved face in her hands and she pulled his head down to hers, kissing him fiercely. Tobias hesitated for a moment, then kissed her back, their tongues dueling for dominance. Tris scrambled into his lap, straddling him, her lips never leaving his. Tobias ran his hands up and down her back before grasping her hips and pulling her tightly against him. Running her fingers through his hair, Tris ground her hips down on him over and over, inflaming them both as they kissed. Tobias’ hands slipped under her shirt, his fingers clutching at the soft, bare skin of her waist. Tris rolled her hips against him again and Tobias finally wrenched his mouth from hers.

Breathing heavily, Tobias pushed her hair away from her damp face. “We can’t do this here,” he gasped.

Tris sat back, taking a moment to calm her breathing as she nodded. “No, you’re right.” She closed her eyes for a second and pressed her forehead to his, her hands cupping his cheeks. She just needed a moment to absorb his warmth, his strength before she pushed back and slid off his lap. Tobias stood, and Tris had to suppress the hysterical urge to laugh as she saw him adjust himself in his pants. She felt her heart rate slow to normal. He was here, alive, and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She looked up, staring at him, drinking in his familiar features, treasuring every one of them. “I love you.”

His stern expression softened a little and he reached for her hand, tangling their fingers together. “I love you, too, but we have to talk about this. What the hell were you thinking, Tris?” His voice was soft but Tris heard the anger, confusion and fear underneath it.

She shook her head. “Can we go home, please? I promise we’ll talk about it but not now.” She stepped closer to him, pressing her body to his, her hand still entwined with his. “I need you now.”

Tobias searched her eyes, seeing the lust, terror, love, fear, all warring in the icy blue. He took a deep breath, knowing that pushing her on this would only make her shut down. Right now, she needed comforting and tenderness. He nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s go home.”

He led her out of the room and they walked down the hallway in silence. The reached the main hall and, rather than heading to the elevators where they would most likely run into people, they turned left towards the back stairway. They climbed up to the leadership apartments where they’d moved when they returned to Dauntless from the Bureau. There were two apartments per floor for the council and the entire top floor of the building belonged to the overall leader of Dauntless, Harrison.

They reached their door, Tobias touching his finger to the small lock pad next to the door and the click opening the lock sounded loud in the silence of the hallway. He flipped the light on and Tris closed it behind them. The apartment was ridiculously large compared to Abnegation standards, with its three bedrooms and two baths. Tobias didn’t stop in their living/dining room combo, instead continued down their hall to the master bedroom and flipped on the light. Their bedroom was large, dominated by the king sized bed that came with the apartment. It had seemed like an unnecessary luxury at first but now, Tris and Tobias were addicted to the extra space.

Tobias turned to Tris and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Do you want a shower? Or maybe a bath?”

The sweat on her body had dried and now Tris felt sticky and gross. “Yeah, a shower would be great, actually.” She looked up at him, placing her hands on his chest. “Why don’t you join me?”

He brushed his lips across hers gently. “Okay. I’ll be in, in a minute.”

Tris nodded, kissing him again and turned to walk into their bathroom. She flipped the light on and turned the shower on high, letting the water warm. Pulling her shirt over her head, Tris caught sight of herself in the mirror over the double sinks. Her skin was still pale and flushed, small pieces of her hair sticking to the sides of her face. She sighed as she dropped her pants and underwear, picking up her shirt and shoving all of it into the laundry bin. She noted that it was almost full and remembered that she needed to put out the laundry in the morning for pick up. As she pulled her hair down from its ponytail, she thought about how different her life was now than in Abnegation. She hadn’t had luxuries like a laundry service, but here in Dauntless, all members laundry was washed by a communal laundry service. It was a practical solution because it served as a job for hurt or older Dauntless members and left other Dauntless free to spend more time on their jobs. She stepped into the shower and raised her face, letting the warm water flow over her face and hair. The extra large rainfall shower head seemed ridiculous to her when they’d first moved in but, as with every other amenity in Dauntless, she quickly became accustomed to it. The warm water soothed her now achy muscles. Tris hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself since she’d emerged from the fear landscape. She let her body absorb the heat and gave a contented sigh.

The door opened behind her, ushering in a blast of colder air and a warm body. Tobias slid his arms around her from behind and he pulled her against his chest. The last vestiges of stress melted away at his touch and Tris felt tears well in her eyes again. Behind her closed eyelids, she could see him dead and with a shudder, she turned to wrap herself around him. “Hold me, please. Just hold me.”

Tobias did as she asked, his hand stroking her hair. “I’m not dead, Tris.” Tris shuddered again against him and he held her tighter. “I don’t know why you went in there but it’s over now. I’m still here.”

Tris looked up and lifted herself onto her toes. She urged him down to her lips, kissing him deeply. Tobias ran his hands lightly up and down her back as his lips trailed from hers across her cheek, down her throat. She let her head fall back, the water flowing through her hair as he kissed, licked and sucked her skin. She let out a deep sound of pleasure, running her own fingers through his dark hair. Urging him back up, she took his mouth again as her own hands moved over him, delighting in the taut strength of his muscles. Her hands wandered across his back, feeling the slight ridges of the scars that criss-crossed his skin, until she reached his behind and she squeezed. He chuckled a little against her lips as he stirred against her stomach. Soft kisses turned harder, gentle hands turned greedy, and the already steamy shower grew even headier.

Tobias grabbed Tris around her waist, hauling her up into his arms and pressed her against the wall of the shower. They stared at each other, Tobias searching her face to determine how ready she was. Smiling, she wrapped her legs around him. “Now, Tobias, please now.” Without any further urging, Tobias pushed himself inside her, loving the way her eyes went blind with pleasure and her head thudded against the shower tile. He groaned as Tris’ warm flesh accepted him, surrounded him and he began to move, slowly at first but picking up the pace. Tris urged him on with soft groans in his ear, her ankles locked around him. “More, Tobias, more,” she whispered. He moved even faster, widening his stance to give him more stability as he plunged into her.

Tris was nearly delirious, soaked in delight, her heart now pounding with lust rather than fear. That she could have ever lost this connection, this love she felt for this man, had nearly stopped her heart and she realized she didn’t know how she could live without him. Love swamped her and she leaned back slightly so she could catch his gaze. She stared into his navy blue eyes, seeing the emotions she felt reflected there. Her arms tightened around his neck as she felt herself tighten around him. “Tobias,” his name exaggerated by her moan, “I love you.” She squeezed her eyes shut as passion overtook her.

Watching her body succumb to his never failed to push Tobias over the edge. He clutched her hips, holding her to him as he released himself, riding on a wave of love and lust he could not imagine anyone else in the world inspiring in him. After a moment, they sagged against each other, Tris’ legs sliding down until she could stand, albeit wobbly, on her own two feet. They opened their eyes, smiling at each other. Tris reached up and wrung out her hair as Tobias turned off the water. “Feel better?” He asked with a grin.

“Immensely,” she said, reaching up for the towels slung over the far wall of the shower and handed one to him. “But I will say I’m exhausted.”

Tobias opened the door and stepped out so they could both dry off. Running the towel over his head, he said, “I always was when I went through my landscape like that.”

Tris wrapped her hair in another towel, drying off the excess water. “Why did you do it? Back then?”

He paused for a moment, thinking about the times he’d tortured himself. “I wanted to see if they would ever go away. I’d accomplish something in Dauntless, and I would wonder if anything would change. It didn’t but I needed to know if I could get over them.”

Wrapping her towel tighter around herself, Tris tried not to shudder. “How do you erase the images from your mind?” She asked quietly.

Tobias strode to her, lifting her chin with a finger. “You don’t,” he said softly, “but after a while, they stop hitting you quite as hard. Like with the fears themselves, you just learn to live with them. And,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “they help you appreciate the good times more.” He watched her take a deep breath as her hand came up to cover his. “So, you ready to talk about this now?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s open some wine though. I could use the help.” Tobias smiled as he followed her into their bedroom.

#fanfic

15 notes · View notes

heartlandhq · 6 years

Photo

❝ i am trying to write a poem in which i am neither a monster nor a martyr. ❞

INFORMATION,

full name ⋯ Mateo Álvarez / Matthew Beckett age ⋯ 19 years old pronouns ⋯ He/Him/His origin ⋯ St. Edward, Nebraska affiliation ⋯ None position ⋯ Independent

SURVIVABILITY,

advantages ⋯ athletic & resourceful disadvantages ⋯ reclusive & erratic preferred weapon ⋯ crossbow & machete

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ alcoholism, domestic abuse, child abuse, murder, suicide, death

BEFORE DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

mateo thinks even his family must have been happy once upon a time. dante and marlene álvarez were young when they had mateo –– barely in their twenties, the pair made a handsome couple, and along with little mateo, they made a picture-perfect family.

but as little mateo grew, so did his father’s love for alcohol. wine at dinner with friends, turned to beer in the afternoon with the guys, to any bottle closest to hand at any time in the day. there must have been a time when his father had been gentle, loving, kind, but mateo only knew a stern man, cruel and quick to anger.

dante hit his wife often, over the smallest of disagreements, and if mateo tried to stand up for his mother, the belt was turned on him. it’s okay, marlene would say as she tucked mateo in, your father is only doing what’s best for me. his mother’s words always left a bad taste in his mouth, and even at a tender six years of age, mateo was more worried than reassured.

despite the insidious going-ons in the house, dante and marlene álvarez could do no wrong in the eyes of their small town. everyone was deeply religious, and the álvarez family would show up to church in their sunday best, marlene’s bruises hidden underneath layers of make up and dante’s anger lurking just beneath the surface of his easy smile, unseen to all except those who knew to look for it. and it seemed that mateo was the only one who saw his father for the monster he actually was, but he was a good boy, and when his mother told him to let it go and just smile, that was exactly what he did.

it all came to head when mateo was nine. his parents were fighting in the kitchen, and for the longest time, mateo could only watch, frozen in fear. oh my god, he’s going to kill her, he had thought. when dante picked up the knife, mateo knew he had to do something. he moved without even thinking about it, and then suddenly his father was in a crumpled heap on their kitchen tiles, and mateo stood over him with his baseball bat in his hands.

blood was pooling at his feet, and mateo didn’t need to check his father’s pulse to know that he was dead; the unnatural way that dante’s skull had caved in said it all. when he finally tore his gaze from his father’s dead body, he found his mother, staring at him in horror. mama, he called, dropping the bat and ignoring the way the blood splashed onto his bare feet. the sound of his voice was enough to pull marlene from her shock. the devil, she screamed, you are the devil.

and then mateo could only watch as his mother picked up the knife from where it had fallen from dante’s grasp as he fell, the scream seizing in his throat as marlene stabbed herself, over and over and over again. and then there was one. marlene’s blood mixed with dante’s at mateo’s feet, and even as the woman stilled, the anguish on her face lingered. someone must have called the police, because soon he felt himself being scooped up into a pair of strong arms and led away.

it’s okay, the man whispered to him repeatedly, it’s going to be okay. the man’s words would finally register with him much later, but in that moment, all he could hear were his mother’s last words, the terror in her eyes as she looked at him. his mother had a husband who routinely beat her, but she was never afraid of him. no, marlene álvarez died in fear of her own son.

a case of murder-suicide, the police determined. tragic, certainly, but not unheard of. the community was shaken. dante and marlene had been loved by all and had seemed happy, for all intents and purposes. they just couldn’t believe that they had been wrong about the young couple, and so they sought other explanations. the child is cursed, they decided, touched by the devil.

if mateo had thought that his father’s death meant the end of his nightmare, then he was wrong. it only got worse. the entire town seemed to be afraid of him, whispers following everywhere he went. even the nuns at the orphanage he was brought to seemed to cower in his presence, unable to meet his gaze. when the night terrors had him jolting out of bed at night, throat raw from all the screaming, no one came running. he tried to pray at first, his mother’s rosary clutched to his chest, but it seemed that even god himself had turned his back on mateo.

eventually, he stopped trying. his family, his community, his faith –– they had all abandoned him, and mateo learned the hard way that the only person he could truly count on was himself. he was surprised when he was told that he had a visitor, and then confused when he didn’t recognise the man who waited for him in the small chapel. but then the man spoke, and mateo remembered the only person who had held him ever since that night.

anthony beckett was the only man who had offered mateo any comfort in the wake of the tragedy, but mateo was angry still. it’s okay, anthony had said as he whisked mateo away from his parents’ bodies, but there was absolutely nothing about his life that was okay. and he was mad that anthony thought he could waltz back into mateo’s life after a year of radio silence like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t as bad as the rest of them. and then he learned that anthony had disappeared to get a fostering licence, and even though the anger still simmered – a constant itch under his skin – anthony had offered him a way out of this hell and he was eager to take it.

they moved to omaha, nebraska, where mateo got a fresh start as matthew beckett. the first few years were hard, and mateo remained distant and closed off despite anthony’s best efforts. but anthony’s patience paid off, and over time he managed to gain mateo’s trust. he became the father that mateo never had, and when he noticed that sundays were the hardest for mateo, he started arranging his shifts at the police station so that he could have sunday mornings off. the pair would then spend their time at the park, playing a variety of sports.

things were looking up, but they weren’t always great. mateo still woke up screaming in the middle of the night, and on other nights the trauma would keep him from even falling asleep in the first place. but like he had been taught when young, his problems at home were carefully hidden away from the outside world. mateo matthew was a popular kid at school, got good grades and was captain of the lacrosse team. charming and easy-going, he seemed like an open book, and no one ever suspected that he might have anything to hide. his dark past remained a closely guarded secret.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

mateo got a lacrosse scholarship to the university of maryland, college park, where he decided to study criminology. although he seemed to have a gilded tongue with everyone else, simple words alone weren’t enough for him to express the extent of his gratitude towards anthony. he had decided to major in criminology with hopes of joining the police force one day, and when anthony found out, the pride in his eyes let mateo know that the man he had come to see as his father understood what mateo was trying to tell him.

he had been back in omaha for christmas break when all hell seemed to break loose. it started when their elderly neighbour wandered onto their front lawn, blood on her nightgown and around her mouth. anthony had always been something of a bleeding heart – the fact that he took mateo in was proof of that – and he was about to open the door to ask if she was alright. mateo knew better though. he knew anthony wouldn’t listen to him to leave it alone, so the moment his foster father stood up, mateo bounded up the stairs to grab the man’s shotgun. the elderly mrs smith made a lunge for anthony the moment their front door started to swing open, but she hadn’t counted on mateo shooting her right in the head from his bedroom window.

rattled, they went into lockdown mode. the downstairs windows were boarded up, and when anthony was asleep, mateo snuck into mrs smith’s house to steal all the non-perishable foods that she had before other looters arrived. they sat in front of the television, day after day, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening. there was something going on, but the nation’s leaders seemed more keen on false promises than the truth. mateo had a sneaking suspicion about the pandemic, but it seemed too far-fetched, too crazy to be uttered aloud. but then a local radio station mentioned the zombie apocalypse, and mateo knew that there was no running from the truth any longer.

not too long after that, the internet stopped working. then the tv, then the radio, then cell service died as well. this was something completely beyond them. mateo knew that they were out of their depth, and the survivor in him knew that it would be in their best interests to stay out of trouble and start hunkering down. but anthony was a noble man, protective of his people. he had gotten over his initial shock after almost being attacked by the zombified mrs smith, and now that the town had erupted into chaos, the hero in him would not let him simply hide away when there was pandemonium on the streets and people in need of protection.

if anthony was going to be out on the streets, then mateo wanted to be there as well. but anthony convinced him that at least one of them had to hold down the fort. as terrible as it was to admit, the undead weren’t the only things they had to worry about. people could be driven to do terrible things when they were afraid, and nobody in town was anything short of terrified. mateo agreed to stay behind on the condition that they would switch roles every day, and that anthony would be the one staying home the next day. they shook on it, and the next ten hours he spent sitting by his bedroom window with his shotgun were filled with nothing but dread and anxiety. it wasn’t until anthony was home safe that mateo could breathe easier.

they settled into a routine. there were camps that were starting to form around town, and they would take turn scouring the streets for survivors and escorting them to a community of their choice. mateo knew that given a choice, anthony would have joined one of those survivor camps. he never said anything about it, but mateo knew that the man was holding back because of him. it had taken mateo years to learn to trust anthony, and the man had saved him from a terrible childhood. even though for anthony’s sake he wished he could have been okay with the thought of joining a camp, it didn’t change the fact that the idea of putting his safety into other people’s hands made his skin crawl.

valentine’s day, his foster father came home, apology written all over his expression. mateo had reached out, pulled away the bandages on anthony’s shoulder to reveal a bite mark. there was no surprise, only horror and anguish. there were tears and apologies; anthony felt like he had let mateo down, he’d been so busy trying to protect everyone else even at the cost of his life that he hadn’t given much thought to what it might do to mateo to lose him. mateo wondered if this would not have happened had they joined a camp like he knew anthony wanted to.

anthony’s hand shook as he removed his glock from its holster, and then mateo’s hands were on his, steady as he took the gun away. you deserve heaven, was the only explanation mateo offered, the sadness in his eyes belying the nonchalance of his actions as he held the gun to his father’s head. so do you, anthony pointed out, but he seemed less scared now that his fate was in someone else’s hands –– and maybe it made him the worst of cowards, to put such a heavy responsibility on the boy he loved like his own flesh and blood, but he was only human.

mateo only shrugged, i killed my father once, i can do it again–– it was the first time in an entire decade that he’d said anything about that fateful night of his parents’ death, and despite the confession, anthony’s expression remained even and unafraid, as if he had known mateo’s hidden truth all along. it was all the absolution mateo needed, and then he pulled the trigger.

mateo functioned almost completely on auto-pilot after that, burying anthony in their backyard as dusk fell. there were no tears. once that was done, he grabbed a hiking backpack, methodically filling it with all the food, medical supplies, and weapons that he could carry. it was too dark to leave, so he settled in for the night. sleep refused to come, and when dawn broke, mateo had already doused the entire house in gasoline. he watched from the street as his home was swallowed by flames, taking a moment to mourn for all he had lost and then slipped away before the inferno attracted too many of the undead.

mateo maintained friendly relations with the survivors in the various camps, occasionally helping to transport supplies between them. he knew that he looked unassuming and used that to his advantage, convincing people that he wasn’t a threat. most people didn’t question how he managed to stay alive on his own if he really was as harmless as he tended to portray himself, and if they did, divulging the fact that his father had been a police officer tended to sate people’s curiosity. he watched as survivors regarded each other warily, cautious and untrusting even as they offered support. despite himself, mateo felt a sort of sick satisfaction at that. welcome to my life, he thought bitterly.

in the end, mateo was alone again.

CENSUS,

faceclaim ⋯ Froy Gutierrez played by ⋯ Honey

#froy gutierrez #rp #rpg #oc rp #horror rp #{ a. }#{ m. }#{ 10. }#{ independent. }#{ honey. }#{ mateo álvarez. }#domestic abuse tw #child abuse tw #suicide tw #murder tw

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nautilusopus · 7 years

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I’m feeling angry today so here are all the entries of the Compilation listed from least terrible to “Nojima and Nomura are incompetent hacks and should be fired”.

8. The Case of Denzel OVA is the most bearable entry in the Compilation, because it does what a sequel is supposed to do: expand upon the lore of the established setting while showing us more about the characters in it. It's a shame, because I think this also might be the least acknowledged entry in it, apart from maybe Before Crisis, perhaps partially because it has no official English dub. In this case, we get to see Denzel finally fleshed out beyond "the littlest geostigma patient that Cloud needs to win the big game for!" He joins up with a group of salvagers, and we see everyone trying to piece the world back together following the complete collapse of the government, the economy, their primary energy source, and the deaths of millions, where they're immediately set upon by disease and societal tensions between what used to be the "upper class" and the slum dwellers that have always had it this way, more or less.

What the fuck, this is what Advent Children should have been entirely. Except with Cloud and his friends, and not Denzel, because screw Denzel, I wanna see what Avalanche has been up to. (We never get to see what Avalanche has been up to, and we never will.)

That being said, even Case of Denzel didn't manage to not fuck up royally, and it has a giant huge plothole in the form of forgetting to account for an entire goddamn year because it forgot Advent Children was set two years after the OG and not one. Whoops.

7. Advent Children Complete, which I'm treating as a separate entry from Advent Children -- Advent Children is a fucking mess with a nonsensical plot and wonky character motivations that, word of god, were literally just there because they figured it's how the fans wanted to be pandered to the best and not because they thought the motivations would be good or interesting (nothing like a content creator that openly states he thinks his target audience are morons!). It's slightly lower on the list than Advent Children vanilla because A) it looks slightly less ugly due to the Bluray release, B) Denzel's and Marlene's child actors got too old and they had to find younger ones for the redub, and these newer actors are actually better and significantly less obnoxious, and C) it has My Chemical Romance doing the theme song.

These are all very shallow reasons, admittedly. You'd think it'd be lower because the added scenes help fill in some plot holes, but they were badly added scenes that meshed very poorly with the story at large, and because of that they actually created about as many new plot holes as they filled in. Shite movie.

6. Advent Children vanilla. This is a good place to discuss why they're both on the bottom of the list, since they're pretty much the same movie. Shitty plot, characters are a sad shadow of what they used to be, and they did some weird thing with Cloud where he unlearns everything from the original game for the sake of cheap conflict and the fans try and defend it like it's actually deep and coherent. Not to mention some more bad decisions: Renu and Rude are good guys now and friends with Cloud and Tifa despite murdering their friends along with everyone else in Sector 7, Marlene is no longer Barret's daughter because ewwww, black people, and Tseng and Rufus are retconned back to life for literally no damn reason at all (they contribute nothing to the movie. Nothing. They even waste the dramatic reveal with the sheet by having him say "yeah it's me Rufus but I'm gonna wear this sheet for no reason and rip it off dramatically revealing ME, RUFUS SHINRA"). As far as I'm concerned they both just died again right after this movie.

Basically, Advent Children was bad and stupid, but it was pointless as well, which in this case works to its advantage: we relearn the exact same lessons but in a shittier, more juvenile way, wind up at the exact same point we started at by the movie's conclusion, and get confirmation that there were, in fact, zero fucking stakes. At least it didn't take a scalpel to the franchise lore at large, like everything else on this list.

5. The Last Order OVA is basically Square Enix frantically trying to save face after they've realised that, "Oh shit, our complete inability to proofread the first drafts of the scrips we've been running with have resulted in every single bit of VII lore introduced in these things wildly contradicting one another!" Basically, Last Order is a very pretty fight scene with Zack in it animated by Madhouse that occasionally tries to have a plot. This is the entry that began the handwave of "oh, all the entries in the Compilation are different because they're all told from a difrerent point of view! It's up to you do decide what really happened!" Lazy, bad, the beginning of the end. It looked nice, but I can't even enjoy the fight scene in the reactor properly because Zack doesn't immediately get bodied like he should've, which wouldn't have been very much fun to watch but at least would've made more sense; as well as the weird bit where they tried to imply Cloud was always infected with Jenova and mako-enhanced from birth? Somehow?

Also, the "Last Order" in question seems to be Zack telling Cloud to run. Cloud, who is in a vegetative state, and even if he weren't, can't even walk. Sure, he'll get right on that.

4. Case of Novels. These things suck and are terrible and look like they were written by a third grader. That's not just a "lol these are terrible" jab, either. I mean they literally read like they were written by a child with a very basic grasp of how to put sentences together. All of them are structured like so:

Tifa was very sad, because Cloud wasn't talking to her. Tifa thought that maybe Cloud felt sad because his friends were dead. Then Tifa thought about her adventures with her friends from Avalanche, the friends that she was best friends with two years ago. Cloud and Tifa had lots of adventures with them, but they were sad by the end of it because Aeris died, and then Tifa thought that Cloud was probably thinking about that too. Tifa felt bad about that.

They are bad to look at, just objectively, regardless of the content in them. Case of Barret's is by far the worst in that regard, to the point where I'm not entirely certain I didn't read a bootleg fake version of it, because there is no way Square Enix would charge actual money for a product that was meant to be released to the masses and presented as canon to Final Fantasy VII. Except that they did. (I can also believe it because it further works towards the goal of erasing Barret from the story entirely, more on this later.)

As far as the actual story content, I'd probably have to say Case of Lifestream White/Black are the worst, due to some weird nonsense where Aeris just hangs out in the Lifestream and watches people like it's a spectral break room, and Sephiroth grumbles and pines over Cloud like a jilted ex-boyfriend because Nojima forgot there was anything else to his character. These, like Advent Children, are pointless, but they’re pointless to the extent that it’s absurd they even exist -- there's apparently an entire third Shinra bastard running around out there, and he has zero bearing on anything ever, and never will again. What Shinra bastard? Who? Kadaj murdered a whole town offscreen or something, but I guess it wasn’t relevant, don’t know why we brought it up.

3. Before Crisis. Japan-exclusive mobile game where Square stops even bothering trying to hide their contempt for anyone not in the "marketable niche" (i.e: all the white male characters ages 16-27) and begins writing them out of the story. It's not enough that they take his goddamn daughter away from him on the basis that he's prospecting oil, which is fucking stupid in and of itself -- this is the story that decides Avalanche, the group Barret founded in response to Shinra murdering everyone in his hometown because they didn't want any competition in the form of coal, wasn't actually even Barret's. It was some other guy's, and grrrr he was a terrorist even more terroristier than OG Avalanche was because moral ambiguity is gonna go over our audience’s heads so let’s just make it nice and cleanly black and white for them. I've ranted about this before, but it's even worse that the fans seem to have no problem incorporating these changes into everything, because who gives a rat's ass about Barret, right? There was some dumb thing about Nanaki finding a girl catdog to have those babies he has in the epilogue, and the Ravens, but it's all just more of the same introducing samefaced teeny boppers that the fans love so much at the expense of everything else.

2. SPEAKING OF WHICH, Crisis Core, the king of samefaced teeny boppers consuming the franchise. I flipflop a lot on whether this one is the worst or not, but in addition to having the same problem as Before Crisis times fifty, I consider it as bad as it was because you could tell it could have been really good, and that's honestly heartbreaking. The first hour or so kicks things off with a really good start, introducing Zack as this cocksure jackass trying to make a name for himself, and his mentor Catchphrase Man. Then around the point where Banora gets firebombed it all sort of goes downhill, and you realise a lot of the credit you were giving it wasn't actually due. Zack being a gloryhound for Shinra and believing Soldier to be a bastion of good wasn't supposed to be a character flaw like it should've. Genesis almost singlehandedly ruins the entire thing by eating all the screentime in the word with his obnoxious motivations that made zero sense, and in a flashback we see he was always a fucking tool so there's no reason to feel sorry for him in the first place. He's actually secretly responsible for the iconic Nibelheim scene, of all fucking things (GENESIS DID NIBELHEIM would make a good bumper sticker). Tifa gets thirty seconds of screentime. Cloud doesn't fare much better, which is a seriously huge problem considering he's the goddamn protagonist of the entire franchise. He gets a single 49 second cutscene of them establishing "okay he's best friends with Zack" and then nothing else, ever, unless you want to count the three emails he sends him that you could tell were supposed to lead to more bonding cutscenes that were ultimately cut for more GENESIS, YOU LOVE HIM SO MUCH RIGHT GUYS??? Aeris fares even worse than Cloud and Tifa combined, being barely in it, and Square having decided that Zack actually made all her life decisions for her. That's right -- literally everything about her character? Zack did it. Fuck you.

It's also this high up for what it represents, I suppose -- in the fanbase, you see a whole lot of "Well, Cloud lost Zack and Aeris so now he has no friends and nothing else to live for in this world because he didn't really care about anyone else besides them". It seems everyone forgot that not only was there more to Cloud’s character than "his friends are dead so he’s sad” and his friends being dead was only a small part of it, but that there were seven other people we spent about sixty hours establishing in no uncertain terms that they loved him unconditionally and that he felt the same way. Crisis Core is what finally got people to start disregarding the rest of the main fucking cast from the OG, and it was very, very deliberate. An old unwashed man in his late thirties jaded about his future in spaceflight, a catdog with daddy issues, a black man with a character arc revolving around fatherhood, a triple agent paper-pusher that had a furry phase right in the middle of his midlife crisis, two women that are both alive and have agency of their own, and hell, even a young man with severe psychological issues that had a very strong bond with all of these people even though most of them aren't young and attractive white people and realises he can count on them all for support, are not as marketable as the cast of Crisis Core. Square knows this. You can't wring any sex appeal out of "happy supportive environment" or "female characters", since most of the fanbase tends to be straight women in their late teens and early twenties. So, everyone in both those categories gets shafted. And, as mentioned, the fans seem all to happy to run with this, given the overwhelming amount of material that seems to disregard everyone else in Cloud's life that wasn't Zack (and sometimes Aeris gets acknowledged because all she's good for anymore is a corpse to motivate Cloud) as unimportant, and not really his friends.

The fact that the entire game seems to undermine the original's tone very badly almost seems like a nitpick at this point next to very intentional racism and sexism and pandering, but I'm gonna bring that up too. The new version of Zack's death scene flies directly in the face with how they were handled in the original game, and is more in line with Cait Sith's than anything else's -- that death isn't heroic, or glorious, or profound. It's just sad and fucking hurts, and it's something that happens. They made that pretty clear the first time around when he just gets gunned down on a cliff in complete silence. You can practically hear the "so it goes" in the background. Naturally, this time around they gave him an entire speech about dreams an honour and then when he dies he goes to heaven (on a planet with no heaven) and he's successfully become a hero. Fucking bravo. Or the bit where, as has been pointed out, you have a wacky scene where Zack meets a young Yuffie, and she skips off amongst the corpses of her people that Zack himself just finished making in the name of glory and imperialism (not a character flaw, though! He’s a good guy!). There's an astounding lack of self-awareness in everything the game does.

AND IT COULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD, and that's why I still debate whether or not it belongs in the Worst spot or not. It could have been great to see a non 49-second version of the friendship that eventually motivated Zack to die for Cloud, but then they forgot to write it, because why write that when you could have these four cutscenes with Genesis? It would've been great to see Aeris and her relationship with running from Shinra that caused her to grow up street smart and how that caused Zack to maybe question Shinra's motivations, but them they forgot to write it because HEY LOOK HERE'S SOME MORE WING SYMBOLISM WITH ANGEAL DO YOU GET IT THERE'S ONLY ONE OF THEM AND HIS NAME IS SPELLED ALMOST LIKE ANGEL, I'M WORKING WITH GENESIS NOW HIS NAME MEANS BEGINNING LOL. It could have been great to see Tifa getting her start with Avalanche, but after her obligatory cameo in Nibelheim she's swallowed into the void again because they forgot she was ever anything besides Cloud's love interest, and fuck you we gotta show you this Genesis scene in Modeoheim. It could have been great to meet a younger Barret, and wonder how at odds he would've been with Zack, a man who's been drinking the Soldier kool-aid for years, but instead we got Genesis reciting poetry. It could have been great to see the workings of Soldier before it all went to shit, but instead we got fucking goddamn Genesis. Genesis Genesis Genesis. 90% of the screentime in this game that should've gone to developing Zack's character for one fucking second, let alone other things, just gets eaten up by Genesis. God I hate Genesis.

1. Dirge of Cerberus.

I'll try and keep this brief because I can go on about Dirge of Cerberus all fucking day if you let me.

If Crisis Core is terrible because it had the shadows of great ideas that were terribly mishandled in the name of turning a profit, Dirge is sort of its opposite, in that at no point did anything even remotely resembling a good idea come anywhere near the building this was being written in during the entirety of its production. It's bad. Thoroughly bad. There are no redeeming qualities. It's ugly, it plays badly, 90% of it is cutscenes* and the remaining 10% is invisible walls, the plot is a fucking mess by anyone's standards whether you're familiar with the franchise or not, it is the reigning fucking king of tone issues, the design choices are the worst of what Nomura has to offer by a country mile, and the characters are the worst Square has ever made in the Final Fantasy series.

Vincent is the protagonist, and since he just wants a nap and is too cool to care that means you don't really give a rat's ass about what's going on either, which you wouldn't have anyway, because Dirge's plot isn't so much rife with plot holes as it is a giant, gaping hole, where bits of plot occasionally drift by, mangled beyond recognition by the plane crash in 1976 that claimed their lives. Did you know there was an even more secreter army living under Midgar that somehow survived the entire city being demolished with cosmic hellfire, a pandemic with no cure, and a giant sword battle dropping more debris on them? Did you know Hojo actually didn't die, he invented the internet in 30 seconds in his death throes and then invented the technology to upload minds to computers, AKA created a fucking goddamn technological singularity, and then uploaded himself in a .zip file until he could blow up the world for shits and giggles completely unrelated to anything even remotely having to do with Jenova? Did you know Lucrecia wasn't actually a terrible person that willingly carried Hojo's child and injected it with science juice for the sake of their careers, but was actually a really nice lady and is really sorry you guys, and was just an unwilling womb for Sephiroth to be birthed from, and was pretty much the Madonna? Did you know that apparently the Actual Goddamn Apocalypse wasn't enough to convince the Planet it was dying, but someone stabbing a few thousand people was? Did you know Reeve decided to call the events of the main game the "Jenova Wars" because he doesn't actually know what a war is? Did you know mako actually makes you live forever instead of giving you brain damage and killing you? Did you know the Lifestream is pretty much the same thing as the internet? Did you know Vincent was a paedophile? Did you know someone decided Genesis still needed to be fucking alive?

Oh yeah, and also there are such stellar characters such as Red the Red, Blue the Blue, White the Clean, Black the I-Have-A-Jockstrap-Taped-Over-My-Mouth-Because-Fuck-You-Why-Not, and Orange the Clear, who is physically 9 years old but mentally 19 so it's totally not paedophilia if we have a weird romance between her and Vincent (never mind that if we're going by that logic, you now have a 19 year-old dating a 61 year-old, which is... not a whole lot better.)

And hey, remember that one scene where Shalua completely unnecessarily died by holding a door she could've easily ducked through, and then she pissed herself upon death, and the game took the time to show the piss puddle, and Yuffie was super upset about it despite the fact that they never interacted even once but the writers forgot about that, and then after all that shit she didn't even die in her own melodramatic death scene, and then she did die anyway at the end of the game and all you can think about is the piss and god Shalua is so fucking pointless and looks so fucking stupid. Look at this hot mess:

She’s a scientist! Or something.

Even by Final Fantasy standards these designs are fucking ridiculous.

There is nothing redeeming about this game. It's like a gift that keeps on giving -- every time I look back at it, I discover a new plothole that I didn't catch the first time before. It's easier to hate than Crisis Core, though, which just makes me sad. At least Dirge never had anything going for it in the first place. I paid two bucks for my copy and I still feel ripped off.

* Okay, that’s an exaggeration -- 50% of it is cutscenes. Four hours out of an eight hour game is cutscenes. Do you realise how fucking many cutscenes that is? It’s a lot. (And yet not one of them has any plot in them HEYOOOO)

#forfdorfsorf #Squid Alienates VII Fans #man fuck dirge

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americanklutz · 5 years

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ℳᗅℛℒℰℽ · @MaraudingLight

28th Jul 2019 from TwitLonger

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——— ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴀʀs ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʜɪᴘs ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴋᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴘs ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴏᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪ ᴜsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴀʀᴇ sᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀʏ———

ＴｈｅＯｒｄｅｒ

ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 31 1981

The day would always live in infamy. It marked the turning point and end of Marlene McKinnon's life. Sure she survived a couple of months after the murder of her closest friends, but at what cost to her? Everything she loved was stripped away, Marlene McKinnon might have survived, but she might as well of died that very night right alongside her Lily, and James.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name saw the magical talent that James Potter and Lily Potter held... Knew they would make a wonderful addition to his darkened circle however when both refused The Dark Lord's ways the Potter family had no choice but to go into hiding with their young son Harry. The only three people who knew of where the Potter family was hidden was Sirius Black, Marlene McKinnon, and Peter Pettigrew. Unbeknownst to the rest of the group however in a cowardly attempt to save his own life Peter sold out where the Potter family was hidden. Feeling some remorse to his actions Peter alerted Marlene, and Sirius of what he had done, but by the time word got to Marlene and Sirius it was too late. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had ramshacked the Potter's home in Godrics hollow leaving the remains of her Lily flower, and James like they were nothing more than garbage. Expecting much of the same from the baby Marlene ran up the stairs to where her /Godson/; -since she and Sirius, were engaged to be married, Lily had named Marley, the official /Godmother/ so if anything happened Harry would have two loving parents to take care of him-; nursery was to find the baby sitting in his crib crying. Running over she scooped baby Harry into her arms and bounced him murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, tears streaming down her own cheeks. Sirius grabbed a hold of Marlene's petit frame holding onto her and both Harry trying to comfort both having to be the strong one now because Marley, and Harry needed him, when Peter emerged from the shadows babbling about how he was too late with his warnings.

'HOW DARE YOU PETTIGREW! THEY TRUSTED YOU! WE TRUSTED YOU! I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF ITS THE LAST THING I EVER DO.'

With a Yelp and a Squeek from Peter as he morphed into his true being a (rat) Sirius lunged at him tearing through the house every intent to strangle the life out of Pettigrew with his bare hands, Marley sat in the corner rocking the baby comforting him trying to comfort herself. She was breaking more so then the baby was now that she had managed to calm him down.

Time seemed to be frozen in place it seemed like an eternity from one scene to the next but it was just a matter of moments when /Auror's/ busted in on the scene of the crime. There were two dead bodies one man standing in the kitchen holding a knife in his grief and a finger. It all seemed to add up that Sirius was the murder the one who betrayed his friends. Case closed in the eyes of the Auror's.

One moment she was holding the baby in her hands the next she watched as the baby was snatched away from her, and her lover was drug out the door to face a life time sentence for a murder he did not commit. And Marley, well they wrote her off as nothing more than a traumatize babbling fool not knowing what it was that she had witnessed. The Ministry just wasn't listening to the witness. They refused to hear her out. They wouldn't hear her please of Voldemort was still out there. They assumed he had been vanquished by a baby. Harry was written off as a hero, but sent to live with his only remaining family the Dursley's because Marlene was written off as unstable and unfit to raise a child and sent to the psych ward at ST. Mungo's.

.........[]..........

It was months later into Marlene's treatment's when Albus Dumbledore came to visit her at the Psych Ward, and by this point she felt half crazy because she knew in her heart that Voldemort, and Peter were still out there, but her medications to calm her trauma were doing nothing more than make her babble like a lune. Even though no one listened to a word she said anymore... No matter how many warnings she gave. That was until he showed up.

'Marlene? Do you remember me?' Professor Dumbledore, hadn't changed since she had graduated from Hogwarts, he still had that same kind smile that always seemed to Cascade light in class, and those same mischievous eyes.

"Professor!" She couldn't help but to throw her arms excitedly around the man. Which caused him to chuckle as he patted her back.

'I see you do remember me then Miss McKinnon. However that's not why I'm here. I want to know everything that happened that night. I believe you when you say Voldemort, is still at large. Whatever happened that day was only a temporary road block, and he'll be back.'

Marlene, couldn't help but to blink in awe struck wonder at the man because for weeks maybe even months her claims had been pushed aside, and now someone believed her. She almost couldn't believe it. Tears pooled her eyes as she relayed the whole story of that fateful night. "I know he's still at large Professor, and I want him to pay I want him to meet the same fate as Lily and James, and everyone else he's murdered. I want to see Tom Marvolo Riddle, rot in a grave of his own making. And I want Peter Pettigrew to burn for eternity with him." The light in Albus, eyes seemed to dim. He could see the darkness swirling in Marley's heart consuming her. Making her no better then the men and women she would grow to hunt down. Albus took her hand.... 'Marlene, we need you in The Order.'

......[]........

For days on end Marley, had made herself crazy bounty hunting as many Death Eaters as she could sending their asses to Azkaban to rot where they belonged. But more so she made herself crazy following a lead she had on Peter Pettigrew, and yet he still managed to evade her grasp. She would kill the rat herself finish off what Sirius, hadn't been able to do if it was the last thing she ever did. Looking down at her muggle time keeper (watch) Marley realized she had about twenty minutes to get to The Order meeting tonight before she was late. They were following a new lead of activities on Amycus Carrow, and his activities, but the thing about Amycus Carrow, was he didn't like to be the hunted he liked to be the hunter... So when he got wind about The Order following his ware abouts he turned the tides, and popped in to give his hunters more of a challenging duel.

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southboundhqarchive · 5 years

Photo

MEET MATEO,

FULL NAME › Mateo Álvarez / Matthew Beckett AGE › twenty GENDER › Cis male (He/Him/His) FROM › Sierra Vista, Arizona LODGING › Copper Cactus Motel PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › College Student NOW PLAYING › Way Down We Go by Kaleo

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: abuse, violence, murder, suicide, death, childhood trauma, self-loathing

The first lesson that Mateo ever learned was that even the prettiest exteriors can hide rotten cores. Dante and Marlene Álvarez fell in love in high school, and they were barely out of college when they got married and had Mateo. It was a fairytale romance, and the inclusion of little Mateo turned them into a picture-perfect family–– but only to those didn’t look closely enough, and no one ever did, too distracted by the shiny veneer that Dante and Marlene presented to the world.

It had started with wine at dinner with friends, then beer in the afternoon with the guys, until eventually it became habit for Dante to reach for any bottle closest to hand at any time of the day. Distantly, Mateo thinks that there must have been a time when his father had been gentle, loving, kind – anything to justify why his mother had stayed with him – but Mateo had only ever known a stern man who was not only cruel, but quick to anger as well. Dante hit his wife often, sometimes over the smallest of disagreements, and whenever Mateo tried to stand up for her, the belt had been turned on him instead.

It’s okay, Marlene would soothe as she tucked Mateo into bed, your father is only doing what’s best for me. His mother’s words had done nothing to ease the growing sense of wrongness that he’d felt, and even at a tender six years of age, Mateo was more worried than reassured.

In spite of the violence that resided in the house like an unwanted fourth member of the family, it seemed that Dante and Marlene Álvarez could do no wrong in the eyes of their small community in Sierra Vista. Everyone in their neighbourhood had been deeply religious, and the Álvarez family would show up to church every week in their Sunday best, Marlene’s bruises hidden underneath layers of make up and Dante’s anger lurking just beneath the surface of his easy smile, unseen to all except those who knew to look for it.

Mateo couldn’t understand why he was the only person who saw his father for the monster he really was, but he was a good boy, and when his mother pressed her lips to the edge of his ear, hiding her whispered smile, baby, don’t look so angry at your father behind the cover of a simple kiss from mother to son, he’d listened.

His life was irrevocably changed when he was nine years old and he’d come home to complete and utter chaos. His parents were fighting in the kitchen, and for the longest time, Mateo could only watch, frozen in fear, the drawing that he’d been so excited to show them still clutched tightly in one hand. Oh my god, he had thought, as Dante reached for one of the drawers and pulled out a kitchen knife, he’s going to kill her.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision, his movements fuelled by equal parts panic and instinct as he grabbed the nearest object at hand, which turned out to be his baseball bat, having been left leaning next to the backdoor of the kitchen after batting practice in the backyard with his father the day before. It all happened so quickly –– one moment Dante had been towering over Marlene, brandishing the knife threateningly, and the next moment he was in a crumpled heap on their kitchen floor with Mateo standing over him, baseball bat clutched in both hands like a lifeline of sorts.

Blood was quickly pooling at his feet and seeping into the cracks between the kitchen tiles; there was no need for Mateo to check his father’s pulse to know that he was dead –– the grotesque, unnatural way that Dante’s skull had caved in made it almost impossible for the man to have survived. When Mateo finally managed to tear his gaze from his father’s dead body, he turned to his mother, giving into the urge to seek some comfort, some sort of reassurance that everything would be okay. But Marlene only stared at him in horror, eyes wide as she took in the bloody tableau of father and son.

Mamá, he’d called, dropping the bat and ignoring the way the blood splashed onto his bare feet and over the discarded drawing. The sound of his voice was enough to pull Marlene from her shock, and as he tried to close the distance between them, she quickly scrambled away from him. The devil, she screamed, you are the devil.

It was like a nightmare come to life, every part of Mateo screaming at him to movemovemove as Marlene picked up the knife from where it had fallen from Dante’s grasp as he fell, but he could only watch on helplessly, the scream seizing in his throat as she stabbed herself–– over, and over, and over again, until only the youngest Álvarez remained, the last one standing. He stared at the floor as his mother’s blood trickled closer, eventually mixing with his dad’s at Mateo’s feet. It might have been morbid, but it was better than seeing his the anguish on his mother’s face immortalised in death.

He couldn’t say for sure how long he’d stood there in the middle of the kitchen, between the lifeless bodies of his parents, but someone must have called the police because the next thing he was aware of, Mateo felt himself being scooped up into a pair of strong arms and led away. It’s okay, the man whispered to him repeatedly as he wiped the blood off of Mateo, it’s going to be okay. Maybe he had hoped that if he’d said it enough then it would actually sink in, but Mateo could hardly hear him at all over the lingering echoes of his mother’s last words and the absolute terror in her eyes as she’d looked at him. She had a husband who routinely beat her, but she had never been afraid of him. No, Marlene Álvarez had died in fear of her own son.

The police determined it was a case of murder-suicide –– tragic, certainly, but not unheard of. Their small community was shaken; Dante and Marlene had been loved by all, and for all intents and purposes, had seemed happy. No one wanted to admit that they had been wrong about the young couple, or that they might have missed the signs of trouble brewing, and so they sought other explanations, looked for anything, anyone, else to blame. In the end, it was Mateo they decided was the problem. The child is cursed, they whispered, touched by the devil.

If Mateo had thought that his father’s death meant the end of his nightmare, then he had been sorely mistaken. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but things only got worse; the entire town seemed to be afraid of him, whispers dogging him everywhere he went. Even the nuns at the orphanage he was brought to seemed to cower in his presence, unable to meet his gaze in fear of catching a glimpse of the devil within. When the night terrors had him jolting out of bed at night, throat raw from all the screaming, no one came running. In his darkest moments, he had turned to prayer, his mother’s rosary clutched to his chest, but it seemed that even God himself had turned his back on Mateo.

Eventually, he stopped trying. His family, his community, his faith –– they had all abandoned him, and Mateo learned the hard way that the only person he could truly count on was himself. It came as a surprise to learn one day that he had a visitor, and then he was confused when he didn’t immediately recognise the man who waited for him in the small chapel, sitting quietly in the first pew. Mateo was cautious as he approached, but then the man spoke, and against his better judgement, his guard slipped ever so slightly as he found himself staring into the eyes of the only person who had held him ever since that night.

Anthony Beckett had been the first responder on the scene, and when faced with two dead bodies, his first instinct had been to reach for the little boy standing amidst the carnage with blood on his hands. He was the only person who had offered Mateo any sort of comfort in the wake of the tragedy – even if only until the paramedics had taken him away – but Mateo was angry still. It’s okay, Anthony had said as he whisked Mateo away from his parents’ bodies, but there was absolutely nothing about his life that was okay.

Mateo was mad that Anthony thought he could waltz back into his life after an entire year of radio silence like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t as bad as the rest of them who had all but abandoned Mateo. But then he learned that Anthony had disappeared to get a fostering licence, and even though the anger still simmered – a constant itch under his skin that would remain even more than a decade later – Anthony had offered him a way out of this hell and Mateo was eager to take it.

They moved to Phoenix, Arizona, where Mateo got a fresh start as Matthew Beckett. The first few years were hard, and Mateo remained distant and closed off despite Anthony’s best efforts. But eventually Anthony’s patience paid off, and over time he slowly managed to gain Mateo’s trust, becoming the father that Mateo never had. When he noticed that Sundays seemed to be the hardest for Mateo, he started arranging his shifts at the police station so that he could have Sunday mornings off, and the pair would then spend their time at the park, playing a variety of sports. Mateo never picked up a baseball bat ever again though, and Anthony never made him.

Things were looking up, but they weren’t always great. Mateo still woke up screaming in the middle of the night sometimes, and on other nights the trauma would keep him from even falling asleep in the first place. But just like he had been taught when young, his problems at home were carefully hidden away from the outside world. Mateo Matthew was a popular kid at school, he consistently achieved good grades and was captain of the lacrosse team. Charming and easy-going, he seemed like an open book, and no one – none of his peers, the teachers, or the parents of his classmates – ever suspected that he might have anything to hide; his dark past remained a closely guarded secret.

During his last lacrosse game of his high school career, Mateo caught the attention of a scout from the University of Maryland, College Park, and earned a full-ride athletic scholarship. He accepted the scholarship, and while his classmates were busy sending out college applications, Mateo was trying to decide what he wanted to study. It wasn’t until Mateo had dropped by the police station to bring Anthony his lunch that he knew what he needed to do. Mateo had been gifted with a gilded tongue, but he felt that simple words alone were not enough to express the extent of his gratitude towards Anthony.

When Anthony asked what he was planning to study, Mateo had felt almost self-conscious as he’d admitted that we wanted to study criminology, hoping to join the police force after he graduated. The perpetually self-loathing part of him worried that Anthony might find his choice of major disingenuous, would accuse him of aiming for a job on the force just to make himself look better and not because he actually wanted to help people. But Anthony had looked at him with nothing but pride in his gaze, and Mateo knew that the man he had come to see as his father understood what he was trying to tell him: you make me want to do good.

Anthony wanted to make an occasion out of Mateo leaving for college, and so they embarked on a road trip, the pair of them driving from Arizona to Maryland. It was a bittersweet moment when they finally arrived at College Park –– Anthony was so proud of his son, and for the first time ever, Mateo truly believed that he could rise above the tragedy of his childhood, but at the same time, both of them were apprehensive about being apart. Still, neither were willing to let that dampen the mood, and after helping Mateo settle into his dorm room, Anthony left with the promise to call every week.

College was good for Mateo; even back in Phoenix, he could never shake off the feeling that somehow his past would catch up to him. Now, he was in an entirely different state, and if his fellow students whispered about him, it was only good things that passed their lips. Back in high school, he’d felt as if he had been playing a part, convinced that he was incapable of any sort of genuine human connection. Some habits were hard to break, and Mateo’s tendency to play things close to his chest remained, but slowly he began to stop thinking of himself as broken.

And then he got the call.

Good things don’t happen to boys who kill their fathers and break their mothers’ hearts –– that was the conclusion Mateo came to as he booked the first flight back to Phoenix. In hindsight, it was a small miracle that Mateo had been allowed to keep Anthony for so long, although he supposed it could be precisely because it would hurt more to have him be taken away. It had been a robbery gone wrong, they’d told him. Mateo had never given much thought to Anthony dying, but the both of them had always sort of assumed that if it wasn’t old age that did him in, it would be the job. How pathetic, then, that at the end of the day he ended being just another victim of a petty crime.

Mateo had not cried when Dante and Marlene had been buried, and he still did not cry as he watched Anthony’s casket being lowered into the ground. He might not have been the one who pulled the trigger, but Mateo couldn’t shake off the feeling that somehow he had killed Anthony anyway. He remembered the whispers from his childhood. Cursed child, they’d called him. Back then, he’d wondered how the very people who used to pinch his cheeks and call him adorable could be so cruel, but maybe they hadn’t been cruel at all –– only honest.

It took all his willpower and then some not to take off the moment the funeral service ended, forcing himself to stay as people came up to him to offer their condolences, as if he hadn’t been the one to seal Anthony’s fate by coming into his life. Eventually, when it all became too much, when he felt the ever-familiar anger start to rise to the surface again, he finally excused himself. Mateo got into his rented car and drove home, but remained parked in the driveway, unable to bring himself to actually go into the house.

Grief made people irrational, and Mateo found himself fighting the urge to douse the entire house in gasoline and watch it go up in flames. He couldn’t bear the thought of walking in and seeing the place still looking lived in, as if Anthony had merely gone on a milk run and wasn’t six feet underground. In the end, Mateo chose not to go in, giving the house – and the life he thought he could have had – one last look before starting the car once more. He drove with no real destination in mind, only wanting to put as much distance as possible between him and everything he’d lost.

As night fell, Mateo took the first exit he saw, only vaguely noticing the Welcome to Boot Hill sign that greeted him. He pulled into the first motel he found, telling himself that he’d be out of there first thing in the morning, before falling onto the sheets still dressed in his rumpled funeral suit. But then when daylight broke and Mateo got ready to leave, the car refused to start. He’d called a mechanic and had been told that it would take at least a week to fix, forcing him to book more nights at the motel. The woman at the front desk had looked rather pleased when he’d extended his stay, and Mateo chalked it up to the fact that they probably didn’t get much business usually, since he hadn’t seen any other guests around.

In the end, Mateo was alone again.

❝ Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured? ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Froy Gutierrez AUTHOR › Honey

#froy gutierrez #rp #rpg #new rp #town rp #{ all. }#{ m. }#{ newcomer. }#{ over twenty. }#{ honey. }#death tw #murder tw #abuse tw #suicide tw

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unshynessmoviesbooks · 7 years

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By the time she died in 1977, Clarice Lispector was one of the mythical figures of Brazil, the Sphinx of Rio de Janeiro, a woman who fascinated her country-men virtually from adolescence. "The sight of her was a shock," the poet Ferreira Gullar remembered of their first meeting. "Her green almond eyes, her high cheekbones, she looked like a she-wolf, a fascinating wolf.... I thought that if I saw her again I would fall hopelessly in love with her." "There were men who couldn't forget me for ten years," she admitted. "There was an American poet who threatened to commit suicide because I wasn't interested." The translator Gregory Rabassa recalled being "flabbergasted to meet that rare person who looked like Marlene Dietrich and wrote like Virginia Woolf."

In Brazil today, her arresting face adorns postage stamps. Her name lends class to luxury condominiums. Her works, often dismissed during her lifetime as hermetic or incomprehensible, are sold in vending machines in subway stations. The Internet is alight with hundreds of thousands of her fans, and a month rarely goes by without the appearance of a book examining one side or another of her life and work. Her first name is enough to identify her to educated Brazilians, who, a Spanish publisher noticed, "all knew her, had been to her house, and have some anecdote to tell about her, as the Argentines do with Borges. Or at the very least they went to her funeral."

The French writer Hélène Cixous declared that Clarice Lispector was what Kafka would have been had he been a woman, of "if Rilke had been a Jewish Brazilian born in the Ukraine. If Rimbaud had been a mother, if he had reached the age of fifty. If Heidegger could have ceased being German." The attempts to describe this indescribable woman often go on in this vein, grasping at superlatives, though those who knew her, either in person or from her books, also insist that the most striking aspect of her personality, her aura of mystery, evades description. "Clarice," the poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade wrote when she died, "came from one mystery / and departed for another."Her indecipherable air fascinated and disquieted all who encountered her. After her death, a friend wrote that "Clarice was a foreigner on earth, going through the world as if she'd arrived in the dead of night in an unknown city amidst a general transport strike."

Benjamin Moser, Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector

#benjamin moser #clarice lispector #why this world #helene cixous

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

Brothers

The tree beneath him is rough, the bark scraping against his skin, as Sirius leans back. The rain is harsh, streams of water drilling holes into the dirt by his feet, the air cold.

He wasn’t even sure why he was out here, to be honest. It happened this morning - him and Remus snuggled up in bed when a sharp pop sounded right by his ear. He had sat up, cursing, in time to see a small curl of paper appear on top of the blanket, a single line of text in a clear, bold print: Old Tree today at 12:00 -R

So now he was here, underneath an old, gnarled oak, waiting for his little brother to come.

He shakes his head, staring off into the rain. The war was ramping now, dozens of muggles dead, wizards being captured and tortured and killed. The terror never ended, the fear of going home and finding the Dark Mark floating above your home. He worried all the time now, a hollow ache in his stomach, fear for Remus and James and Peter and Lilly and Dorcas and Marlene and -

A sharp pop startles him, a small flash of green light illuminating the clearing. He pushes off the tree, turning his head to find Regulus, a long hooded cloak over his head, wand out as the water streams off him.

He doesn’t bother to greet him, just lights a cigarette and says, “What do you want, Reg. Come to deliver a message from mother?”

Regulus pulls back his hood, his dark hair wet. They used to say they looked alike, him and Regulus - dark hair and chapped lips and searing grey eyes. Sirius always hated that - hated having any sort of connection to his family, to the Black name. He scoffs slightly, inhaling on his cigarette, smoke curling in the air between them.

Regulus glances at Sirius, then looks down. “It’s done.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about, Reg? Losing your mind?”

Regulus closes his eyes, just for a heartbeat, then looks up, meeting Sirius’ gaze with his own. “It’s done. I’m getting it. The...the dark mark.”

The world stops, the air around Sirius going cold. He felt frozen, everything happening so slowly, as he stares at Regulus, the ghost of a brother he used to know, memories bubbling up. Two boys, 5 and 4, playing Quidditch on toy brooms. Two boys, 12 and 11, Sirius protecting Regulus from Walburga’s rage as always. Two boys, 16 and 15, as one walked out, trailing blood over the floor whilst the other cried.

He takes a rattling breath, the ground swooping underneath him, as he whispers, “Why?”

“I...” Regulus exhales, his face pale. “They...”

With a curse, Sirius reaches forwards, grabbing Regulus’ arm and pushing the sleeve up. Regulus didn’t resist, his body almost relaxing as Sirius gazes at the pale skin beneath.

It’s the mirror to his own: Slashes and scarmarks and little flecks of pale dots that could only mean Crucio. Scabbed wounds and deep cuts, bruises upon bruises and small puckered burns from a wabtip pressed onto skin.

Sirius drags his gaze up, grey eyes meeting grey. “She’s been hurting you.”

Regulus lets out a bitter laugh. “What did you expect?”

He feels tears burning at the back of his throat, as he grips Regulus’ arm tighter. He knows it hurts, sees the nails cutting into Regulus’ skin, but all he can say is “How long?”

Regulus shakes his head. “Ever since you left.”

Sirius closes his eyes, the guilt hitting him, as he swallows hard. The scars on his back throb, as he remembers the fire and the pain of that last night under Walburga’s roof. He whispers to the darkness, to the flames underneath his eyelids. “Why did you take it, Reg. Why did you fucking take it?”

There are tears in Regulus’ eyes as well, tears that threatens to spill as he lets in a shaky breath. “She...” The ghost of a smile passes over his face, bitter and desperate and agonized. “You know her. She...she threatened. The usual bullshit at first, dishonor and disownment and all that. And even when she used Crucio, I....” He looks down. “I never said yes. Never. She told me, you know, that she would rather have two dead sons then two traitorous ones.”

Sirius is numb, the flesh beneath his nails splitting as he stares at Regulus. “You should have ran. You should have come with me.”

“I should have - “ Regulus breaks off. “Never was brave enough. And she... she was going to kill you, Sirius. You and Remus and James.”

It’s like he’s been electrocuted. Every nerve in his body tenses, and he’s dimly aware that blood is running down his hands, as he says, “She can’t. She doesn’t have the power.”

Regulus just laughs, softly and sadly. “He has a list. The Dark Lord. She would have requested you top that list. Mother is influential enough to do that. You and Remus would have had the entire legion of Death Eaters after you. And no one could survive that, Sirius. You would have died.”

Sirius shakes his head again, wildly. His chest is too tight, the air unable to fill his lungs as Regulus says, “I took it to save you. You can’t go after a Death Eater’s family - it’s off limits. I...I tried, Sirius, I tried.”

“No.” He knows he’s shaking, nails cutting into flesh, as he gasps for air. “No. Regulus, you can’t take it for me, you can’t take it, goddamn it! Regulus, please, get out of it, you can’t take it for me, I would rather die then have you as a Death Eater - “

Regulus just smiles. He’s completely still, blood running down his arm from where Sirius had grasped it, Sirius’ hands still wrapped around the bare flesh. “It’s done, Sirius. There’s no going back.”

Sirius’ voice is hoarse, barely above a breath. “I would rather die then have you become a Death Eater, Reg. You can’t, I don’t give a fuck if he sends his army after me, I don’t care if it kills me, you can’t take it.”

He feels Regulus’ hand close around his own, clenching it tight. He feels his nails sink further into Regulus’ arm, closes his eyes as Regulus holds him harder. “It’s fine, Sirius. I...” He inhales, his eyes closing. “It was so hard to live, anyways. All I can do is take the mark, put on the mask and pray that someone will kill me before I do anything. That’s all I can hope for, isn’t it?” He looks up, locking eyes with Sirius. “But you have so much more, Siri. You have a life, you have Remus, you have a chance. So take it. You were always the brave one.”

Regulus relases Sirius, stepping back. The blood runs down his arm, a serious of puncture marks where the Dark Mark would be inked as Regulus smiles.

It’s a bitter smile, painful and heartbreaking, secrets of a lost childhood and a lost brother. It’s the twin to Sirius’ own, born in blood and forged in darkness, two brothers separated forever. “You always protected me, Sirius. It’s time for me to return it.”

Sirius stumbles forward. “No - “

With tears in his eyes, Regulus raises his wand, as a sharp crack tears the air apart and he disappears, leaving Sirius alone in the rain, his brother’s blood underneath his fingernails.

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foxcroft-rpg-blog · 7 years

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Congratulations, Janelle! Wow it’s almost like you’ve already been playing Willa ??? Wow how did you do that? Oh, yeah, you’re the admin.

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Janelle

Age: 21

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Time zone: PST

Activity: I mean I run this… so I’m on as much as I can be. Getting off early in the mornings means I have a lot of free time.

Anything else?: N/A

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Willa Lorraine Potter

There was a time when Willa’s mother hadn’t settled for the life of the housewife. Her hair was long and untamed. She was the kind of girl who followed her favorite band up the coast, the kind of girl whose smile was welcoming and warm and made her seem like she was within your grasp, but in reality she was oh so unattainable. The only traces left of that girl lie in her daughter’s name. She wanted to name her Willow, but Willa’s father wouldn’t allow it. Finally, the settled on Willa. It was respectable, but still a nod at her mother’s carefree past.

Her middle name was her father’s doing. Lorraine. It’s the name of her paternal great grandmother. Willa never met her. She died just before she Willa was born. Named after a woman she never met, it was her father’s way of honoring the woman, but not knowing her herself, Willa didn’t put much weight in it.

Date of birth: 11/24/1992

How long have they been in Foxcroft:

Endless white picket fences, cars pouring in and out of the suburbs just before 9 a.m. and just after 5 p.m. every Monday through Friday, tupperware parties. Foxcroft’s suburbs have played like old black and white television reruns over and over again, day after day, ever since Willa was born. The episodes change, but still everything seems the same, like a played out catch phrase or a tired show opening – Willa hated it. At the young age of fourteen Willa found herself jaded with conversations of whether to paint the cabinets eggshell or cream, and predictable played-out routines. From that point forward, Willa vowed her life would be interesting, damn it. She’d lose her mind if she ended up like her mother.

Sexuality:

DEMI-ROMANTIC PANSEXUAL. She was the girl who fell in love with your mind, with the way you smiled at her, with the words you spoke. Gender didn’t matter. It was about the way you made her feel. But opening her heart was a challenge. She wasn’t cold, just closed off, too caught up in herself, in her thoughts and feelings — like the way vodka burned her throat as she drank until she couldn’t drink anymore. Or the way the fire warmed her fingertips when she struck a match. No, Willa felt everything. Loved everyone. She was just too scared to show it. Sex, on the other hand, was just another way to feel something without giving up too much of herself. It didn’t mean anything, but god did it make her feel alive.

FC change: lol no thx i basically have a shrine to phoebe tonkin she’s my tru god

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths.

For Willa, there is before and there is after Adam’s death. The one constant is how tired she feels about her life. Adam and Neil made things feel easy. They howled at the moon, they stole six packs and chips from the local supermarket for kicks. Time stood still when the three of them together and it was as if they’d live forever. Immortals weren’t supposed to die — but Adam did.

When Willa found out about his death, time didn’t start again, it continued to stand still, but instead of feeling free, Willa felt trapped. It was as if the metaphorical walls of Foxcroft were closing in on her and she wasn’t strong enough to push back anymore. The free spirit that once was hadn’t died, but had been buried along with her friend’s corpse. Still, Willa endures, and her free spirit manifests in impulses. It comes when she jumps off the top of the ladder on the water tower, not entirely sure if she’ll make it to the ground alive. It comes when she picks fights with drunken patrons at Absinthe Minded who are much bigger and stronger than she is – but they don’t know Willa’s lost her last reason to give a damn. It comes in screams and broken mirrors and empty bottles of vodka. When Adam died, Willa lost her best friend, and when Neil went missing she lost the only person who could have anchored her, but he left, and she went off the rails.

Behind the impulses is a girl who’s terrified. She’s terrified of this town, terrified of losing the friend she’s pushed so far away, terrified of her own life. She could tear the skin from her bones if it meant escaping this prison. All she wants is to get out, but she doesn’t have a clue how. Willa lived for the interesting, to be free, but despite that philosophy she still had no idea what she actually wanted.

POSITIVE: free spirited, loyal, lively, protective

NEGATIVE: impulsive, uncertain, stubborn, immature

How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft? (1+ paragraphs)

Willa would never admit it, but she wasn’t really affected by Hazel’s death. She wishes she cared more, wishes she cried for her best friend’s lost lover, wishes she felt an absence in the group, but she just didn’t. For Willa, it was Adam, Neil and her against the world. Willa never felt like Hazel was truly a part of their little group, she was never really a Bad Kid. She was tacked on, and trailed along because of Neil. They were her boys, not Hazel’s.

Adam’s death, on the other hand, completely changed her. Every smoke she lit up, every glass of whiskey, every firework, every full moon, every star – it was all tainted. Everywhere she looked in the tiny town reminded her of Adam. Absinthe Minded, where they’d drink and sing along to The Clash until they wouldn’t remember it the next day. Rudford’s, where they ended up after a late night of setting fireworks off from the top of the water tower. Foxcroft was their little kingdom, but the king fell, and now all Willa sees is an empty throne.

How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them. (1+ paragraphs)

Socially, Willa is free of many of the prejudices held by the people of Foxcroft. She grew up in the suburbs with a painfully middle class family. They weren’t religious, so Willa didn’t feel the stares that many people in Foxcroft felt as they drove down Sweetwater Road to Sunday service. Willa could have slid by unnoticed, but she was friends with a Foxcroft, and the town loved to gossip about the founding family.

Stealing from liquor stores and grocery stores didn’t help her case much. Willa became a bad example, a criminal. Unlike most people, she reveled in it. Being a delinquent, being a member of the bad kids club gave her something to be. She wasn’t the daughter of suburbia, she was the kind of kid your parents warned you about. In the light of the bonfires they put on at Foxcroft Cemetery, in the bottom of a bottle and the butt of a cigarette, Willa found herself. She didn’t care what anyone in Foxcroft thought of her. She never did.

For non-human characters: What does this character know about what they’ve become? Have they had any experiences that made them aware that weren’t exactly human? Elaborate. (2+ paragraphs)

The night Adam died changed everything for Willa, not just in how she felt, but who she was. Willa was with them, and then she wasn’t, the world in front of her disappeared into nothingness. Was she dead? Was she dreaming? Willa still doesn’t know. All she knows is she woke up in the middle of the swamps the next morning and that’s when they found Adam’s body. The headlines all said Neil did it, but Willa couldn’t help but feel some sort of guilt for what she’d seen. Had she been responsible?

Willa tries not to think about that night, tries not to relive the night her best friend died, but she knows that something changed that night inside her. She’s just too terrified to seek it out.

Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character (1 paragraph brief explanation for each)

WRITING SAMPLE

There are two options here, and you only need to complete one.

Sample #1: This is a starter for Marlene McKinnon in an AU Harry Potter roleplay.

Sample #2: This is a self para for my character, Matthew Quinn, a thirty-year-old werebear who was infected with the lycanthropy strain. Here he’s visiting his ex-girlfriend’s grave, who he killed when they both shifted and he discovered she was a weredeer. Basically he ate her.

EXTRA [THIS SECTION WILL NOT INFLUENCE ACCEPTANCE]

How would you feel about this character dying?: She’s trying real hard to live, but ironically that puts her closer to death. She’s scared of what she thinks she can do right now, but I could see her maybe getting into things too deep eventually and it backfiring on her. Death is definitely a possibility for Willa.

Why did you choose this character?: Phoebe Tonkin. DREAMS. Lost babe trying to feel something and live an interesting life. PAIN. Sign me up.

Extras: pinterest board.

How did you find us?: I run this shit.

#accepted #willa potter

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