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kaciebello · 2 months

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Masterlist

Delivery Express ✿

Summary: The reader sees an opportunity to run an untapped market in Hogwarts. Feeling like not doing enough, some books about vampires will help.

Warnings: Making the reader feel bad, no use of y/n

Authors note: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Still mad that they took my yellow text coloring ⋋_⋌. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

Previously: Too many voicemails

word count: 1.2k

Notes to deliver: 1057

The dining hall was as busy as always. Piles of food on each table and chatter all over the place. Even the professors talked among themselves. It was hard to hear people next to you, but you for sure could hear the conversations of other people on the other side of the table. Everyone kept to their house, talking to their housemates. And that is why nobody even batted an eye at a girl in a green uniform wearing a suspiciously yellow bow in her hair, sitting next to the Slytherin royalty. The boys did not pay her much attention, talking among themself, in their minds, planning school and world domination as if it was a game of chest. Granted none of them were good at chess but they can still try and play it. In reality, they were planning how to beat Ravenclaw at Quidditch later that week. What weirded them out was the lack of envelopes she liked to have with her. Something about everyone being in the hall made them easy to track.

She received pointed looks from the boys, not noticing them, however. Draco jabbed Blaise in his ribs, trying to get him to say something. None of them dared to say anything. None of them wanted to look like despraed second years waiting for a note from their crush that had never written back. Well, that was until Lorenzo mustered up the courage.

“Where are your love notes at?” He says reaching for the plate full of chicken and bringing it closer to her. Knowing the girl would crawl over the whole table for them if he didn't.

She shrugs and reaches for the chicken strip, the plate now sitting in the middle of the group. Taking a bite before speaking.

“I sold it.” Confusion on their face as she continued to eat and pile more food on her plate.

“ Wha do you mean you sold it?” Asked Blaise. Fork pointing at her.

“Exactly what I said. I no longer run the delivery business.”

“Who did you sell it to?”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she put down her food.

“Okay listen. I had a dream right? na in that dream an owl came to me and said if I sold it to her, she was gonna get me a limited edition of that muggle book I've been wanting. So I agreed and sold it to her.”

“You sold it in a dream?” she nods at his question. “ I don't think that's how business works.” He's sure to give her a bit of a side eyes. Maybe it is one of the muggle ways of conducting business he's not aware of. Theodor started to laugh and soon enough others joined him.

Others at the table give them looks but they have been unbothered by it. The girl started to pout, not knowing what was so funny. the boys crack more jokes about owls and cryptic dreams, she however did not pay attention to those. Not even understanding the joke about the owl possibly being Mattheo's dads. She felt a bit sad that her friends made fun of her in the dining hall. Mattheo notices this and stops.

“Wait, you were serious?” He yelps, stopping the other boys from laughing. She just nods hint of tears in her eyes.

“I don't get what's so funny.” Her voice was unstable as she said this and rather than engaging in conversations with them, she piles more food on the plate and eats without looking at them. The boys feel bad for making her feel like that, but you can't blame them. It is not every day somebody tells them they sold business to an owl.

Lorenzo feeling the worst of all of them decides to speak up.

“What is the book about?” Just like that. It was like a switch flipped inside her. She turned to them with a wide smile and sparkles in her eyes. Some would even think she was faking it before to make them feel bad. None would dare to say it aloud.

“I'm not sure, it has something to do with vampires and werewolves.” She says, gesturing with her hands, what only the boys could interpret as a werewolf.

“We have werewolfs too.” Says Mattheo, knowing damn well he did not pay attention when they covered them. He could be only half sure. Even less when the girl shook her head.

“These are sexy werewolfs.” She made sure to emphasize the word sexy. Frustrated at not having any proof for her words. Theodor just rolled his eyes at her comment.

“ I can howl if you're interested.” He says gesturing to his body. A disgusted look from Blaise and a sigh from her discouraged him from actually howling.

“What else is it about.” Says Draco, although it was hard to understand him, as he was showing his fifth scone in his mouth.

“Something about the thing that shall not be named.” She says and Mattheo's ears perk up.

“My dad?”

“No, not that one.” Mattheo just made a disappointed sound at her answer.

They have seemingly moved from the conversations. Not bothered by the fact that their friend quit her business and sold it to an owl in her dream. It wasn't so strange after all in a school of magic and wizardry. Well, no, it was strange, but not as much as people would expect.

Lorenzo however stopped his chatter when a little note fell in front of him, catching it before it could touch his food. None of his friends seemed to notice this. All caught up in their conversation, trying to see how many scones can Draco actually stuff in his mouth. So he turned to a girl, leaned closer to her, and whispered.

“I thought you stopped.” A sly smirk appears on his face. The girl looks at him confused before turning red all over her face and ears. Her eyes fell on the note that sat between his fingers. Avoiding his eyes, he put his arm around her shoulders to make her look at him. She took a breath to answer him but she only managed to stutter a few words before a yell from Mattheo interrupted her. Both Lorenzo and her look at the other boy, also holding a note in his hand. They exchanged confused looks before other one fell in front of Blaise.

More and more notes started to fall around them. Along with other mail as the wols flew circles around the hall. Everyone looked up amazed, the amount of love notes made it look like it was snowing. Few love confession howlers could be heard at the other tables. Professor McGonagall was holding a love note on her own, blushing and hiding her face behind her hands.

That's when they heard a thud on the table. A box set of limited editions of books landed right in front of their friend. The girl squealed in excitement, completely abandoning her food to immediately pull one out to investigate it. They all looked at her in shock not believing their eyes. Lorenzo's note was completely forgotten. Coos from an owl sounded above their heads. The girl snickered at their shocked faces.

“I guess I did sell the business after all.”

Notes to deliver: 0

Final author note: We have come to the end of the series! Hope you liked it! Don't hesitate to send me questions if you have any. Anyone on the tag list will be automatically added to the sequel tag list, if you're against it please let me know and I will remove you! I hope you're doing well and I'll see you next time. ♡(ŐωŐ人)

Tag list:

@daisiesformylove , @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone , @enfppixie , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @anyam444 , @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet , @iwishigotswallowed , @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers

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noaltbruh · 3 years

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I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

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natsu-tte-noodle · 3 years

Text

手紙 (Letters) - To Chikage

(Cross Posted on AO3)

Words: 1035 Warnings: Vague ACT 2 Episode 5/7 spoilers, brief mention of death as a concept

Utsuki,

I never thought the day would come where I would be writing you a letter. The director always comes up with the weirdest exercises for us. I guess it keeps things interesting, so I won’t complain too much.

Fushimi already got his letter this morning. He opted to keep the contents to himself, but he seemed to be in a good mood all day. It’s good that the exercise is going well, and that not everybody is procrastinating on it. If you spot any stragglers among the Spring Troupe, be sure they get started. That goes especially for your roommate.

Honestly though, you’re one of the last people whose names I wanted to read when I got this sudden assignment. If it had been one of the children, I could have easily talked about their strengths in acting and given them advice to overcome their weaknesses. But what 26-year-old man wants unsolicited advice from a peer like that? While I don’t have any issue with doling out unsolicited advice, this is supposed to be a pleasant letter, for what it’s worth. So I’ll refrain.

I considered filling the page with standard niceties and being done with it, but I wouldn’t have been comfortable giving you something even remotely half-assed. Not to mention that you’d certainly be able to tell, and I don’t want to deal with whatever that might bring.

Somehow I ended up saying as much to Yukishiro. He suggested that I simply needed to “loosen up” and sent me off with a bottle of sake, so I’ve been having some as I write this. Forgive me if I’ve let anything unruly slip.

Although maybe saying I didn’t want to do this from the start already ruined any sense of courtesy.

You spend plenty of time with Chigasaki and Usui, so I’m sure a little bit of rudeness doesn’t phase you. Bear with me while I try to make something out of this.

Don’t get the wrong idea—I don’t need alcohol to be able to say what I want to say or anything like that. It’s more that, whenever I think of something, I also think of all the ways you would twist it to bite me in the ass. Maybe I’m out of touch, but I don’t think writing letters is supposed to feel like navigating a minefield. I have a feeling that that’s entirely because you’re the one who’ll be getting it, though. From the start I knew this was going to give me a headache one way or another.

That’s nothing new, either. When you first moved into the dorms, I remember looking forward to having another mature adult among the ranks. The closest Spring Troupe had before you was Minagi, who by no means should be expected to babysit two grown-ass adults older than him. I thought that maybe some order could finally be established.

Needless to say, my expectations were quickly and thoroughly crushed, and I’d say Minagi is still the most mature out of you. Actually, I’d say that your arrival has only brought even more trouble. Running off whenever you like, lying about expenses, supporting the director in her push for daily curry—it feels like every day you do something to give me early wrinkles. If you didn’t have Sakuma as your personal tiny bodyguard at meals, I would have decked you a long time ago.

But I guess it wouldn’t be fair if I said I hated you or your being here now. Even if I might have for a bit back then. You’re a good actor, and while you’re still insufferable at times, it’s easy to tell you at least mean well at the end of the day. You certainly aren’t the worst to have around.

That’s not to say that I approve of your constant disappearing, though. And don’t pretend you don’t. If you wanted to be discreet about your hours you should have roomed with anyone but Chigasaki. Even if you’re an adult, the director and I have a responsibility to make sure everyone in the company is safe and accounted for. I know Sakuma and Tsukioka worry about that as well.

Look, I know better than most that there are some rocks best left unturned. If I could’ve helped it, the company would have stayed far away from my personal matters. Of course, that became impossible when I became their debt collector, and even more when Azami joined our ranks.

I wouldn’t take a do-over to change that. Being able to act here and with him is more than I could have ever hoped for. But I know that he’s careful with what he says about family business too. Both here and there are our family, but some families are safer when they’re not too involved in each other. I don’t know if you would understand that or not. But regardless, I’m the last person who’s going to demand you explain yourself.

All I’m asking is that you at least tell somebody if you’re going to be out late. It doesn’t even have to be me, even if that would be convenient. Sakuma. Chigasaki. Mikage, I don’t care who. Just let someone know that you’re out and not dead in a dumpster somewhere. It would be a lot of trouble for everyone if one of our prized actors and friends went away without a word again. I think it’s safe to say we’d all like to know you’re at least alive, whatever your business is.

That’s all I wanted to say, but I feel like I should end this on a more lighthearted note. If we keep up our pattern, our troupes’ next training camp should be together. When that time comes, I hope we can drink together one night. Mikage claims you can hold your booze well, but I’m no pushover myself, and I’m sure we have plenty to talk about. You should also bring some of that coffee you brought back from your last overseas trip. It was good and strong, but not too overpowering.

I’ll look forward to that time. But for now, I’m going to seal this letter before I sober up and regret it.

Sakyo Furuichi

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#a3!#a3! fanfic #a3 fic #sakyo furuichi #a3! sakyo #chikage utsuki #a3! chikage

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

AGA: Cornered

A Supernatural AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny LaFitte

Other Characters: Sam, Bobby, Mick, Ash, Castiel

Written for: @thoughtslikeaminefield

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: No kink square this chapter, just backstory and bowling. Mention of drug use. General flirty banter. xoxo

The crack and rumble of balls striking pins rang throughout the bowling alley; the consistent soundtrack of Dean’s Wednesday nights. He had gotten there early, just after six, to claim their alley and get himself dinner before the rest of the team arrived. Dean shrugged into the simple black and red collared Singer’s Slingers bowling shirt with his name on his left pec. As he sipped his beer and waited for his burger basket, he wondered how late Sam would be this week.

Ash and Bobby showed up just as Dean had a greasy mouthful. He managed to murmur his greetings as they bypassed the bar for the row of vinyl chairs, changing out of their street shoes. They were followed shortly by Mick, who always seemed to swagger in, no matter how ill fitted his bowling shirt. Dean continued to devour his burger and fries as the team ordered their drinks one after the other. It was 6:25 and the other team were toweling off their balls, eyeing them while glancing at their watches.

“C’mon Sam,” Dean urged under his breath.

“Sam, I expect, but where the hell is Cas?” Bobby wondered, squinting towards the entrance.

“Told you, you should have asked someone else to take the old man’s spot,” Dean smiled smugly, before popping another fry in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, most my friends are too old or too tired for this shit. Can you imagine Rufus out here each week?” Bobby sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Bobby, can I ask you something?” Dean started. “Are you still bowling because you enjoy it or because it’s a night out of the house?”

“You work with your wife for twenty years and tell me if you wouldn’t be out here every chance you got.” Bobby eyed Dean like he was slow. A burning grin pulled across Dean’s face, he almost choked on his last bite he was laughing so hard. Dean took a swig of his beer and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Singer! Let’s go!” Roy Wilkinson called from down on the lane.

“What a jackass,” Bobby whispered to Dean, before turning to the opposing team’s captain. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”

It was 6:31.

Dean had learned by now to place Sam last in the line up, but Cas usually went second. With a quick scramble, Dean adjusted their bowling order and sent Cas and Sam their own personalized texts of annoyance. It shouldn’t be that much of a deal, but he was embarrassed. Plus, Dean didn’t want to see Bobby continue to take shit for their tardiness.

At 6:44, a sheepish Castiel and an annoyed Sam walked into the alley together. Sam still had his suit on, his bowling bag slung over his shoulder.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked once his brother sat down to swap shoes.

“The hoopty bit it, Cas called me because he figured I was closest,” Sam explained, knowing that would have been Dean’s next question.

“Did he hit anybody or did it just die?” Dean asked, eyes raking over Cas’s body for signs of injury.

“It killed while he was driving. Not sure if it’s electrical or if he just ran out of fucking gas,” Sam whispered, frustration evident.

“Well, you guys missed the first frame, but you got yourself a hot minute to catch your breath and grab a beer,” Ash butt in. Mick came back from picking up a spare and the story got told all over again.

“I’m really sorry, Bobby,” Cas explained.

“You bowl for a mechanic’s team, boy. You shouldn’t have let it get that bad in the first place,” Bobby dismissed the clueless man as he made his way to the ball return.

“Dean?” Cas asked, leaning over Dean’s shoulder at the now useless scorer keeper’s spot.

“Yeah?” Dean replied.

“Do you think, could you give me a ride to the bar? And home after I do my nightly paperwork?” Cas explained, his blue eyes beseeching and all too familiar.

Dean groaned and closed his eyes. “How late? I’ve got a day job I need to be at, too, man.”

“Wednesday’s are Ladies’ Night, so it could be awhile,” Cas pondered aloud. “But you don’t have to stay, I can ask at the bar, maybe Ana wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s stomach instantly knotted with guilt, knowing how the waitress would feel to be trapped with Cas duty after a long shift. He shouldn’t have been so short with him, his car problems probably weren’t his fault.

“Nah, man, I got you. Let’s just bowl, get out of here as soon as possible,” Dean suggested, chin jutting out toward the lanes. Cas was up.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Cas grinned in relief. Dean swallowed and nodded, biting back the smile that crept up whenever Cas looked at him like that. A sour taste settled in the back of his throat as he watched Cas barely clip the 6 and 10 pins. Ignoring the rest of the frame, Dean went back for another drink before it was his turn.

Losing the first game was inevitable, but the Winchester brothers had a reputation to uphold and they rallied the team for the final two games. Together, they gave the opposing team some much deserved karma. Dean racked seven strikes in a row, but missed the 7 pin on his last ball. Sam, looking utterly ridiculous in his dress shirt and bowling shoes, followed up his tenth frame with a shaky spare. Then he pulled a strike out of thin air with the third ball.

The lane erupted.

Mick and Ash hooted and bumped chests. Dean jumped at his brother, nearly tackling him, before lifting him off the floor by his waist in celebration. Bobby, proud as ever, gave everyone a high five before he shook hands with the now salty Roy. Then Bobby ensured his team followed suit, as a sign of good sportsmanship, even if their faces didn’t hide the smugness of victory.

The champion’s high was short lived for Dean, because reality reared its ugly head when Cas awkwardly started to shadow him as they cleaned up their equipment. Dean towelled off his ball and slipped it into his bag, trying not to let the disappointment of missing out on a drink with the team to cart Cas’s ass across town show. Or the phantom nervousness of being alone with him that Dean had to tell himself to shake.

Cas was just his friend. He had only ever been his friend. No matter how many times Dean craved to be alone with him, it had never meant anything more than friendship to Cas.

Dean had nothing to feel guilty about. But when Cas dropped onto the bench seat beside him in the impala, Dean’s heart started to race. He felt like he was walking a dangerous line between ambiguity and cheating.

“Thanks again, Dean,” Cas’s deep voice croaked.

Plastering on a company smile, Dean brushed him off. “It was only a matter of time for that jalopy anyway, now if you just trust me and sell the damned thing, maybe you could get a reliable set of wheels.”

“Ash says he can have it at the shop by tomorrow afternoon,” Cas threw out there tentatively.

Dean gave Cas the side eye. “You’re calling Ellen first thing and BEGGING her to work you in, cuz I am no good at weaseling somebody onto the schedule.”

“I know, Bobby warned me. And Ash.”Cas squinted in thought. “And Mick, now that I think about it.”

Dean told himself to keep his eyes on the road. And to ignore the suddenly crushing weight of his phone against his thigh. He felt like he should be letting Benny know what he was doing, somehow. Like if he didn’t tell Benny where he was and with who, then he was asking to get dumped.

Dean, no stranger to self-sabotage, overthought until his head hurt. He couldn’t cheat if they weren’t dating. Driving a friend home wasn’t cheating. It didn’t matter that he had had feelings for Cas for as long as he could remember. Benny wasn’t his boyfriend. Officially. Right?

Cas turned to look at Dean. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

Again with the inopportune observations.

“Just got a lot on my mind,” Dean dismissed Cas’s concern and leaned over to turn on the radio, close enough that Dean got a whiff of Cas’s familiar cologne. The scent flooded Dean’s senses with bittersweet memories and he had to clear his throat to clear the haze of desire that was always associated with it, with Cas himself. Dean drummed his thumb against the steering wheel and held onto the music for as long as he could.

They arrived at The Pearly Gates just before ten, cars and suvs filled the small parking lot and spilled over onto the narrow side street. Dean cursed and backed into the narrow alley, unwilling to risk his paint job among the other vehicles.

“Alright, I’ll wait here, go do your busy work.” Dean cranked the car into park.

Cas gave Dean a cautious look before he crawled out of the passenger seat, mindful of the space between the building and his door. Dean didn’t want to think about whatever Cas thought was going on with him. And Dean really didn’t need him prying all of the sudden.

Dean thought about how oblivious Cas used to be and how much he had changed since they’d been friends. He was still Cas, but he wasn’t the same.

They’d met at a party on campus, which Dean always seemed to find despite not attending. A very drunk Cas had been locked out of his house by his asshole roommates, which were mostly his brother Gabe’s friends. Dean sat on a half-broken picnic table in the backyard toking, as Cas yelled to be let in. It was barely above freezing, but Dean didn’t want to share with the asshole college crowd he’d seen so far.

Cas was in black jeans and a tee shirt, shivering.

“Hey buddy?” Dean called out. “Look, give me a sec and I’ll pick the lock for ya, alright? Cool it.”

“What?” Cas looked at him like he had three heads.

Dean chuckled. “Stop yelling. I’ll get you in. Just let me finish my joint.”

Cas walked over, rubbing his arms with his hands before he started blowing on his hands. Dean had stared, the buzz slowed his thoughts. He just took in the details of Cas’s hands and the way his meaty lips probably looked as the hot air left them.

“You want a hit before I pinch it off?” Dean offered, hand extended in selfish offering.

“I’m good.” Cas waved him off, smiling without teeth. A good kid, Dean thought, or a dweeb.

Dean sucked in the last puff of smoke and carried it in his chest as he crossed the lawn to the backdoor. As he squatted, he exhaled, letting himself completely relax before he dug for his small set of tools.

“I’m sorry, but my roommates are---,” Cas started.

“Dicks?” Dean guessed.

Cas sighed in agreement, and that moment Dean probably will never forget as long as he lives. Dean looked up to see Cas in the yellow glow from the porch light, his blue eyes distinguishable for the first time.

“Uh?” Cas squinted in confusion.

“Right.” Dean sighed and shook his head, fitting the pick into the lock.

“You’re sure you can do this?” Cas continued, disbelief clung to every syllable.

But Dean didn’t have to answer, because just then Dean cackled in triumph, “Yahtzee!” and the door swung open.

Cas marched past him and into the warmth of the overpacked house. He turned just before he got swallowed by the crowd and nodded his thanks, eyes deep enough for Dean to get lost in.

Dean couldn’t remember much else from that specific party, but meeting Cas. They weren’t friends until a few more chance encounters and a flat tire, but it was their beginning.

Dean hadn’t told Benny about Cas, other than he was a friend that he helped out. He didn’t have labels for what Cas meant to him, he’d never let it solidify from thought and feeling into word or definition. There had been something there and if he wasn’t careful, Dean could get lost in the familiarity, the lingering hope of perpetual possibility.

Dean probably should say something, eventually.

The car had gotten cold while he waited for Cas to finish the deposit. Dean had turned off the engine to save the gas, but was starting to regret it when his phone rang.

“Heya, gorgeous, how’d ya bowl?” Benny drawled before Dean could finish his greeting.

“Alright, just around my average, but I tanked the last game. You off work already?” Dean asked, knowing Benny usually worked well past mall hours if he was in the middle of something.

“Yeah, leaving it for another day. You at home?” Benny continued.

“No, at the bar, killing time,” Dean inaccurately summarized. “Why? You miss me?”

“Well not if you’re gonna be like that, I don’t,” Benny teased.

“What days are you off again?” Dean sidestepped.

“Tomorrow and Sunday. You wanna come over?” Benny asked.

“I do, but I can’t, I’m wiped. Six am is early enough on a good night,” Dean apologized. “I can roll in after my shift at the bar on Saturday though, if you don’t mind me showing up close to three.”

“That could work. I’ve gotta be somewhere at eleven, but you’re welcome to join me,” Benny offered.

“That depends, is it a church service? I need to prepare myself for the smiting showing up after a night with you,” Dean countered.

Benny laughed, “Not a’tall. Me and some buddies do brunch every week.”

Dean sobered up, but he couldn’t stop the snark. “You do brunch?”

“Yeah?” Benny replied, not giving Dean anything more. Dean licked his lips and gaped at the offer. Benny wanted to introduce him to his friends. “You alright, cher?”

“Yeah, just got distracted, sorry,” Dean lied horribly. “I don’t want to crash your plans. We’ll see, alright?”

Benny inhaled audibly. “Yeah, I understand. You’ll still stay over though?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Dean agreed.

“Hey, maybe, if you don’t mind I could slip in for a drink after my shift Friday?” Benny suggested.

Dean smiled. “That’d be great. Gives me something to look forward to on a double shift.”

“You alright?” Benny almost whispered.

“Yeah, just tired, sorry, not my usual charismatic self,” Dean huffed.

“Nothing to be sorry for, sugar. Just checkin’ in on ya,” Benny soothed. Dean closed his eyes and relished in the sound of Benny’s calming voice.

“Tell me something,” Dean asked, not wanting to end the conversation.

“What do you want to know?” Benny chuckled, deep and genuine.

“I don’t know, just keep talking. What were you working on tonight?” Dean said.

“A pair of saddle bags for a custom bike,” Benny started. “Real nice ones too. Sturdy, but soft. Got some staining to do then the branding. But I got everything cut and measured for now. You ride?”

Dean hummed, then remembered he was asked a question. “Sorry, on occasion, I don’t have a bike of my own anymore. Do you?”

“Well, they don’t call me a leather daddy just for my outfits, cher,” Benny teased. “Before it snows, I’ll see if we can get the bike out for a spin.”

“Now I’ve got that visual burning through my thoughts,” Dean murmured suggestively.

“Happy to oblige,” Benny goads.

“I’m sure you would,” Dean huffs. “Thanks, it was just nice to hear your voice.”

“Anytime, Dean, all you have to do is call. You know that right?” Benny pressed.

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Dean agreed, when an extra blast of cold air hit his side. Cas was back. “I better go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Dean?” Cas interrupted.

“Okay, well, enjoy the bar,” Benny sounded like he’d heard Cas. “Bye, darlin’.”

“Night,” Dean ended the call.

“Who was that?” Cas asked, tugging at his trenchcoat to get the seatbelt on.

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional

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#A Gentlemen's Agreement #dean winchester/ benny lafitte #destiel undertones #denny #dean winchester ship fanficiton #denny fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction

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marsupials-of-mars · 4 years

Text

Hounds

A gift for @cyanacity and her hounds AU!

Warning: gore

Chase grabbed the corner of the wall and swung into the hallway. His surroundings pulsed red and static hissed, drowning out his tinnitus. Between pulses of light it was dark, and every time he could see he did a head count. Shneep, JJ, Jackie. Shneep, JJ... where's Jackie? THERE. JJ, Shneep, Jackie.

His heart raced as he ran. They were lost, the halls twisted and warped and every turn sent them further into a labyrinth of red as the static grew, and the barking got louder. Chase could hardly think, as if the glitching was reaching into his brain and robbing him of his thoughts.

He looked around again. Shneep, Jackie... JJ?

Chase whipped his head around, but found not even the faintest sillohuete of...

"JAMESON?!" His voice was hoarse from panting and he gasped for breath after expelling so much. "JJ!?"

He didn't know what he was yelling for. JJ couldn't respond. Easy prey. A quick first course to pick off. They were being toyed with. Just like last time. When he was on his own. When he lost his...

His steps slowed. There was no use running. He couldn't go forever, and suddenly he knew, more strongly than he had ever known anything, that running was and never had been a viable option. The glitch just liked to watch them think that it was. He stopped.

"CHASE?!" Jackie grabbed Henrik's shoulder and whipped around to look at Chase, stood in the middle of the hall, turned to look the oncoming barking dead on. It grew louder. Deafening. Barks, whines, howls, noises bubbling up through the foam of frothing maws.

And they arrived. Chase watched as the tidal wave of hounds burst around the corner, crashing against the wall, sending some up the side with the momentum, clawing plaster before they tumbled back into the swell and rounded the corner.

Right before they reached him, he heard a whistle.

An eerie, static whistle which seemed to shift tones rapidly with each glitch, though prolonged. The dogs immediately stopped, as if there were an invisible wall five feet from Chase. Henrik and Jackie looked on with bated breath, fifteen feet ahead. The lights ceased to pulse and instead maintained the hall's ominous mood lighting.

"Aw, boo. My puppies prefer chasing their prey." The voice echoed through the hall. Another whistle, quicker, and the dogs parted down the middle like the Red See.

There he was, taking his sweet time, letting his hands trail over the nearby dogs' heads as he walked. At his touch, the dogs' pushed into his hand, whimpering when he passed them without a second glance.

"We're not going to run anymore." Chase crossed his arms, plastering a determined scowl across his face, trying to hide his terror and persistent tremors.

"Smart. When did you get so smart? Marv, can you believe this?" A small white cat stepped out from the sea of dogs, ruffled and covered in drool. It leapt onto the tallest dog's back and onto Anti's shoulder. Chase tried to catch his former friend's eye but he turned away, masking his shame by beginning to lick his paw. He wouldn't take his real form. That would require face to face confrontation of his wrongdoings. And he was far too much of a coward for that. Anti chuckled and ruffled his pet's fur, not ready to allow him any dignity. "So cute."

Chase ignored the traitor. "Where's Jameson?"

Anti looked around with mock bewilderment. He clicked his tongue. "JJ? Jameson? Where are you buddy? Oh, I know!" He beckoned a dog from the crowd. "This fella's a bloodhound, he'll find him." He smirked and his nose crinkled in hardly hidden malice. "Go on boy, find Jameson."

At his word, the dog launched off and bounded off into the sea of hounds, long, frantic nails scrabbling across the floor.

Excited barks rang out among the crowd and the bloodhound reemerged into the aisle, gripping an ankle in its jaws. It dragged Jameson up to Anti and dropped his leg at its master's feet.

"Good boy!" He grabbed JJ's vest and yanked him upright. As soon as Chase could see his face he could tell that it was tearstained and bloody. "Use your legs, puppet."

Jameson tried to stand, pushing himself up with one leg. He grasped his other thigh tightly; it was clear he couldn't stand. Anti rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers, catching JJ with materialized strings. He contorted his fingers expertly as if puppeteering a marionette, and JJ jerky followed his motions, one leg up, than the bad one. He winced at the pain, baring his teeth and clenching his eyes shut, but stood straight and attentive. As his hands left his leg, blood coursed down and coiled into his inner thigh. It originated from what Chase could only assume was a vicious bite from the rottweiler that stood nearby, on which Chase could now make out bloodied jowls.

"How did you already do all that?!" Jackie yelped from a few feet behind Chase. Chase hadn't noticed that they had made their way forward, still focused on the wound. He processed Jackie's words, "all that", which confused him until he noticed the glisten of blood, which shone from not only his friend's leg, but also his arm, his forehead, his ankle... bite marks of all shapes and sizes, and they were deep. The red lights made the darker red of the blood look almost black, like oil pooling on the ground.

"Oh, I didn't lay a finger on him. My dogs just get a little restless from time to time. Especially her. Don't you Stacy? Yes you do!" Anti praised the bloody rottweiler as if he were talking to a baby.

Chase, too astonished to process the familiar name, looked back up to Jamie's eyes. They were terrified and dull with pain, but he caught Chase looking at him. He darted his eyes quickly to Anti, still distracted, before quickly pounding a fist into an open palm, thumb extended, pleading.

"Ah! Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, what did we talk about? Quiet hands."

Jamie stiffened and crossed his hands against his chest, shaking his head frantically. Anti jerked his fingers and one hand was pulled away from JJ's body, fingers splayed.

"See lads, Jamie here agreed with me that puppets don't talk. And he knows how much it annoys me when he breaks his promise." As he spoke, he wound his wrist as if pulling in slack. JJ struggled to pull away but however effortless Anti made it seem, his will was unbeatable. In a moment, Jamie's trembling hand was positioned in plain view for everyone to see. Anti raised it up as if preparing for a magic trick. Instead, he let out a breif whistle.

In a fraction of a second, a sturdy German shepherd lunged forward and locked its jaws around Jamie's hand. He screamed silently, face contorted in agony. There was a chorus of cracks and pops as bones snapped, ligaments tore, and flesh was mangled. The Shepard shook its head, teeth piercing further until they met in the middle.

"JAMESON!" Chase choked the name out between horrified ramblings of "holy shit" and "fucking Christ". Jackie accompanied him but, rather than words, he let loose a chorus of visceral, gut-wrenching noises.

Henrik pushed past Jackie and ran forward. He had had enough. He reached out for Jamie but, before he could make contact, another dog tackled him to the ground. Strings of foam splattered across his face and across his bared teeth. It lunged for his throat but he rolled just in time, taking a pair of pearly husky jaws to the shoulder, where they dug in and stayed. He screamed through his teeth and kicked at the dog, the heel of his shoe knocking the wind from its ribs, but it still held strong.

Jackie's hero instincts finally kicked in and he ran to Henrik's aid, wrapping his arms around the husky's torso and yanking it off. It flailed its paws and whipped its head back and forth, jaws snapping in search of anything made of flesh. Jackie let out a war cry and threw it aside. It tumbled across the hardwood but quickly regained its footing with a panicked scrabble of claws. It growled and leapt, catching Jackie on the side of the neck as he reached down to assist Henrik.

Chase, now panicking and unsure what to do, stumbled forward toward the Shepard on Jamie's hand and took each side of it's jaw in his fists. He pulled, his biceps strained, but he managed to loosen its grip enough for Jamie to pull his hand out. The dog ran back into the crowd proudly gnawing on something, and it didn't take more than a glance back toward Jamie to realize that it had taken his index finger as a trophy.

Chase wasted no time wrapping his arms around Jamie and pulling him a few strides down the hall, away from Anti. He fell to the floor and wrapped around Jamie protectively, not daring to try anything else. He felt JJ trembling in his arms and could feel a mixture wet tears and blood soaking his shirt. He blocked out the barking and screaming. All he needed was to protect somebody, anybody, like he hadn't been able to the last time.

And as quickly as it began, it was over. Anti shouted something and everything fell still.

"Drop it!" Chase lifted his head to see Anti scolding the husky with Jackie's throat in its teeth. It released him and licked its teeth before hanging its head submissively. "It's no fun if you kill one of them. Shoo." The dog ran back into the pack with its tail tucked, the two others that had joined the brawl following after it.

Jackie held his neck and Henrik cradled his shoulder and kept one eye closed. They each had several bites and claw marks down their faces and arms, just beginning to fade from white to dark pink.

"How well did that go for everyone? Good job rescuing my puppet's hand, hope it was worth it."

Chase looked down at Jamie's hand, mangled, crushed, and missing a finger, then to the rest of the group, not much better off.

"Three for the price of one. Thanks for the impromptu show." Anti giggled, its tone shifting and warping into something indescribably inhuman. "Now for the main act."

He reached to his shoulder and grabbed Marvin (who had buried his face into the back of Anti's hair for the duration of the battle) by the scruff. He yowled and hissed sat the sudden manhandling, but quickly quelled the impulse when his eyes met Anti's. The demon grinned, fangs glinting in the red glow. He turned the cat to face the carnage and held him out at arms length.

Marvin's pupils dilated and his spine arched inward, legs pulling to his stomach and tail tucking between his legs. Chase could read feline body language. The traitor was terrified, horrified, and... guilty. Chase began to rethink what he'd assumed of his former friend.

"Okay kitty kitty, Since you've been so patient... how about you pick our new pet? I've been thinking we're due for a new one. Thought we could swing by and pick one up."

Chase blinked. What was he talking about? He scanned Marvin's face to glean any context. His ears fell back flat and his pupils shrank to slivers. His tail bushed. Bad signs.

"Come on Marv, you wouldn't waste my time, would you? This visit has already taken far longer than I hoped, what with all the running and the teaching of lessons. But I guess if you don't feel like picking, it could always just be you..."

Marvin flailed his paws and his tail waved wildly ass he craned his neck back to look at Anti's sly grin. He meowed as if trying to negotiate, but Anti just shook his head calmly and began to swing him back and forth by the scruff.

"Tick tock, tick tock, what'll it be?" Anti began to mumble as if thinking aloud as Marvin panicked. "I wonder what breed would fit you. Chihuahua? Fox terrier? Poodle? You are the flashy type aren't you..."

Marvin scanned the wounded group desperately, as if weighing options, pros and cons.

"Ten seconds. Ten. Nine."

Marvin yowled, overwhelmed by frustration and panic.

"Eight. Seven. Six."

Marvin was trembling, eyes flicking between the four, trying to spend a lifetime with each of them within a hundredth of a second at a time.

"Five. Four. Three. Two-"

"JACKIE!" The cat had spoken. He fell limp and his tail curled between his pathetic, limp kitten legs. Anti grinned and dropped him.

"Good choice."

A flash of light from the ground, and a caped man sat on his knees where the cat had fallen. He lifted his head, useless tears rolling down his face.

"I'm sorry Jackie. Everybody." It was barely audible, but Chase could hear it.

With a flick of Anti's wrist, two Bulldogs came bounding up to Jackie, each taking a shoulder. Weak from blood loss, he could hardly retaliate as he was dragged, limp and bloody, into the sea of slobbering canines.

"We'll be seeing you. Next time, don't try to run." The demon flashed a final toothy smile before turning and vanishing into the hounds as they all stood and began to run back to wherever they had come from, barking, howling.

The sounds grew fainter and fainter, until they were gone.

One less head to count.

#jacksepticeye #it's been so long since I've written anything ego related most of my stuff lately has been sanders sides so nice change of pace

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emma-nation · 4 years

Text

Within You - Bloodbound AU - Chapter 14

Summary: One year after defeating Gaius, the gang has finally found peace… Until a tragic incident awakens the ultimate and most dangerous threat they ever faced.

Genre: Angst/Adventure/Romance

Rating: T - Warning for violence and language

Amy

"Congratulations, Bloodkeeper. I had to come and see your accomplishments with my own eyes. In only six weeks you managed to do what I never could, to unite vampires and humans."

Amy stood paralyzed as Rheya entered the box, acting like if she owned the place. She gritted her teeth in anger. How could she be so innocent to believe she was truly gone? Especially upon the perfect scenario she had created for her comeback. One where Rheya could murder thousands of humans and vampires in order to obtain more power. Peace was never her goal. The First Vampire always had a greater purpose in mind, to become a Goddess with powers that could overcome anything, even death.

"Rheya..." she finally spoke. "Get out of here. Now!"

She ignored her, sweeping around the room and observing each one of her friends. She paused at Lysimachus, cocking her head confused.

"Curious..." Rheya furrowed her brows. "How could you survive Demetrius' blood? You were supposed to be dead."

"I guess I had to stay around and watch your downfall," Kamilah's brother answered, "bitch."

The First Vampire replied with a sarcastic smirk before keep moving, watching carefully all her surroundings.

"What are you doing here, Rheya?" Kamilah asked, frowning her face.

"Leave those people out of whatever you're planning," Adrian added. "If you've got anything to deal with us, we can solve it somewhere else."

This time they didn't have a plan, or even a weapon to use against Rheya, but Amy didn't feel intimidated. She felt angry, thirsty for revenge. She could feel that power burning at the depths of her soul, ready to unleash all its strength and defeat that woman once for all.

She walked to the glass, pointed to the crowd and spoke:

"This is how you create peace, Rheya. Not by putting a species above the other, making them believe they're superior. Or by starting an endless cycle of bloodshed and violence. Tonight we both win, humans and vampires."

"You're wrong, Amy," Rheya approached and stood by her side, touching the glass windows. Her eyes were shining red as fresh blood. "Humans started this war, when they killed Demetrius and took my daughter from me."

"You still can change it, you know? You can end this cycle. We can live in peace," Amy tried to reason with her, counting that inside the dark shell, a little bit of humanity remained intact. "Rheya, I'm your granddaughter. I'm a part of Iola and... a part of you."

Rheya grinned and looked at her. Amy gazed deeply into her eyes, diving into them. For the first time she could feel it. The link they shared. The part of Rheya that was running in her veins. The part that screamed for power.

In that moment everything stopped. There was no music or chanting coming from the crowd. All her ears could detected were all those heartbeats... thousands of them. The blood being pumped from their hearts and flowing inside their veins. Their lives... so weak and so fragile. And they all belonged to her.

"Don't fight it," the First Vampire said, "embrace the blood, Amy. Join me and together we can build an era of true peace and reign as the goddesses we are."

"N-No!" Amy resisted those thoughts. "I'm not like you. I won't..."

"Too bad, darling. I don't need you anyways."

Rheya lifted up her arms, ready to take and absorb all those lives. The visions quickly returned to Amy's memory. She needed to act before it was too late. Without thinking twice, she pulled the entire group into a memory void. The only place where Rheya's powers were limited and she was restrained.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rheya angered, noticing the invisible chains holding her down. "So clever, but it's a matter of time until we have to go back to the real world."

"But right now we're in my world, bitch. You'll stay and watch."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was searching for you through my Bloodkeeper abilities the other day and I discovered the truth..." Amy walked behind Rheya, and though she was much taller, she seemed completely vulnerable and small in that moment. "What happened to Iola, Rheya?"

"The Sons Of Ares kidnapped her, making me believe she was dead," some hateful tears filled the First Vampire's eyes. "Depriving me from seeing my own daughter to grow up!"

"You never saw her again?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because I found this inside your memories, something you can't quite remember..."

All of them were taken to a port city in Ancient Greece, where an adult version of Iola walked on the streets in company of her husband and daughter.

"When she turned out to be completely ordinary, the Sons Of Ares simply raised her as one of their own. She lived. She aged. She had a family on her own, until..."

Sounds of slaughter started to be heard, screams of panic and cries for mercy were heard across the streets. The group spotted a familiar figure holding a blade, not sparing a single life that stood his way.

"Die!" Gaius snarled. "Die for the Goddess!"

The flashback appeared so real and close some of her friends drew their weapons, thinking they were being seen and would have to face that man one more time in their lives.

Meanwhile, Iola turned to her husband, pushing their daughter into his arms...

"We need to get onto a ship! Now!"

The three of them rushed for a merchant vessel. Ajax, Iola's husband, was first, hoisting up their daughter, Minerva. A hand grabbed Iola from behind, preventing her from joining her family in safety.

"And where do you think you're going?" The figure was Rheya herself.

"No," Iola tried to plead for her life, "wait, I-"

Before she could even finish, her head was slammed into a wall, crushing it. Blood spilled in the group's direction. Someone let out a horrified scream. In front of them, Iola was lying dead on the ground.

"Pathetic human," Rheya said, before resuming the slaughtering.

Back to the real world, the First Vampire was on her knees completely destroyed.

"No!" She screamed, while she began to sob. "I killed her. My little girl. My baby. I killed her."

"You did," Amy told. "And all these centuries you blamed it on humans, generating so much hate, so much violence."

"Everything I did... everyone I hurt... all of it was a lie. It was me. All along. The monster. The killer. The abomination."

The others stared at the scene in silence, completely shocked.

"Amy," Kamilah threw her one of her daggers, "end this. Kill her now."

Amy grabbed Rheya's hair and pressed the blade against her throat. She could feel through their connection, in that moment she was hurt, broken and scared. There was nothing left inside of the First Vampire, except for a desire of ending her own life.

"Rheya, I'm sorry. You can't change the past and erase all you've done, but... I promise to honor your legacy. There will be peace among humans and vampires, but no lives will be lost in this process, not anymore."

"I still..." Rheya panted hard, barely breathing between her sobs. "I still can bring her back! I still can fix this!"

In a flash, she used her psychic powers to throw Amy across the room with the dagger buried in her stomach. The others immediately reacted. Kamilah lunged forward, only to be hit by a fire blast that sent her flying across the room. Adrian grabbed Rheya from behind attempting to hold her, she entered his mind, causing an intense pain that made him collapse.

"No," Lysimachus threw one of his daggers, preventing her from absorbing Adrian's life. The blade hit the First Vampire's shoulder. She scowled and jerked her hand, trying to force him on his knees. However, it didn't work.

"Demetrius... he's protecting you. How dare he?!"

"Even Demetrius grew tired of your bitchcraft," Katherine stepped forward, whirling her sai.

"Your useless little mortal..." before Rheya could made any moves against her, a ring on Katherine's finger blasted an intense light that involved her as a shield. The Nighthunter successfully stabbed her in the chest.

It didn't affect her much. Rheya pulled out the sai, wincing in pain. She approached the glass again, lifting up her arms and ready to collect all those lives in trade of power.

"I need to stop her," Amy crawled, trying to reach her. She was still weak from the blood loss, yet she managed to stand on her feet. "Rheya... stop..."

"You're not worthy of my genes. Once again, I failed on my creation!" Rheya kicked her legs, making her fall on the ground again. Using the sai removed from her chest, she pointed it to Amy's throat. "Good riddance, granddaughter."

Like a blur moving through the room, somebody managed to tackle Rheya, getting her away from Amy. She lifted up her eyes in time to see...

"You!" The First Vampire grabbed Lily by the neck.

"No!" Amy yelled and tried to hit Rheya with a psychic blast, but she had no strength. She watched as the First Vampire buried the sai directly into Lily's heart. The girl glanced Amy one last time with a small smile on her face, before her body converted into ash.

"Weak as an insect. Her life barely served for my purpose."

Rheya laughed and turned around, ready to return to her mission.

Amy kneeled down, her hands covered by Lily's ashes. Her eyes filled with tears and she started to tremble. In that moment there was no pain or weakness. Something else had ignited inside her. Something ancient, powerful... and terrible. She felt like she was consumed by an intense fire. The wound in her chest healed immediately as the new source of power took over her body. A power deeply moved by anger and loss.

"Rheya," she ordered. "Stop."

----------

Kamilah

"A-Amy..." Kamilah clutched the spot where Rheya hit her with a fire blast. Her chest hurt intensely. She opened her mouth to speak, noticing her wife was completely out of herself. Her eyes were glowing like two fireballs, exactly like Adrian when he took an excessive dose of his serum. "AMY!"

She couldn't hear Kamilah's voice or even notice her presence. Her mind had succumbed to those powers completely.

"She was my best friend," Amy walked in Rheya's direction. "How could you?!"

"Do you understand now, Bloodkeeper?" Rheya said. "How does it feel to lose someone you loved so dearly? Don't you desire enough power to bring her back? Wouldn't you trade all those mortals' lives for your friend's?"

"HOW COULD YOU?!" Amy screamed loud and powerful enough to make the entire box shake. The impact sent Rheya flying against the wall. The girl grabbed her by the neck, exactly like she did to Lily. "I could make it fast and painless as possible but for all you've done, all the pain you caused... you deserve to suffer."

Kamilah couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but she seemed to have entered Rheya's mind causing an excruciating pain inside her skull. The First Vampire attempted to fight for her life, but Amy's influence had weakened her.

"Farewell, Rheya," using her psychic powers, Amy moved Kamilah's dagger back to her hands before slicing her head off her shoulders. In a few seconds, the legendary vampire became nothing but ash. Like Lily, or any other vampires she murdered before. Everyone in the room exchanged glances, trying to process what had just happened.

"It's over," Adrian was the first one to speak. "She's dead. The First Vampire is dead."

"And so is Lily," Jax lamented.

However, Kamilah still could feel her essence, her power lingering in the air seeking for the next host. A body that could accept and embrace all its darkness. Suddenly she saw as it began to surround Amy's body and slowly get absorbed.

"No," Kamilah muttered, forcing herself to her feet. "Amy, y-you did it, my love. You defeated her. Rheya is gone."

There was no answer. Amy approached the glass windows, staring down at the crowd again. This time, her look was hard and completely cold.

"I can do this," she said, staring down at her hands. "I have the power to control, to manipulate, to shape... and the power to create."

The girl waved her hand, making a flower blossom in the middle of the room sparkling with beauty. She fixed her eyes on it, fascinated.

"I can make life! I can bring Lily back. I just... I need more power..."

"Amy, sweetheart," Katherine interrupted. "You're starting to sound exactly like her."

"You don't understand," Amy told her. "I can bring back what you've lost. Katherine, I can bring Ava back to you."

"Amy," Lysimachus shouted, attempting to get her attention. "You don't want to do this. This is unnatural!"

"You... you don't understand. None of you!"

The way Amy spoke those last few words showed how angry she felt about them all. She turned back to the crowd extending her hands, ready to mimic Rheya and draw in all the lives of the thousands of humans below.

"Amy, no!" Kamilah yelled. "Stop. This isn't you!"

"This has always been me, Kamilah," Amy gripped tightly on the dagger she still held. "You just couldn't see it before, because you were blinded by what you call 'love'."

"No, love never blinded me. Actually it made me see clear. Amy, when I met you I could finally find myself again. I could get back what I had long lost. I realized I'm worthy of redemption, love and happiness. We are."

"You once told me love was only a chemical reaction."

"I was wrong and you showed me. Because you have the most beautiful heart I've ever known."

Kamilah closed her eyes and reached out, touching her shoulder. Without any fear Amy would injury her. She knew the real Amy, her Amy was still in there. She wouldn't be capable of hurting her. Ever.

"Come back to me, Amy," she smiled. "I love you. Now we can finally have that future we always dreamed of."

She hesitated for a moment, before a single tear ran across her cheek. Kamilah slowly involved her wife in a tight embrace and she started crying against her shoulder. That dark energy rushed out her body, vanishing in the air.

"This is okay..." upon her wife's desperate sobs, Kamilah couldn't hold her own tears. "Everything will be okay..."

"She killed her. She killed Lily, Kamilah! And I didn't have time to say goodbye or to say how much I loved her. She saved me, even when I treated her so badly."

"Lily knew it. This is why she did it."

The others gathered around them, huddling together exhausted and destroyed from the fight.

"What do we do now?" Amy asked.

"We go home," Kamilah answered, kissing her forehead.

----------

Lysimachus

A few days passed since Lily's death and Rheya's defeat. For the crowd present at the concert, a minor accident happened at one of the VIP boxes. They didn't know about the battle or even about the deaths. Humans and vampires were still in peace. However, for some of them the world seemed to have stopped.

Lysimachus stared at the mirror while finishing to get dressed. He hadn't sleep in days. The adrenaline, the memories of that night made his body unable to get any rest. His dreams were often disturbed by Rheya's presence in the air, just seeking for another opportunity to rise again. Something told him that wouldn't be the last they'd see of the First Vampire.

"I hate funerals," Katherine spoke as she entered the room, wearing a black dress.

"So do I," he said. "Listen, I know this brings you some painful memories. You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"It's okay. I want to be there for Amy, as she has been helping me a lot. Besides, I've been in her shoes. I know how she's feeling."

She squeezed his hand, trying to bring some comfort. Lysimachus turned around and kissed her cheek. Together, they went to Kamilah's penthouse. His sister was alone in the living room, contemplating the streets through the window.

"Hey, sister," Lysimachus squeezed her shoulder. "How are things going?"

"Still the same," Kamilah told. "She's locked inside the bedroom, refuses to leave or even speak to me. I can't get through her. And there's those powers... I fear her emotions will bring them back to surface at any moment. I feel I'm losing her, brother."

Since Lily's death, Amy had been severely depressed. She wouldn't speak to anyone about her grief, refusing to eat or even leave the bedroom. As they opened the door, they found Amy sitting on the bed holding the urn that contained Lily's ashes. She barely noticed their presence until they approached.

"Hello, sweetheart," Katherine sat down by her side, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "How are you?"

"It hurts so much," the tears Amy had been fighting so hard against started to run across her cheeks. "I feel like a part of my soul has been ripped off."

"I know. It will take a while to feel better, probably will never fully heal. But Amy, you don't wanna get into this hole. You have an amazing wife and friends who love you. Most of all, you're strong."

"Yeah," Lysimachus joined them at the bed, "besides, that was what Lily wanted the most. She wanted you to live and be happy."

"Was it? I mean, I'll never know. I-I... I didn't even had a chance to have a final conversation with her. I pushed her away for all these last few weeks."

He sighed. Rheya wasn't the only presence he could feel. Lily was still around, for some reason. From his brief knowledge about his new found powers, she still had something pending that prevented her from moving on.

"What if... what if there's a way for you to say goodbye? If we unite both of our powers, it's possible you can see her one last time."

"Really?" Amy's tearful eyes finally met his, a hint of hope shining on her green irises. "Can we do that?"

"We can try."

Katherine gave him a small and supportive smile, indicating she was leaving the room to grant them some privacy. Lysimachus took a deep breath and held both of Amy's hands firmly.

"Okay..." he told. "First thing, we need to connect our minds."

"Got it," for such a skilled psychic as Amy, that was the easiest thing to do.

Once he felt they were in sync, Lysimachus channeled the powers that came from Demetrius blood. The air suddenly got colder and a heavy wind wrapped around them, taking them both to another level of the mindscape, one that had grounds in the Realm Of Death. When they opened their eyes, both of them were standing in some kind of forest with a dense fog that prevented them to see much further.

"Do you think she's here?" Amy asked, examining her surrounding for any clues.

"I don't know," Lysimachus answered. That place was absolutely creepy and he had no idea of who they could run into by accident. "Do not move. Let's just... focus on her."

"Okay. Come on, Lil. I just wanted to say goodbye."

They both closed their eyes, thinking of Lily and their purpose in there.

When they opened their eyes again, the forest had disappeared, giving space to a completely blank space. Lily was standing in the middle, wearing the same clothes from the night of her death. She opened a grin as soon as she saw them.

"Lily!" Crying, Amy ran straight to her best friend's arms. Lysimachus watched from distance.

"Amy!" Lily also broke down in tears. "Girl, you did it. You defeated Rheya. You're the boss now, baby!"

"But... you died. You died to protect me, even after I was so mean to you."

"I understand. In your place, I'd be probably be mad too. Trust me, I'd never do anything to separate you and Kamilah. You guys are OTP."

"Do you..." Amy took a deep breath to recompose herself. "Do you forgive me?"

"You don't even have to ask," Lily wiped off some tears from her face. "But you gotta promise me one thing okay?"

"Anything."

"First of all, you need training. For your own safety and for all those around you. You have a great potential inside you, Amy, but you need to use it correctly. Then, be happy. Live your life with Kamilah at fullest. And if someday you two have kids, make sure to tell them about their aunt Lily."

Amy let out a laugh followed by some sobs.

"Of course," she hugged Lily again. "I'll make you proud, Lil. And I'll honor you, for the rest of my life. You'll be my best friend forever."

"Forever," Lily grabbed both of Amy's hands squeezing them tightly.

The scenario started to fade, suggesting they didn't have much time longer. Lysimachus gave the girls a signal.

"I love you, Lil. Goodb-"

"No, not a 'goodbye'. It's an 'I see you soon'."

"See you soon."

With Lily's last words of "I love you too", both of them got pulled back to reality.

"Oh man," Lysimachus fought a few tears himself. "That was intense."

"Thank you so much," Amy embraced him. "It was all I needed."

"You're welcome. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, only if we can have this massive party with lots of gaming later. In Lily's honor."

"Sure! We can arrange that."

Katherine and Kamilah were waiting at the living room. Amy greeted them with a smile, looking a lot better than before.

Before they left for Lily's funeral, Lysimachus' spoke in private to his girlfriend:

"So when you will say goodbye? It worked for Amy. Removed a burden from her shoulders."

"Someday," Katherine sighed. "Someday I'll be ready. I let you know."

----------

Kamilah

"No," Kamilah spoke over the phone, rolling her eyes, "I do not wish to model for your new line of hair products."

Amy quietly watched her from the couch. Lily's death had a great impact in her life. She was no longer that usual upbeat and optimistic young woman. Like, Kamilah she decided to stay away from the spotlights and social media for some time. Together they decided it was the best for her protection and for her mental health in that moment.

With the consent of her parents, Kamilah took Amy to her hometown. Being away from New York's never-stopping action and find some peace and quietness could be helpful to restore her mood. They'd be staying on the family's lake house for a few days.

"Oh, #Kamilahshair is also trending on Twitter. Again." Amy's father announced, making the female vampire almost drop her coffee.

"Excuse me?!"

"Your hair is becoming quite famous," Amy said as she sat by her side on the couch. "It's not exclusive for me to worship anymore."

"You know every part of me is exclusively yours, my love," Kamilah placed a kiss on her lips.

From the kitchen, Amy's mother cleared her throat, interrupting the moment. Though she was more tolerant, she still wouldn't accept any affection displays in her house.

"You two are almost as popular as the Twilight couple," Kamilah's father in law continued with his jokes. She learned where her wife had inherited her sense of humor from. "There are fandoms dedicated to your ship, thousands of fanfiction too."

"I don't understand any of these terms, Mr. Parker, but I suppose it's a good thing?"

"Come here to check it out."

Kamilah approached the man, who showed some of the work of their online fans. Some were very pleasant to read but some...

"Oh," Kamilah blushed in embarrassment. "This is... very detailed. And accurate."

"Okay," Mr. Parker closed the browser. "This is more information than I wanted to read."

"Guys!" Amy finally broke into a laugh. Kamilah closed her eyes savoring that moment. It was so good to hear that sound after so many days of silence and tears. "Stop, please."

After finishing breakfast, they returned to the lake house where Kamilah took the moment to appreciate the view in front of her.

"Remember the first time you brought me here? I was so frustrated I'd never be able to enjoy this place in your company during the day."

"Yes, then I showed you how fun it still could be at night. By breaking into the neighbors' hot tube."

"I'm feeling a little criminal today," Kamilah raised a suggestive eyebrow at her wife. "Aren't you?"

"Not really," Amy took a moment to answer. "It's Summer. The kids must be around."

They hadn't shared many romantic moments or any intimacy since the fight against Rheya. The girl turned around and headed back to the house. Kamilah could tell by her voice she was about to cry. She decided to follow her.

"Amy, what's happening? Is it because of Lily?"

"It's more serious than that. Those powers... I can sense them calling for me. Everytime I get angry or sad I feel I'll slip out of control and succumb to darkness again."

Kamilah sighed and joined her wife by the window. She tucked Amy's hair behind her ear and kissed her wet cheek.

"If that happens, I'll be by your side, making sure you'll come back."

"No, Kamilah. You don't understand... I could've killed you! In that moment I felt absolutely nothing. I was consumed by anger and hate."

"We can find a solution..." Kamilah spoke softly in her ear. "Together."

"Actually," Amy moved away from her, "we can't. I think we should follow separate ways for a while. It's the best for both of us."

"Amy..."

"Go back to New York, please. I'll stay here."

"Y-You can't be serious. We've been through so much together."

"I know," Amy approached again, holding both of her hands. "But this is something I must go through alone."

Respecting her wish, Kamilah packed her bags and entered the car. There was no goodbye kiss, Amy briefly waved her hand from the porch and returned inside. She thought it'd be better this way.

Kamilah felt like she had been punched in the stomach. In fact, a punch would've hurt less. All the times her enemies attempted to stake her or even extract her heart still didn't hurt that much. She felt crushed. In the end, Rheya had gotten exactly what she wanted.

"I absolutely hate this place," Kamilah complained inside the car, before starting to drive away.

----------

Amy

At night, Amy walked around the woods surrounding the lake house. She needed to clear off her head. Some kids were having a party somewhere nearby, she watched them from a distance. Only a few years back, she used to be one of them. In Summer, the whole family would reunite in the lake house, where she and her cousins threw great parties that gathered people from all over the town.

Those were good times without vampires, evil villains and sociopaths that wanted to take over the world.

"That's it, Amy. How it always meant to be. You brought back the First Vampire, defeated her and brought an era of peace. But... what now?"

Feeling sad and completely lonely, she stopped by the lake. The night made it appear dark and bottomless. She stared at her own reflection in the water.

"Demetrius, if only you could talk to me again. I could really use some advice."

Being without Kamilah was the last thing she wanted. God, she loved that woman so much. She could spend the eternity by her side and she knew she'd never grow tired or bored, Kamilah made it impossible. They had so many plans for the future, so many dreams... now everything seemed so distant again.

Footsteps behind her made her quickly react and turn around.

"Sorry," Katherine spoke. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"What are you doing here?" Amy asked. "Did Kamilah send you? Because I was very clear when I said I didn't want to see anybody."

"She didn't. Last time I saw her she was drowning in some fancy bourbon with Lysimachus. Actually, that may be the best bourbon I tasted in my entire life."

Amy forced a small smile. Of course Kamilah was drinking. Whenever she was too upset or too happy, alcohol was always present. She gave Katherine a sign to follow her inside the house.

"So," she grabbed the only thing she found inside the fridge, two cans of soda, "why are you here?"

"For a job," Katherine opened the can, drinking some of her soda. "You've been helping me to fight my demons, I'll help you to fight yours."

"How? I mean, there's nothing we can do. Rheya is gone, but her powers are eternal, immortal. They'll always linger in the air, seeking for a compatible target."

"We can't destroy it but we can banish it, and trap it inside of some container."

"And how much is it going to cost?" Amy let out a chuckle. "I mean, you always say your time is precious."

"Nothing," Katherine sighed. "Let's make it a girls night thing. Deal?"

"Deal. Where do we start?"

"Find us a container where we can trap Rheya's essence. I'll be outside preparing the ritual."

Amy searched the bedrooms hoping to find something, but as the house was rarely used in the last few years, there was nothing that could serve. She searched the kitchen's cabinets next, where she grabbed the only thing she thought that was appropriate for the purpose.

"Did you find anything?" Katherine asked while she finished placing some runes in a circle.

"Yes," Amy grinned ear to ear,s what she had in hands. "An empty jar of strawberry jam."

The Nighthunter broke into a laugh.

"Such a decadent ending for a Vampire Goddess, huh?!"

"Exactly. I thought my grandma's cookie jar was still too much for Rheya."

"Great, now give me the jar and stand in the middle of the circle."

Amy did as told. Being the most viable target, Katherine ordered her to attract the powers to herself. The girl bit her lower lip, feeling insecure.

"Are you sure this is safe?" She asked.

"No, it's not. I won't sugarcoat it for you," Katherine replied, bold and direct. "But do you have any other choice?"

She was right. If Amy wanted any chances of having a future by Kamilah's side, her only option was to trap those dark forces forever. She started to think of everything that made her sad, frustrated and especially angry. She remembered Lily. She pretended to desire for those powers to bring her back. She called for them. Suddenly that familiar cold breeze made all al her neck's hair spike up.

"It's here," she warned Katherine. "I can feel it."

"Stay in the circle until I tell you to leave." Katherine focused and started mumbling a few words in an ancient language. Amy could sense it coming closer and closer, starting to wrap around her body like dark tendrils. "Now!"

As Amy left the circle, Katherine switched places with her. The dark fog started to surround her, as if it was scanning for a vulnerability.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm not a viable host. It won't get me."

"That's what you think! Rheya was a mortal when Goddess Phampira granted her those powers. Katherine, get out!"

"Only a little longer."

After a few seconds, Katherine opened the jar and the dark force was immediately drained to the container. She quickly closed it, safely sealing it inside.

"Is it... over?" Amy asked in disbelief.

"I think so," Katherine concluded, examining the jar. "Now we must bury it somewhere no one will find."

"There's some rocks by the other side of the lake. Me and my cousins used to bury stuff there all the time. No one ever found them."

"If you say so."

With a shovel and a flashlight, Amy confirmed all their childhood treasures were still there, inside a deep hole among the rocks. She carefully placed the jar in there and covered the hole again.

Both of the women returned to the lake house, where Amy set up a fire outside. They both sat down in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"You can come back to New York now," Katherine was the first to speak. "For your relationship's sake and mine too, Lysimachus gets really annoying when he drinks."

"He does," Amy laughed in agreement. However, there was something else that still prevented her from running back to her wife. "I can't go back. We banished Rheya's powers that remained loose on the universe, but I carry some of these powers myself too. Look what I did to the Order Of Dawn soldiers. I can lose control again."

"Oh about that, I have some contacts in Japan. There's this psychic vampire named Kano Yoshimasa, he's kind of a legend. You could appeal to him and ask for help with your powers."

"Really? I mean, Kamilah told me the vampires from Japan are far from friendly."

"Sweetheart," Katherine rolled her eyes, "you're kind of their leader now. Want them or not. They will have to accept you in their territory."

"Would you come with me, as some sort of mediator?"

"Okay but..."

Amy knew what the Nighthunter's face meant.

"I'll pay. I've earned more than enough selling details of my life to that movie."

After driving as fast as she could, Amy used her vampire speed to move faster. She didn't have to care anymore if mortals would notice it. With a smile on her face, she knocked the penthouse's door. Her heart pounding anxiously inside her chest.

When Kamilah opened the door, the first thing she did was pull her for a long and passionate kiss.

"Amy," her wife was kinda shocked by her sudden return. "This was quite a surprise."

"I know," she blushed and smiled. "I've got everything solved. Would you come to Japan with me?"

Kamilah took a moment to answer. She involved Amy in her arms, holding her very close to her chest.

"I'll go wherever you go. I'd follow you into hell itself."

----------

Lysimachus

"I thought we had an actual job here," Katherine complained inside the car. "And I only agreed to come because I know these lands."

"Really?" Lysimachus gave her an ironic look. "Or is it because you wanted to be here? It is an actual job, except that my employee is... not alive."

Lysimachus decided to accept Adrian's offer. In a few weeks when he started his campaign, he'd be taking the lead of Raines Corporation. Before that, he would be traveling Japan along his girlfriend and friends. Besides Amy and Kamilah, Jax agreed to follow them too.

Until then, he decided to enjoy his time by doing a few last jobs as a Nighthunter, together with Katherine. Their final stop was at a small town in New Mexico.

"I haven't visited since I left to New Orleans, about ten years ago."

"Come on," he placed a hand on his girlfriend's knee. "She want you to do this."

They left the car and he handed Katherine some flowers.

"Violets," she smiled, touching the petals. "Ava's favorites."

"Yeah, she was very specific."

Together, they followed into the cemetery. Despite the long years, Katherine still knew the way very well. They stopped at Ava's grave. The emptiness suggested no one had visited in a long time.

"Can you give us some privacy?"

"Sure."

Lysimachus sat down at a near bench, observing as Katherine kneeled down to place the flowers and caressed the picture in the tombstone. Then, she closed her eyes for a few minutes, muttering some words.

"Done," she returned to his side. "I told her how I feel, apologized for the millionth time and even said a prayer."

"Are you religious?" He asked. "I didn't know."

"I used to be, a little. Even if my parents..."

"Would you like to visit them?"

"No, we didn't part in good terms. They wished to never see me again. I'm respecting this wish."

Back to the car, Lysimachus couldn't understand how Katherine's parents could be so cruel and abandon her at the most difficult time of her life. No wonder she was so closed about her past and her feelings.

"It's not enough yet," Katherine broke the silence. "I can feel it. What's next?"

"Let me see," Lysimachus was pensive for a moment, remembering all the things he heard Ava's ghost saying. "There's one thing. I think we'll have the perfect opportunity for that."

They arrived in New York just in time for the party to honor Lily's life and to celebrate their next journey in Japan. Everyone was reunited at the Shadow Den bowling station. A few arcades had been installed, as well as a karaoke machine.

"Hey guys," Amy greeted them excited. "I thought you wouldn't be coming."

"Are you kidding?" Lysimachus messed up her hair. "We wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Can I steal Katherine for a minute?"

"Sure."

As soon as they left, Kamilah approached him bringing a drink. She looked happy and relaxed. Things between she and Amy were finally back to normal.

"So brother, are you ready? Have you ever been in Japan before?"

"Once. I must say I faced some trouble. This woman, Aiko Nakamura, wanted to capture me and throw me inside a dungeon. She said I remembered her of somebody she knew."

"Oh," Kamilah nearly choked with her drink for some reason. "I'm sorry about that."

"Anyways," Lysimachus shrugged. "I hope they're more friendly this time."

"And so do I."

Lysimachus reflected about everything they went through in the last couple of years. He let out a laugh.

"Due to our history, I doubt it. Trouble will always find us everywhere we go."

"Exactly. But as long as we're together everything ends up alright."

"To victory," he extended his glass to his sister. "And to family."

"Always," Kamilah clicked her glass against his.

"A minute of your attention please," Amy's voice, coming from the small improvised stage where the karaoke machine was set, got their attention. "To attend a very special request, I'll be singing Party In The USA. And Katherine will be helping me with this one."

A furious and embarrassed Nighthunter emerged from the middle of the crowd, playfully punching Lysimachus' arm.

"What is that?" She asked. "I know you're involved!"

"You said you'd do anything for Ava to move on," he started pushing her in the stage's direction. "Go. She wanted you to sing again."

"I hate you guys..."

"Welcome to the group, Katherine," Kamilah smiled. "I've been there too."

While the twins watched their significant others to playfully sing and dance at the stage, they exchanged one final glance and a smile. Their journey was far from over but after 2000 years of pain, both of them had finally found peace and love.

----------

Note: It's NOT over yet. Stay tuned!

#bloodbound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #within you

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ellasfm · 4 years

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» • * — ( elle fanning , cis female , she/her ) . i think i hear wait a minute by willow coming from apartment 2611. doesn’t eloise miller live there ?? i heard they are a twenty-two year old author from wayzata, mn , but they’ve been living in the apartments for two months . they come across a bit - anxious and - pessimistic , but they also seem like they could be + intuitive and + patient . whenever i see them , i think of a silver heart-shaped locket, stacks and stacks of books, small acts of rebellion. oh , and don’t forget to follow them on instagram at eloise.b.morris ! ooc . ally, 22, est, she/her .

hello y’all, back with my impulsively picked up second muse ! she’s actually an older muse i revamped to be a little less sad and i think i nailed it !!! details under the cut, like this post for me to hyu for plots !!!

full statistics | full biography | pinterest | wanted connections

tw panic attacks, psychological abuse, eating disorders,

statistics.

full name. eloise bethany morris. nickname(s). ella. occupation. author. age. twenty-two. date of birth. september 2nd, 1997. nationality. american. ethnicity. white | scottish, english, french. orientation. bisexual/sapphic, with a preference for women. gender & pronouns. cis female; she/her/hers. religion. agnostic.

height. 5’9”. weight. 125 lbs. eye color. green. hair color + style. flaxen blonde, relatively thin, usually up in a bun, braids, or pleats. dominant hand. right-handed. distinguishing features. deep-set eyes, willowy frame, pale skin.

biography.

ella’s upbringing was super... lonely, honestly. both of her sisters were basically adults by the time she was born, and never really interacted with her since they didn’t like her father’s second wife, ella’s mother. and with good reason.

if you thought zar’s mom was bad, get a load of heather morris. intent on living through her only daughter, ella was brought up to be a perfect little lady. a dancer, a star student, one of the most popular girls in her class. she was the first two things, but was never the third. she reeked of insecurity, and as a result was bullied throughout most of school.

even worse, her mom would force her to go to events where her bullies were, because those were the girls heather thought ella ought to be friends with. needless to say, they didn’t go very well. the only things her mother ever gave her were anxiety, deep-seated self-loathing, and an eating disorder she only overcame about two years ago.

ella’s one and only escape was books, she always had one on her person from the time she was five. for a long time, the closest things she had to friends were her favorite characters: matilda wormwood, hermione granger, and liesel meminger, among others. as a child, she dreamed of writing books like that, to help other little girls just like these authors helped her.

ella has always been a massive romantic, falling in love with every friendly face. and everyone she’s ever loved wormed their way into her heart, and to get it out, she decided to write. about the what-ifs and the maybe-so’s.

despite taking ballet lessons her entire school career, as per her mother’s request, she didn’t get into the american ballet company as her mother wished. her mom honestly wasn’t even that proud when she got a perfect sat score on her first try, nor when she got into harvard.

if she wasn’t going to be a dancer, she was going to be a lawyer, and her mother pushed her to get perfect grades in school. she hoped she would flourish at university, but she... kinda fell apart. we’re talking daily panic attacks, a crippling caffeine addiction, and her anorexia getting so bad she ended up in the fucking hospital her freshman year. despite that, she never missed a single deadline, functioning like a machine. and that was all that was important to her mother.

her sophomore year, though, she took a creative writing class, and when the ta read some of her work, she told her that she had a lot of potential and if she should continue down that road, the ta would like to be her advisor. that little bit of encouragement was all it took to reignite her dream of being an author.

writing became her therapy again, along with, thankfully, actual therapy. sure, school still made her anxious wreck, but ella was doing better. bit by bit, step by step. the summer before senior year, her advisor told her that she sent ella’s latest transcript to a friend of hers in publishing, and that she wanted to talk. she wanted to hold off for now, unsure what to do, until she got her lsat results back over thanksgiving break. she’d failed.

it was then, with her mother berating her non-stop as per usual, that ella decided she was going to publish. she walked out of the house with her mother still yelling, feeling freer than she ever had.

the day after her commencement, ella moved into a shitty apartment in boston and got to work with the publisher to get the book finished as quickly as possible. thanks to her advisor, it required minimal editing, and they had the first print sent to ella by the end of october.

on november 15th, the ipswich girls by eloise b. morris was officially for sale nationwide, and by its second week, it was a new york time’s bestseller. the last few months have been a world wind for ella, of book signings and award ceremonies and realizing with every young fan of hers that she’d achieved her dream.

now, she’s moved into new york city, a dream come true, and shortly after, she realized her publisher expected her to write a second book. she’s... still pretty paralyzed about that, trying to come up with something to top the ipswich girls, but... she’s trying. kinda. maybe. mostly panicking.

tl;dr: girl with strict mother finds freedom in books, becomes an author, writes a bestseller out of college, now is expected to repeat that success lmao fun.

personality.

lets get the zodiac out of the way: virgo sun, pisces moon, aquarius rising.

she’s... still very much a Good Girl, and she wants to change that, she wants to be her own person.

like in january she got a tattoo in feminine script on her wrist that said ‘i belong deeply to myself’ and the entire time she felt like a Bad Girl okay????? and she just started smoking weed and that also makes her feel like a Bad Girl

still pretty anxious, but she’s getting better. she’s on medication, now, and usually does something impulsive whenever she feels bad. or she writes. it’s fifty-fifty.

very organized, almost to the point of being anal.

very weird, abstract, neo-dadaist sense of humor. like stonks makes her wheeze.

she’s basically a big fuckin nerd okay???????????

usually very chill and relaxed, doesn’t get riled up too easily. it’s hard to tell when she’s having a panic attack because she just looks a little more zoned out than usual.

cannot fucking flirt like at all.

Big Virgin.

her guilty pleasure is watching compilations of fox news pundits railing on and on about how the ipswich girls was written to promote witchcraft and the lesbian agenda.

(also if you’re curious i put a summary of the ipswich girls here, even though its only bits and pieces but like if you’re curious. it’s basically the craft with fifteen-year-old girls, and also gayer. tw for suicide mention, brain damage and injuries. )

wanted connections.

fast friend. someone who she got along with immediately upon coming to new york.

childhood pen pal. i just think it’d be cute.

crush. ella flirts by gazing tenderly across the room.

philophobe. ella loves love, and this person doesn’t. for better or for worse, she’ll try to convince them otherwise.

bad influence. and she is very willing to be influenced.

wing(wo)man. she’s so bad at flirting please. somebody. anybody.

deja vu. a negative connection; someone ella can’t get comfy around bc they remind her of her childhood bully.

former dance rivals. ella used to do the competition circuit in ballet. she wasn’t particularly competitive, but her mom certainly was. probably a real dance moms situation.

#ten23.intro #panic attack tw #psychological abuse tw #eating disorder mention tw

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ebaeschnbliah · 5 years

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M O N S T E R S I N C

________________________________________________________________

... and it’s stunning similarities with Sherlock BBC

MONSTERS, INC is a computer-animated comedy from 2001, produced by Pixar Animation Studios and distributed by Walt Disney Pictures. A modern fairytale, so to speak. I stumbled across this movie by accident while researching the ‘221b door’ tag on my blog and found an old tweet from Arwel Wyn Jones (x) posted during the filming of Series Four. Watching the movie turned out to be quite the eye-opener. :)

It’s not so much the plot of that movie but rather certain images which remind me strongly of Sherlock BBC. A lot of images, to be precise, but also some dialogues and one distinct voice. Watching MONSTERS, INC really left me speechless at times.

Related posts: The Monsters are loose (initially I’d chosen to name this post ‘Monsters Inc’ but that was before I watched the movie) Overlaps Playing with skulls (soon) Laughs or Screams, additional informations

The ‘monster post’ is waiting below the cut for the fearless …. :))))

For anyone who hasn’t seen the movie: MONSTERS, INC mostly plays in Monstropolis, a city in a parallel universe. The only places where the monster- and the human-world can connect, are the closet doors in children’s beedrooms. Here skilled monsters - the ‘scarers’ - appear at night to harvest the screams of terrified kids. Just like in the human world, the majority of the monsters aren’t evil, nor mean they any harm to the children. Monsters are actually more scared of human kids than the kids are of them. The harvested screams are badly needed because they provide the energy which is necessary to power the monster’s world. And because children are constantly becoming less easily scared, the screams decrase more and more, which means that an energie krisis threatens.

Initially the storyline for MONSTERS, INC had been a different one though:

Pete Docter's (director and writer) original idea revolved around a 30-year old man dealing with monsters, which he drew in a book as a child, coming back to bother him as an adult. Each monster represented a fear he had and conquering those fears caused the monsters to eventually disappear. (X)

The logo of MONSTERS, INC, the powerstation where screams are harvested to light the Monster’s world, combines the symbol of the eye and the letter M. I simply can’t help unsee a certain similarity with the logo for TheGameIsNow. That’s quite thought provoking, to say the least.

The two leading characters in the monster world are scarer James P. "Sulley" Sullivan and his best friend and roommate Mike Wazowski, who is also his assistant at work. A big blue, fluffy guy wearing horns and a short, one-eyed, green guy who prefers to sit in a green egg-chair …. a bit similar to the one from the stagnight scene inTSOT.

Sulley holds the top position among all the scarers of Monstropolis. With military-like training Mike takes care that his friend stays in best form.

Hey! Less talk, more pain, marshmallow boy! Feel the burn! You call yourself a monster?

The most successful scarers are celebrated like stars. Everyone knows them. They can’t go anywhere without being recognized and asked for autographs. And when they enter their company it looks like a hero parade.

Future scarers have to undergo a special training in a high-tec simulation room. Here they are taught everything of importance, including the art of scaring children most efficiently in order to get the perfect scream.

Listen to the lady in front of the surveillance screens who teaches screaming (at 01.40) …. but beware … she sounds an awful lot like Eurus Holmes ….

youtube

And this is the big boss, the chairman of MONSTERS, INC … Mr. Waternoose. He is very proud of his job, which has been passed down through his family for three generations. He acts as Sulley’s mentor and holds great faith in him as a scarer. Additionally …. he reminds me very much of Mycroft in TAB.

The monsters believe that harvesting screams is enormously dangerous, because children are deemed to be toxic, that their touch could kill them. Agents of a special task force - the Child Detection Agency - are on constant alert to neutralize any contamination with objects belonging to the human world.

As soon as anything suspicious has been detected, the ‘big bad bouncy red alert’ goes off, cameras zoom in and then CDA agents enter right through the skylights to take care of the problem. Like AGRA in Tiblisi , really! I couldn’t help a yelp watching this little scene below ….

And then ..... shaved by AGRA … sorry, by CDA, of course …. :))))

The day comes, however, when the unimaginable happens and a human child enters the monster world. And Sulley, the most famous scarer of all, is almost scared to death. I’m really tempted to call this an ‘Eurus-efffect’ ...

Thankfully, Sulley also has a heart of pure gold. He overcomes his fear - a little bit - and takes the human child home. His partner Mike is definitely not amused but helps anyway. Courageously, the friends prepare for the worst case scenario ...

Sulley, the Viking, with shield and horned helm and Mike, who seems to have ransacked the kitchen Cabinet instead. The little ‘killer-girl’ though is completely unimpressed ...

The evening starts rather chaotic, which results in some remarkable accidents … I guess I know now where the idea of shoving a big pack of cigarettes into Sherlock’s mouth comes from …. and maybe Sherlock’s spraying attack on the CIA agent in ASIB as well.

Finally the situation calms down. Sulley beginns to supect that human kids might not be toxic after all. The little girl has a real crush on the fluffy, blue monster. She believes Sulley is a big cat and starts calling him ‘Kitty’. Looks like ‘killer girl’ is a cat lover. :) Against Mike’s advice, Sulley decides to give the girl a name as well. He settles for ‘Boo’ because she likes nothing more than to scare him.

And Boo likes to draw …. Spoiler: Boo doesn’t burn down the house.

Eventually Boo gets tired. A trace of goodies (not breadcrumbs) leads the little girl to bed.

By the way: The book based on the film gives Boo's "real" name as Mary Gibbs, the name of her voice actress. (x)

The architecture of Mike’s and Sulley’s flat … the wide arch in the living room and in Sulley’s bedroom (Mike’s bedroom is never shown) … instantly reminded me of the very similar structure chosen for the 221b Baker Street livingroom set in PILOT.

What would any fairytale be without a good old-fashioned villain. In this case it’s a villain who looks suspiciously like a Chinese dragon. And naturally, where there is a dragon there needs to be a dragon slayer as well.

Randall, the dragon-like monster is one of the most wicked characters in Monstropolis. He works as scarer but holds only the second place on the company’s success-list behind Sulley. Randall’s envy is huge. He is driven by his desire to displace his opponent from the top of the list. One can safely say that ‘murderous jealousy’ is a good description of Randall’s motivation. But his plan to capture the all-time scare record, only scratches the surface of his sinister agenda.

But before it comes to the ‘slaying’, the nasty reptile tries to torture Mike, to find out where the missing human child is hiding.

Randall: SAY HELLO TO THE SCREAM EXTRACTOR! (Jim in TAB: Well, say hello to the virus.)

This is what Randall has created in a secret lab to prevent the looming energy crisis of his world … a machine to harvest the screams of children by force and not through the acting skills of trained scarers. Mike’s unimpressed answer to this realisation:

Mike: WELL, SOMEBODY'S CERTAINLY BEEN A BUSY BEE (Mycroft in TEH: You have been busy, haven’t you? Quite the busy little bee.)

That’s not a joke … and the way down to the secret lab looks strikingly familiar as well ...

Needless to say that Sulley arrives just in time to rescue his friend … but that’s not the end of the story and also not the end of similarities with Sherlock BBC.

Some nice little images in-between: a fish mobile from Boo’s bedroom in which Sulley gets tangled up in, a toy train, a toy ship and a toy plane from the high-tech simulation room. Rater similar items can be detected in Sherlock BBC as well (TST, MHR and TFP). Especially the plane reminds me of the one Eurus’ plays with near the brook.

More familiar images:

the prominent display of the letter M - often in combination with an eye

a precious littel thing ... Boo, who wears pink underneath her disguise as monster, hides in a bin

a rather ‘big G’ painted on a wall

And there are eyes wherever one looks ...

Even contact lenses can be found ...

Mike’s love interest is a lady with hissing snakes for hairs, who works as receptionist in their company ….

At one point the hero’s life is threatened by a deep fall, caused by his opponent, Randall, the nasty ‘dragon’.

Seeing Sulley’s life threatened, Boo overcomes her fear of the reptile-like monster. She attacks him violently. This gives Sulley the time he needs to get out of the critical situation.

And WOW!!! What changeable creature this villain is ……. even Jim ‘I’m so changeable’ Moriarty would be inmpressed.

Randall’s exceptional talent for any kind of masquerade is also demonstrated in a little scene involving a portrait of the company’s chairman, Mr. Waternoose.

The face of a chairman, covered by something related to a dragon … this reminds me instantly of TBB and Sir William, the former chairman of the bank, whose face had been covered with the yellow spray-paint, applied by a member of the Yellow Dragon Circus.

To their dismay, Sulley and Mike discover that Randall isn’t just a jealous colleague. What is far worse, the changeable villain doesn’t work alone. His partner in cirme turns out to be none other than Mr. Waternoose, the big boss of the company. The two of them intend to use Boo for their experiments with the scream extractor, while Sulley and Mike get banished from Monstropolis and are sent into exile .. to the Himalayas. No return expected.

There is no plane involved as in Sherlock’s case, but strictly speaking, the way in which the ‘sending into exile’ happens, can indeed be seen as a variation of ‘flyihg’ …

Snow falls at the place where they land, somewhere in the Himalayan mountains.

While the Himalayas, more precisely Tibet, is closely connected to Sherlock’s hiatus after Reichenbach, the falling snow can also be found in TAB, the place Sherlock finds himself in, as a result of his ‘going into exile’ at the end of HLV … London in the winter 1895.

And it doesn’t take long before the dark shadow of a scary creature falls over them … a seemingly monstrous creature which is covered all over in ‘bridal white’ fur ….

May I introduce you to …. Yeti, the ABOMINABLE snowman!

"ABOMINABLE"! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? DO I LOOK ABOMINABLE TO YOU? WHY CAN'T THEY CALL ME THE ADORABLE SNOWMAN OR...OR THE AGREEABLE SNOWMAN, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD? I'M A NICE GUY.

He is really a very nice guy and helps Sulley and Mike to get back where they came from and where they are badly needed by Boo. Randall is not amused but this time it is him who looses the game.

Yeti’s nickname was inspired by the Abominable Snowman from the 1964 animated special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (X). Knowing this, one could view that bridal-white character also as a sort of Christmas connection. :))))

And have I mentioned those horns?

Some more lovely images: a shot from the inside out of a small box (without a severed head in it though), no fire-extinguisher but it looks like one, silhouettes behind glass, safety helmets (X) and ... flickering screens ….

At the story’s finale, the simulation room from the beginning - a bedroom on a stage with a ‘fake’ victim lying in it and with a moving wall - I’m not kidding - becomes the ‘confession room’ for the main culprit. And of course, every word of his confession gets recorded. Somehow this reminds me strongly of another scene … another film … what was it again? It’s on the tip of my tongue ….

It turns out that chairman Waternoose had already been under close observation by CDA undercover agent 001 - code name Roz (not AMO). An elderly, quite steely lady, who turns out to be his superior. Waternoose gets arrested and Sulley becomes the new chairman of MONSTERS, INC.

Now the time has come for Boo to return to the human world. Sulley takes the little girl back through the closet door into her room, where they part after a big good-bye hug.

Then the closet door which leads to her bedroom gets shredded, to prevent any future contact. But Boo’s short visit to the monster world had a huge impact. It proved that a child's laugh has ten times the power of a child's scream. The energy crisis of Monstropolis is solved. From now on laughter is harvested instead of screams and the power generated this way, is enormous. Mike turns out to be best harvester for laughs ever.

Because Mike knows how much Sulley misses the little human girl, he collects and secretly reassembles the pieces of Boo's shredded door so that it can be activated again.

The End

The song "If I Didn't Have You" won the Academy Award for Best Original Song.

Mike: ♪ But I must admit it. Big guy, you always come through. I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have you. ♪ Mike and Sulley: ♪ You and me together. That's how it always should be. One without the other don't mean nothin' to me. Nothin' to me. ♪

Sulley: ♪ I don't have to say it. 'Cause we both know it's true.♪ Both: ♪ I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have... I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have... I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have you. ♪ Mike: ♪ You! You! A-E-I-O... That means you. Yeah. ♪

And doesn’t this almost sound like …. ‘just the two of us against the rest of the world’?

Hopefully you enjoyed the rather long ride. I can highly recommend this movie to anyone. It’s so much more fun watching it with ones own eyes than just reading a summary. This said, I leave you now to your own deductions. Thanks for reading that far. :)

August, 2019

#monsters inc #images #comparison #sherlock bbc #similarities

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

Text

Concrete Angel (Dean x Reader)

Title: Concrete Angel

Summary: Dean sees the evil in humans

Warnings: Abuse

Dean was fourteen, Sam was ten. Bobby took them to the park, to let them be kids. Sam wanted to go on the curly slide over and over again. Dean thought he was cool, running up the see-saw and balancing on it. His third time of doing it, Bobby yelled at him to get down. Dean grumbled about it and made his way down. As he jumped off the equipment, he glanced over to a fountain in the middle of the park. A girl was sitting there by herself, reading a book. The angel in the middle of the fountain seemed to be watching over her.

“Watchya readin’?” Dean asked. The girl jumped, startled, and looked up at Dean.

“A book.” She mumbled, burying her nose back into it.

“I see that.” Dean said. “What is the book about?”

“First Aid.” She told him.

“Do you want to be a nurse?” Dean asked.

“Something like that.” She said.

“I’m Dean.” Dean said, sitting right next to her. She moved over a bit.

“I’m (Y/n).” She said, eyes not leaving the book.

“Do you want to go play? The swings look like fun.” Dean told her. She sighed and put her book down. She had to be out of the house anyway. “I bet my uncle would watch your book, in case you’re worried about someone snatching it.”

“Well, okay…” (Y/n) said. Dean led her over to Bobby, who was sitting on bench, watching Sam go down the slide again.

“Uncle Bobby, this is (Y/n). Can she leave her book with you?” Dean asked. Bobby looked up at the girl.

“(Y/n)? I knew your mom back in the day.” Bobby said with a smile. “I remember when you were born.” He saw her cheeks turn pink. “I’ll watch your book for you.” (Y/n) handed over the book she had borrowed from the library and went with Dean to the bigger equipment. Bobby looked down at the book. That was heavy reading for a thirteen year old, hunter or not. He looked up at her. She looked so much like her mother.

****

(Y/n) was out of the house a lot. There were a couple weeks that Dean and Sam stayed with Bobby during the summer, and Dean saw her a lot. She would be out from the morning until it was getting dark.

“Why don’t I walk you home?” Fifteen year old Dean asked (Y/n). She was not quite a year younger than him, but it was enough that he felt protective of her.

“No!” (Y/n) said. “No. It’s okay.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for the offer though.” Dean raised an eyebrow in concern. They were at the park. It was getting ready to close and the police would be driving through to make the lingering teenagers go home.

It was that night by the angel fountain that (Y/n) and Dean kissed for the first time. They had been friends for awhile, and it was just natural when they kissed. (Y/n) raced home after, and Dean rode the bike Bobby let him use.

“Dean’s got a crush!” Sam teased him that night as they set down to eat together.

“Do not!” Dean shot back.

“Do too! Dean and (Y/n), sitting in a tree!” Sam laughed.

“Boys.” Bobby grumbled. “Dean, (Y/n) is a nice girl, but that daddy of her’s is a mean one. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay Bobby.” Dean said.

When Dean came back to Bobby’s over the Thanksgiving holiday, he saw (Y/n) in the store with her arm in a cast and lingering bruises peeking out from under her shirt. She was pushing a cart the best she could.

“(Y/n).” Dean gasped. “What happened?” (Y/n) tensed a little at the sound of her friend’s voice. She was hoping he wouldn’t be coming back into town before everything had a chance to heal.

“Car accident.” She said, but Dean could tell by the way she avoided eye contact that she was lying. “What are you doing here?”

“Thanksgiving with Bobby. He insisted.” Dean told her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine but I have to hurry.” She said. He noticed the trouble she was having pushing the ancient shopping cart, so he took over, grabbing the things Bobby had sent him to get and helping her get her stuff.

“Oh no.” She whispered. “I only have a twenty…” He saw her trembling as she tried to figure out what to put back. She was only a dollar or two over.

“Keep your money.” Dean said. Bobby had given him some allowance anyway. He paid for everything and separated her stuff out in different bags.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She told him.

“Nonsense. What are friends for?” He smiled at her. “I’ll see you before I leave, right?”

“Hopefully.” (Y/n) said.

****

Dean and Sam came back from time to time, and Dean saw (Y/n) as much as he could. He noticed the questionable bruises and the way she would dodge when he asked. After Sam went to college though, he didn’t come around as much as he should have. And that’s where his regret started to take shape. Because the next time he went to Bobby’s, his surrogate family looked sad.

“Dean.” Bobby said. The twenty-four year old looked at the older hunter. “You remember (Y/n)?”

“Of course. I was just going to ask you if she was still in town. I wanted to see her.” Dean said with a happy smile that Bobby didn’t return.

“Dean, she’s at Sioux Falls General. I think we should go over there.”

****

Her skin was so pale compared to the patchwork of bruises all over her. Her arm was wrapped in a cast again, as were a couple of her fingers. She was hooked up to a ventilator, helping her breath through all the damage. Her eyes were closed, like she was just sleeping. Dean kept staring through the window.

“When she turned eighteen, she asked me if she could make me contact on her record.” Bobby told Dean. “She was still living at home. Last week, she decided to tell her dad that she was moving out and going to college. If it wouldn’t have been for me visiting her neighbor…”

“He dad did this?” Dean asked. “But…”

“He apparently had been doing this for awhile.” Bobby told him. “Doctors aren’t sure if she’ll wake up. They’re afraid the damage to her brain was too much. And if she does wake up…” Bobby stopped talking as Dean ran off. “Dean!”

****

Dean went to the park. He wasn’t sure why he did, why he wasn’t tracking down her dad to beat him. But, since Bobby had been there, Dean was sure that her dad had been taken care of. But she had to pay the price.

He found himself at that old fountain with the angel standing there, watching over everyone.

“I know there’s nobody out there listening,” Dean began. “But someone has to help her. She’s been so damn strong for so long and she shouldn’t have to be. She needs some help. She shouldn’t have to pretend she’s made of stone and nothing will hurt her. Somebody needs to remember she’s human.” He closed his eyes. “If someone will help her, I will make sure nothing ever hurts her again.”

He stayed there for awhile, just thinking about things. How had he not noticed this sooner? He had, but he didn’t do anything. He was starting to feel worse and worse about himself until his phone rang. Bobby’s name popped up on the screen.

“Bobby?” Dean asked.

“Dean, you need to get over here. Now.”

****

Bobby had gone to the cafeteria when Dean ran out. He needed coffee. As he stepped out of the room and walked away, someone walked up next to (Y/n)’s bed.

“Hi (Y/n).” The man with curly hair said, a smile on his face. “I know I haven’t answered your prayers sooner, but I’ve heard them all and I’m here to answer them now.” He smiled and placed a hand on her forehead. “You and Dean have a bigger picture to play. So we can’t have you slipping away from him.” His hand glowed then, healing the internal damage. The external would heal on its own, but the brain needed a little extra help.

“I’ll be seeing you again.” He said before he disappeared.

(Y/n)’s eyes snapped open then and she struggled to breathe around the ventilator, but a nurse was running in to save the day. Bobby stood there, staring with wide eyes. He immediately called Dean. Dean was quick getting back, worry and fear painted on his face until he saw her sitting up, sipping on some water.

“What? How?” Dean asked Bobby.

“I don’t know Dean. I wish I did.” He motioned for him to go in. “Go on.” Dean made his way in. (Y/n) looked up at him and tears filled her eyes, but she reached for him. He was there, trying to be gentle around her bruised body.

“I’m so sorry.” Dean whispered. “I should have done something a long time ago.”

“It’s okay Dean.” She said. “You can’t protect everyone all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to protect you. That’s a promise.” He wasn’t letting her get hurt every again. And for that, among other things, she fell in love with him, just like she had when she was fourteen.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @feelmyroarrrr @marvel-af @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tags: @luciathewinchestergirl @sheris532 @bobasheebaby @bella-ca

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories

#dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #supernatual #jensen ackles #abuse #protective!dean

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yourmandevine · 5 years

Text

Come on, come on, come on: get through it

NOTE: A lot of people who have read this have shared their condolences and well wishes, which is really nice. Some have also asked if there was anything they could do for Sean’s family, which is amazing. If you’re able and feel moved to, there is: There’s a college fund for Winnie. Thanks to everyone who has reached out.

***

One of the best friends I’ll ever have died on November 29, after a fight with cancer. He was 36, and he leaves a wife and a young daughter, all of which is an infuriating sin. I’ve been trying to find a way to sit with that. I’m not sure how well I’ve been doing.

I gave the eulogy at his funeral mass. Whenever I’ve talked to people about that, they have apologized to me, have said they were so sorry that I got asked to do that, that I had to do that. It’s weird: I never looked at it like that.

I feel so lucky that I got to know Sean Enos-Robertson -- to really know him, what he cared about, what he loved, what made him so special. You rarely get to know anybody like that, and when you do, sometimes you don’t wind up liking what you see. That never happened with Sean; he was a font of joy, someone who lived to make the lives of others just a little bit better. His wife asked me if I’d write something down and talk to people about this beautiful, amazing person I was so lucky to know. That wasn’t a burden. It was a privilege. An honor.

And now, a few weeks later, as I’m trying to figure out how to process this, I keep thinking that I’d like to share that.

You guys won’t get to know Sean, which is so, so decidedly your loss. But maybe this lets you know how much he meant to me, to us, and to so many other people, and it makes you think about the people who mean this much to you. And maybe you tell them.

Maybe you tell them while you have the chance, because telling people you care about them, and who they are in your life, and why you love who they are full stop is one of the best things there is, and there’s never a wrong time for it so long as it’s before the end. I got to tell Sean how I felt before he died, and I got to tell his family, and his friends, and his students -- my God, his students -- and now I’m telling you. Sean Enos-Robertson was brilliant, the best, a light in a lot of lives. I miss him, and I love him, and I always will. Here’s why.

***

Hello, everybody. My name is Dan Devine, and I'm a friend of Sean's. I am a friend of Sean's. I'm not going to use the past tense for that; it didn't stop being true last Thursday, and it's never going to.

On behalf of Courtney and Winnie, and of the Robertson and Enos families, I'd like to thank you for being here. In a broad sense, Sean believed in community: in the power of people uniting for a common good. More specifically, Sean believed in love. He loved his family — his wife and daughter, his parents and in-laws, his brother and grandmother. He loved his friends. He loved his students and colleagues. He loved the people he leaned on, and who leaned on him — those of us here today, and many others who couldn't make it, but are sharing their love, and our grief.

Sean was one of my favorite people. He was magnetic. He was invigorating. He was cool as hell.

Sean radiated. He was a candle: someone who lit up and warmed every room he walked into, every person whose life he touched. This ... this is a tough room to light up. So we're going to have to do it together.

Before we do it, though, I want to acknowledge a hard truth I've been sitting with, and that you might be sitting with, too. It is deeply, impossibly unfair that Sean is gone — that he was taken from us so soon. Too soon. Way, way, WAY too soon. That's real, and it's OK to feel that.

In my better moments, though, I can set that aside and make room for gratitude — that Sean walked into my life in the first place, that I got as much time with him as I did, and that I got so much exposure to such a shining example of how to love.

There's a song by Tom Petty that I really love called "Walls." There's a line in the chorus that goes, "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town." That was Sean. Sean loved openly, fearlessly, completely — he hugged like you could win medals for it. He loved with everything he had, with his whole body. And if you don't believe that, then you never saw my man dance.

He loved music, and especially sharing it — I don't think anybody made me more mix CDs to try to put me onto something that I hadn't heard. (I'm pretty sure I have about five different "best of Blur" mixes. Sean really loved Blur.)

youtube

I met Sean at Providence College in the fall of 2000, right near the start of our freshman year. I'd seen him around at meetings for people who wanted to apply for shows on the college radio station, WDOM, but we didn't become friends right away. I know exactly when that happened: October 29, 2000. (I looked it up.)

That night, Mike Doughty, the singer from Soul Coughing, played a solo show at the Met Cafe in downtown Providence. I took the PC shuttle downtown by myself to catch the show, and somewhere around the weird acoustic cover of "Real Love" by Mary J. Blige, I saw that tall, skinny dude again. We awkwardly sidled up to one another to watch the show, and wound up walking back to campus together. We talked about bands and school and the station and whatever else two 18-year-olds talk about, all the way back home, and that was that. From that moment on, that was my man.

We hung out a lot, as evidenced by the staggering number of old photos I've looked through recently in which one or both of us had extremely tragic haircuts, facial hair, or sideburns. We lived together for two wonderful years in an awful apartment in Cranston, R.I.

The first year, we lived with our friend Todd. We had two parking spots for three cars, so one of us would always be blocking somebody in. Whenever it was time for the blocked-in person to get out, he'd ask, "Are you behind me?" And always, every time, Sean would answer, "100 percent, man."

It was this small, dumb thing, but it always made me laugh. Sean was really good at that.

We learned how to be adults together, finishing school and trying to figure out how to pursue our passions. After searching a little, Sean found his. In 2007, he took a job teaching history to middle schoolers at Harlem Academy. He shared with scores of students his belief in civic responsibility, in actively engaging with our nation's past, in interrogating history to learn about how we got where we are and how we might make decisions about our future. He loved teaching, and he was incredible at it. In 2016, the Gilder-Lehrman Institute of American History named him the New York State History Teacher of the Year, and they don't just give that out.

Sean's commitment to his students went beyond the classroom. I got a much clearer picture of that when Courtney sent me a note she received after his passing from one of his students, sharing both condolences and her memory of Mr. Robertson as someone who "would always reach out to me when he thought I needed it." One day, in eighth grade, this student confided in Sean that she thought she wanted to be an artist. She braced for stereotypical adult dismissal, the classic speech about "getting a real job."

Instead, she got a giant smile and an inspiring conversation about Courtney's job as a graphic designer, about that being a real path, and about how she might be able to realize her dream. Courtney invited her to visit her job to see firsthand how it was done, and that it could be done. She's kept that dream throughout high school, and now into college, thanks in part to Sean's willingness to listen, to care, and to open his life to a student in need. I'm willing to bet there are a lot more stories like that.

The student concluded her note with a beautiful sentiment: "I pray that you and Winnie and the rest of Mr. Robertson's family and friends are able to find peace and comfort, and I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy, because I genuinely think that's what he would want." I think she's exactly right. Sean wanted to lift people's spirits, to lighten their moods; on the day he invited some of us Brooklyn friends over to tell us that his fight was coming to an end, he kept moving back and forth among playlists of incidental music, setting a soundtrack to hum underneath all the laughs and tears and reminiscing. Even then, dude was still DJing.

We learned how to be somebody's partner, and eventually somebody's husband, together. Sean met Courtney in 2002, and as I remember it, he knew very, very quickly that he'd hit the jackpot. I'm sure that they had their share of tough times over the years, especially recently, but they always seemed immensely supportive of one another. Their love, from the outside, always seemed easy, in that way that let you know it was right, secure for the long haul.

Something Sean and I had in common, and that I've always felt grateful for, is that we always knew our magnetic north. Everything in our life oriented around the person we wanted to spend it with, and wherever work or school or whatever tossed us, we could always go back to that, back to our person, and get pointed in the right direction. Courtney was his compass, his best reason for doing everything.

When they were going to get married, Sean asked me to stand up with him as his best man, and to give a toast. I dug that toast out of a box last week, and here's the part that matters: "I think that all guys — the honest ones, at least — will admit that the women in our lives do a lot of the heavy lifting in helping us become decent, valuable men. And this is no exception [...] When Sean called to tell me that he and Courtney had gotten engaged, the first thing I remember thinking is, 'They deserve each other.'"

Their time together deserved a better ending than this. But what came before — the 16 years of knowing this great a love was possible, the nine years of marriage, the two and a half years of Winnie's life? That was exactly what they deserved.

Courtney is one of the strongest, fiercest, most remarkable people I've ever met — a woman who has faced unimaginable challenges and kept putting one foot in front of the other. I can't fathom what today is like for you, Courtney, but I want you to know: we are going to be awesome for you and Winnie right now. And tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with us.

We learned how to be fathers together. Sean was there for me when my Siobhan was born, ready to cradle this tiny thing in his arms and envelop us with love, and to look me in my bloodshot, frantic eyes and let me know that I didn't have to be OK, because I was never going to be alone with it all. I wanted to do the same for him when Winnie was born, but Sean never seemed to need it. He was just ready: all open arms and full heart and perfect love.

Winnie is amazing, and brave, and funny, just like her dad. She's one of my favorite people, too, and I ache for her. But I'm also so grateful that there are so many people who will line up to tell her just how fantastic her father was. She will always know how special he was, and how special she was to him, and how much he loved her. We'll make sure of that. It might be the most important thing any of us do once we leave here today.

This hurts. This is hard. It's not supposed to go like this. But we don't get to make these kinds of choices. All we can do is deal with the fallout.

I'd ask you to remember the words of Sean's student: "I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy." Sean Enos-Robertson spent 36 years doing everything he could to bring peace and joy to everybody he met. Sean loved with his whole soul, and we can do that, too. We can do that for him. Let's be candles. Let's radiate.

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ghostofvixx · 5 years

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You can’t lie |LJN|

@softyn → ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You now that I'm absolute trash for Jeno ùwú. And I was wondreinggg if I could request a scenario where Jeno and the reader are secretly dating and another member (who ships them a lot actually) found the relationship👀 Hehe ily queen💓

A/n: I hope you like it bub, tysm for requesting, I know I can always count on you❤️.

***

If you could define Jeno with a word, it would be ‘sweetheart’. His smile can take you to another world, his voice, doesn’t matter what he’s doing, can make you feel the famous butterflies, he could be one of the best people you’ve ever met.

And he is your boyfriend.

When you first met him, you both were trainees. You developed a little crush on him, but since he was very popular among girls -and boys too- you thought it was going to stay like that. Then the “you are just a teammate” became a “we are definitely friends!”.

And, of course, your crush wasn’t just a physical crush, but something deeper and more meaningful.

Then the day came, a week right after San Valentine’s day. You had received an anonymous letter, where that person confessed their feelings, you definitely wasn’t expecting it to be Jeno. When the following week he waited for you right after practising, he admitted to have sent it and began dating right after that.

You consider your relationship with Jeno almost perfect. Almost, because you must keep it a secret if you don’t want to be kicked out and have a stain in your reputation.

You like to think that you’re doing a good job since every time you want to have a date, you hide yourselves and nobody knows it’s you. But, the thing you are proudest of is that you have been able to distract his own friends.

“Come on y/n, admit it, you two are dating.” Hyuk said one day, his hand pressed against his cheek.

Everyone but Jeno nodded in agreement.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you guys, but I actually have a boyfriend outside the company, and I love him, a lot.”

When everyone had turned around, you looked at Jeno, eyes sparkling as always, he gave you his typical eyesmile, letting you know that he took the hint.

After that everyone stopped telling you things. Everyone but Na Jaemin.

“Y/n and Jeno should practise this together! They have a great chemistry!” or “Y/n drop your boyfriend and start dating Jeno, listen to me, he would be a great boyfriend, I’m telling you he’s so-.” or even “Hell yeah! You should get married!”

You were worried, how can somebody be so persistent? Maybe he knows something? In the end, you got to the conclusion that it’s just Na Jaemin, everyone took it as a joke, why shouldn’t you?

“Babe, can you stop looking around all the time and relax?” Jeno asks you in what would be your fifth date.

You barely have time to yourselves, so when you finally have a day off training, you like to spend some time together, and then, with your respective families.

“It’s just... I don’t want to get caught you know? Besides, I’m sure Jaemin knows something.”

“He doesn’t, seriously. You know him, right? He just likes to joke around. Besides, everyone thinks he’s just joking so we can calm down.”

“Fine, I’ll listen to you, I guess you’re ri-.” You suddenly stop talking when you hear something behind you from between the fake bushes that are all around the shopping centre. You wouldn’t have paid attention if you were in another part, but you normally chose the least crowded hallways so it’s not the usual thing. “Did you hear that?”

He has, because your boyfriend isn’t even looking at you. He just keeps looking at those bushes, slowly approaching them a few seconds later.

“What the hell are you doing here Jaemin?”

Out of all the things you would have expected, Na Jaemin dressed in black, with black sunglasses and hidden behind the bushes wasn’t even an option.

“I just- I- well, you see. This boy and I suspected that you were dating, so I decided to check it with my own eyes, but these bushes are so annoying, I mean, I can’t even move them because they fall from their place.” He motions to the floor where a flower pot stand is. That was the sudden noise.

“What do you mean that you and a boy suspected it? Why did you have to follow us Jaems?“ Jeno asks, looking a bit angry.

“Jeno, you are changing the subject, why don’t we focus on these bushes? What can we do about them?”

“Jaemin.“ You interfere, noticing that your boyfriend bites his lips way too much.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but I just wanted to check! You weren’t going to tell us by yourselves, obviously.“

“Jaemin, if somebody sees we are dating, they could kick us out, and we don’t want to through that only because we actually love eachother.” You explain.

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise, I’ll even lie to this kid and stop joking around.”

“No, don’t do that. Knowing our friends, they could find it suspicious.“

Jeno looks at you, to see if you agree with him, so you nod in agreement.

”How did you find it out though?” Jeno asks. “I thought we were doing a good job.”

“Jeno, you can lie to a lot of people, but not your best friend. Besides, the only thing I had to do was keep looking when everyone had turned around.” He winks at Jeno, trying to avoid another awkward situation. “Well now if you excuse me, I have a fake bushes thing to solve, I’ll let you enjoy your, apparently, date”

He hasn’t even turned around when Jeno calls his name one more time.

“Jaemin wait! Who’s that kid who thinks the same way as you do?”

“Ah! Him! Well, it’s just Jisung.“

“Park Jisung?“ Jeno and you ask at the same time, puzzled to hear the youngest’s name.

“Ah couples are beautiful aren’t they?“ He sighs and then proceeds to explain. “I don’t know why you are so surprised, he may be younger and shy, but he’s intelligent and knows what happens around him.” He shrugs his shoulders and, after saying goodbye for the last time, he leaves.

“We can trust him, right?” You ask Jeno once Jaemin is nowhere to be seen.

“Of course we can, he’s my best friend after all. I still need to talk to him, though.” He then places his right arm around your shoulders. “Let’s just enjoy our date by the moment.”

“Right. Do you want to go to the cinema to forget all this for a while?”

“Sounds like a nice plan.”

#lee jeno #nct jeno #nct dream #nct au #nct scenario #request #requested #uwu queen

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jadewing-realms · 6 years

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“I know you do.”

OKAY so. This is technically a transition from Fictober to Kacchako Bittersweet Week. I’ll be kinda consolidating the KBSW prompts with the Fictober ones to make things interesting. I’m still technically writing within this same crossover universe just to keep things simpler, though, so while I’ll just be focusing on Kacchako till the end of the week, there will also be references to the rest of this alternate universe, just so I stay in the same headspace. TuT

Now enjoy some angsty Bakugou!

~P.J.

What the actual living f*** is Katsuki even doing here?

Last year, he and everybody else in 2-A had been in crisis mode. It was the year of this S*** Hits the Fan, when it seemed like everything that could go wrong did. And now… now they’re just fine with it? They’re just moving on? Uchiha Sasuke screwed them all over, but he’s back now so obviously that’s supposed to be fine. Jurou’s still in prison, thank everything, and that shark dude’s in the wind and hasn’t been heard from for months. And this guy… this man standing right in front of him messed up Katsuki’s head so bad, his mom sent him to therapy. An actual shrink. Post-traumatic stress or whatever. He still has nightmares about fingers tearing his ribs from his body one by one.

It’s hard not to flinch now whenever Izanami—no… whenever Uchiha Itachi’s hands come too close. Even if on a conscious level, Katsuki understands this is just a lesson.

He’s starting to get comfortable in the Uchihas’ backyard, though. Slowly. It’s fenced in, private, decently green, is great for hosting BBQ picnics in the summer… everything you’d expect from a quaint suburban home. It’s become a regular hangout at this point, every Thursday evening. It just so happens to be housing an ex-murderer though. That’s all.

An ex-murderer who’s committed to teaching a handful of high school kids how he became one of the most feared assassins in the country.

Katsuki swears, if anybody reports this and they all get pounded, he’s going to enact double the pain on whoever blabbed, because he wants to milk this opportunity for everything it’s worth, no matter his mental problems. Once he’s done here, he’ll be f***ing unstoppable. It’s exactly what he needs. If he can combine sick skills like Izanami’s—urgh, like Itachi’s—with his already-exceptional battle prowess… h***, he’ll be the greatest beast to ever graduate from their school.

He could take on the world and nothing could stop him.

His right arm twists forward, a foot sweeps behind his ankle, and quite suddenly, he’s sprawled on his back in the grass, bones aching from the impact.

Merciless b*****d.

Said b*****d is now poised over him, a knee on his diaphragm and hand over his jugular, pinning him with a weight no one would expect from the man’s stature. The guy’s a twig—doesn’t help he was apparently sick for years and then comatose for like, two weeks at some point—but Katsuki knows if he tries to move, that lithe frame will coil around him like a boa and either lock a limb, threatening to break it, or suffocate him. Neither is an appealing option.

So with a curse muttered through clenched teeth, Katsuki taps out. Regrettably. For the seventh time.

Itachi—ugh, it’s weird to think of using the guy’s first name, but it becomes a bit difficult when there are two Uchihas around to keep track of—doesn’t linger longer than he has to. With an air of professional grace, he removes himself from Katsuki’s person and takes three steps back, giving him more than plenty of breathing room to recover himself. Katsuki slowly sits up with a groan, rolling his shoulders, which are sore from all the times they’ve been slammed into the unforgiving ground.

At least he hasn’t left a crater like Kirishima.

The others all gave up after three or four attempts. Apparently they’d had enough for today. Humiliation is a part of this training though, of course, so giving up now just means more of it next week. Katsuki would prefer to get it all over with as soon as possible. The more he suffers now, the faster he’ll improve.

Still. There’s an atmosphere of quiet excitement radiating from where the rest his peers are gathered, just across the lawn. His gaze sweeps past the well-tended flower beds and minimalistic black railing, and to his embarrassment, they zero in on Uraraka first. She, Iida, and Deku have taken up various displays of Lazy over on the porch, where some outdoor furniture and extra lawn chairs are set up around a short table. She’s claimed the sofa for herself, sprawled out like a slob. A few feet away, Kaminari and Sero are ogling the grill over Ms. Uchiha’s shoulders while Sasuke tries to bully them away. Kirishima, Ashido, Big Lips, and Kangaroo seem to be helping Beauty Mark (he thought he heard something about her being an old Uchiha family friend?) hand out lemonade.

So domestic. It almost makes him wanna gag. But his gaze catches once more on that nut-brown bob and lingers a bit longer than it should, and despite still looking a bit flushed from the exercise, she’s practically f***ing glowing. She laughs at something somebody says, something he’s not paying attention to. The stab of jealousy is murdered by her grin before it can even take root, and before he knows it, he’s smiling a little.

Okay. So he may or may not have a different reason altogether for sticking to these humiliating lessons.

He can’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was the beginning of third year? No, maybe last year, when everything was going down and Deku was losing his s*** and she was the only person aside from Kirishima to ask what was wrong when seeing Jurou’s stupid mugshot on TV had made him uncharacteristically silent. She’s now among the three who know why he knows the real name of the Villain known to everyone else as Muscular. So yeah, maybe that’s it…

No… no, it was before that. If he’s honest, he can probably trace the beginnings of his respect and admiration for her all the way back to their first sports festival. When the fire in her eyes had harmonized with his, and she’d almost turned him into Swiss cheese with a hair-raising, mind-f***ing meteor shower of her own making. When she’d pushed herself to her limits, just to nearly push him to his in return. Just remembering it makes the back of his neck feel hot, the hair raise on his forearms.

G**, he’s such a sap. He needs to get a grip.

She made it abundantly clear last year that his little crush is not mutual. Just before she started dating that d*** nerd…

“You wanna know why, Bakugou? Because you think you deserve to get whatever you want. Including me. And I’m telling you no.”

Suddenly, somebody’s sitting beside him in the shade. He almost jumps, especially as he glimpses the face framed between long raven hair.

Iza— no, Itachi.

Swallowing the instinctive fear, Katsuki forces himself to look the man square in the face. After all, he’d just helped himself to Katsuki’s company. And Katsuki’s not about to give in to the wariness that shivers its way up his spin, just having the infamous ex-Villain so close. For a split second, he swears the man’s eyes are glowing, red as blood, but then he blinks and its gone. Katsuki darts his gaze over the small brace on Itachi’s ankle—the government-issued Quirk inhibitor—and makes his relief as subtle as possible. He keeps forgetting that thing’s there, specifically to make sure this powerful criminal doesn’t have an off day and decide to revert back to full-blow Psychopath.

Then Katsuki realizes he’s been looking long enough for it to classify as staring, and he tears his eyes away. Back to the crowd of classmates on the porch. Kirishima’s hoisted Kaminari over his shoulder and started parading him away from the grill, much to the blond’s discomfort, Sero’s amusement, and Sasuke’s relief. Ms. Uchiha just smiles, an understated and gentle expression—she looks startlingly like her eldest that way.

Her eldest, who still hasn’t said a word since he took a seat beside Katsuki. Katsuki glances at him, sidelong this time so as not to be obvious.

Despite his subtlety, Itachi turns without hesitation to meet his gaze and something in Katsuki’s chest hiccups, his brain fully prepared for those coal-colored eyes to light up at any moment. Adrenaline makes his palms heat. And yet, Itachi does nothing. Just looks. And smiles a little, like his mother.

Holy s***, he really, really looks like his mother. It’s the weirdest thing and Katsuki really has no idea what to do with this comparison. It freaks him out.

“You’re doing well,” Itachi says and this time, Katsuki really does jump. He wasn’t expecting the guy to actually speak. “You have keen instincts. Keep working on refining your execution, and your overall performance will increase exponentially.”

Katsuki scoffs. “If I was really ‘doing well,’ I wouldn’t be ending up on the ground all the time, now would I?”

No, his continuous string of defeats is just a testament to his weakness. He finds himself eyeing Uraraka once more, the way she beams at that f***ing nerd, and he has to look away again. She just reminds him of his greatest defeat…

“How you get somewhere is just as important as the destination itself,” Itachi recites. “Time passes faster than we’d like, and if we fixate on the distant Yet-To-Come, we find ourselves deprived of the Now.”

D*** if he doesn’t sound like a fortune cookie or something.

Katsuki sneers to himself. “The Now sucks. You got a point, Gandhi?”

He can feel Itachi’s eyes on him again. “It’s all right if you’re not where you want to be right now. You’re young. Set your own pace. Relish the journey as much as you do the reward.”

“Hah?” Katsuki drawls, turning a narrow-eyed glare in this wanna-be philosopher’s direction. Itachi’s ready to meet his gaze with a calm, steady one of his own and it’s almost enough to make Katsuki retreat, but he has something to say and he’s gonna say it! “You just said time passes fast! You’re contradicting yourself, a**hat!”

For a beat of silence, Itachi’s only response is a slow blink. His small smile returns, that small, almost secretive sort of amusement. Like the f***ing Mona Lisa or something. “I didn’t mean it quite that way, but. Life is a contradiction.”

“Bulls***!” Katsuki hunches, averting his gaze back to his classmates—to Uraraka. She looks so… happy. “Life is simple. You wake up every day, you fight like H*** to make something of yourself before the sun goes down and if you fail, you’re just trash. You shoot for the stars, otherwise what the f*** are we here for? And at the end of the day, if you haven’t reached your goals by your own strength, then you didn’t deserve them. You’re either a winner or a loser. End of story.”

S***, she’s moving over to Deku now. Sitting on his lap, curling up with her head on his shoulder…

“…what does that mean for you, Bakugou?” Itachi’s voice is calm. Soothing.

What kind of a question is that?

He opens his mouth to answer, to say that it means just what he said, only to find that once he stops to think, he has no words. It’s… actually a good question. By his own standards… Is he the winner? Or loser?

Two years ago, he would’ve insisted to the point of violence that he was, in fact, a winner. Only winners became Heroes. Only winners were the best. And if he couldn’t be the best when dozens of people said he was, then why was he even breathing? So he’d developed his fantasy, the idea that he was untouchable. Unbeatable.

He’s failed too many times now for that to be true. And he lost her to that speckle-faced suck-up, so… if Deku’s a lame-a** loser, what does that make Katsuki?

So what now? Does his definition of ‘winner’ just… change? Or is he nothing more than a B-list loser now?

He scowls at his own train of thought. F***ing traitor.

Stupid philosophy. He doesn’t want to think about this stuff.

Itachi seems to be awaiting an answer though. Katsuki has to think of something to say.

Watching Deku steal a kiss from Uraraka while they think nobody’s watching is rather distracting, though. Katsuki swallows the envious monster that’s trying to lodge in his throat.

“Can I ask something of you…?” Beside him, Itachi’s voice is lower now. Hesitant for the first time.

Katsuki glances over, if only to free himself of the haunting reality before him. “What now?” he grumbles.

“What’s your reason?” Itachi plucks a few finger-fulls of grass between his feet, absently.

He waits three seconds for clarification and, when it doesn’t come, he frowns. “My reason for what? Be more specific, Uchiha.”

“…for living, I suppose.” The reply is distant. Muted.

It ticks Katsuki off. So he snarls, “Because I was born, idiot.”

That actually makes the guy chuckle. It’s the oddest thing, because it’s a ridiculously boyish sound, despite the depth of Itachi’s voice. “Touché… Do you ever wonder, though, if it’s worth it all in the end?”

For a second, Katsuki can’t help but give Itachi a bemused sidelong look, because what the heck is he doing asking that kind of question to a high schooler? It’s not like Katsuki’s had the time or experience to figure out the meaning of life or any of that s***. Heck, he’s just trying to figure out if he’ll ever be able to have both his dream career and his dream girl.

Itachi hums. “Hm, I suppose that’s not quite what I mean…”

The f***, man, just say what you mean then!!

“You say that if you can’t reach your goals, it demerits you in some way. And what I mean to say is… whatever you’re sacrificing for the goals you envision… I guess only you can decide if it’s worth it when all is said and done.”

Sacrificing, huh?

B****, he’ll sacrifice everything if it means becoming the best of the best, proving to the world that Bakugou Katsuki will not be just another nobody. He refuses to fall into obscurity, refuses to leave behind nothing… and he tries not to look Uraraka’s way when he answers. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend to.”

Uchiha’s eyebrows twitch and yet even that gives nothing away about what’s actually going through his head. He just stares, like he can see straight through Katsuki’s eye sockets and into his soul. Feeling like somebody’s rifling through his brain just by looking at him makes Katsuki’s hackles raise, his body tense, and he glares a warning.

Stop it. This ain’t no peep show…

For a long time, Itachi says nothing. There’s a spell of blessed silence. Almost enough for Katsuki to let out a breath of relief.

Almost.

Then his companion finally speaks up again. “I don’t know you, no. But I like to think I know humanity… and you’re more human than you seem to think.”

F*** it.

What the h*** does this guy think he is, his shrink? He needs to shut up. He better, because Katsuki’s losing patience. He didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed or whatever the heck this creep’s trying to do, he came here to fight. He came here to win. He came to get stronger because he’s stumbled so many times over the last three years that at this point, he may as well be miles behind his classmates and it makes him f***ing sick!

Worst of all, while he trails at the back, Deku leads the pack and everybody follows him, praises him, loves him. And none more than the one person, aside from All Might, whose words and opinion of himself Katsuki had actually put stock in. He’d unwittingly given her the perfect ammunition to pronounce judgment on his soul. She judged him Unworthy, less than trash, set him back for months and now he’s f***ing pathetic because he can’t stop thinking about her. Because she was right, he’d screwed everything up, and he lost any chance he might’ve had because of it. Again!

A growl, feral and muffled behind clenched jaws, escapes his throat and then he blurts out despite himself, “I do my best, all right!? I work hard and keep my grades up, stay healthy, all that necessary s*** so I can do more than waste oxygen. What more is there, huh? What more am I supposed to do?” He rakes his fingers into his hair, grips it tightly in his fists and seethes, “I can’t do s*** I don’t f***ing know, so if I blow it all to H***, what can I do about it? It’s already done, so the end game’s all I have, and I’m gonna reach it if it’s the last thing I do because in the end, that’s all there is!”

A tense beat passes between them, in which Katsuki realizes that Itachi is listening intently. Calmly. And there’s finally something written across his stony face, an emotion Katsuki can actually read. At first, he thinks it’s pity and his rage flares in his chest, but no, that’s not it…

Understanding. That’s what it is.

Itachi is also remaining quiet, allowing him to continue if he has more to say. He really doesn’t, but… Katsuki lets out a slow breath.

“You gotta make life worth living yourself. I can’t just… sit back, relax and enjoy the ride or I’ll lose my f***ing mind. I’ve already lost enough time as it is. So… I need that… that goal.” He ends with a graceful cough, trying to end on a more casual note. Which just ends up sounding like a lame-a** bail.

D*** this. He needs to stop talking to this guy… it makes him say things he only ever says in his head.

Slowly, Itachi nods. More understanding. It comes off him in waves. “I know you do… But, if I may… I’ve wasted a lot of time in my life. Time when I thought I was doing what I had to. But I missed so much because of it… I don’t want to waste this second chance I have now. A chance to actually live… and to love. I would hate to see anyone make the same mistakes I did, so… I suppose my point is… in your rush for the end game, what are you missing out on in the process?”

Those black eyes are deep. Open. Raw. Katsuki looks away from that surprisingly earnest gaze. His eyes find Uraraka right away, where she dozes on her boyfriend’s chest, and something in him hardens despite Itachi’s gentle words.

What is he missing?

“A whole lotta heartache.”

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backpfeifenguy · 5 years

Text

All in Your Head Chapter 3

WARNING! This chapter contains violence, a villain threatening sexual assault, and suicidal ideation. If that is likely to seriously upset you or cause a panic attack or similar, maybe give this one a miss. So then, just going to lie in bed all day, huh? Makes sense, I guess. You always were a coward, after all. Go ahead man; wallow in your own self-pity, god knows everyone else pities you. It had been 36 hours since Beast Boy got dumped. Since then, he’d only left his room to use the bathroom. The only reason he’d eaten anything was because the other Titans left food outside his door, which he picked at, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. Keep it up; eventually they’ll give up on you and just let you starve. (no) Bound to happen sooner or later. They’ll probably tell themselves they’re just trying to coax you out so they can talk to you, but they’ll know what they’re doing.

“Hey Grass Stain!” Cyborg bellowed from outside the door. “You up for a game?”

“No thanks!” Beast Boy shouted back.

“How ‘bout a movie? Or, like, anything?”

“I think I’ll pass!” Beast Boy answered.

“You know we’re here for you, right B?” Bullshit! They don’t care how you really feel, they just want you to go back to pretending that you’re okay. After all, what’s the point of keeping a clown around if he’s not even good for a laugh?

“You wanna talk about it?” Cyborg asked.

“Not really, no!”

“You sure?”

“...Not really, no!” Seriously? You’re too much of a coward to even stand by your cowardice?

“Okay well, if you change your mind, let us know. I’m worried about you, B.” He’s lying! They only pretend to care about you! You’re not loved, you’re tolerated.

“...Thanks.” Beast Boy said in a small voice. “I will.” Seriously? You’re going to make yourself their problem even more than usual? Pathetic. Suddenly, noise filled the corridor and lights flashed red. Oh, would you look at that? Crime! So, will you be useless in here or out there? Either way it’s your fault (no) if somebody gets hurt. After a moment, Beast Boy grit his teeth and leapt to his feet. Good choice; maybe this time you’ll get yourself killed and they won’t have to deal with you any more.

Adonis. Control Freak had been bad. Because he somehow managed to kick your ass, or because he reminds you of your own pathetic loserdom? Mad Mod would have been a pain. Because every time you fight him you get hypnotised, making you marginally less useful than usual. Slade would have been a nightmare. Mister brainwash-yo-girl. Great way to remember what a failure you are. But somehow, Adonis managed to muscle his way right up to the top of his list of things he didn’t want to deal with. And for some reason, he was attacking a sandwich shop.

“Okay Adonis, I’ll bite.” Robin sighed. “Why are you attacking a sandwich shop?”

“Because it’s no different than a brothel!” Adonis sneered. “It’s a place where men pay a stranger to do the job their wives should!”

“Hey Beast Boy,” Raven smirked. “What do you call a guy who makes ‘get in the kitchen’ jokes?”

“Single.” Beast Boy quipped.

“What was that?!” Adonis roared, hurling a vending machine in Beast Boy’s general direction.

“You heard me!” Beast Boy yelled as he ducked under the machine. Yeah, fuck this guy! “How about you take your frail little ego out of your ears and listen for a change, you insecure dumbass?” Don’t let up, keep piling on the insults! And just like that, Adonis was in face.

“You’re gonna wish you’d kept your mouth shut, you little bitch!” Adonis snarled, swinging wildly at Beast Boy. Wait, did you seriously just shit-talk the guy who can bend you into a pretzel even before the upgrades that have apparently made him way faster? Nobody has ever deserved anything as much as you deserve this beatdown.

Beast Boy managed to dodge the first blow by turning into a beetle, but was left open to the follow-up which sent him flying into the nearest wall. Oh wow, is he a little stronger than last time? Nice.Well, not so nice for you, I guess. Or maybe it is; after all, at least this way you (shut up) have an excuse when you get beaten like a pro athlete’s wife.

“Not so smart now, are you?” Adonis smirked.

“Smarter than you.” Beast Boy shot back without thinking. What the hell is wrong with you?! Adonis drew his fist back, ready to deliver the killing blow, and…

*WHAM!*

“You will step away from friend Beast Boy if you value the continued use of your extremities.” Starfire warned, having side-swiped Adonis. Oh look; she had to bail you out.

“I like a girl with spirit.” Adonis leered, lunging at Starfire.

“And I like a villain who leaves himself open.” Robin quipped, hurling a trio of explosive Birdarangs.

“You too?” Cyborg chuckled, barrelling into the armoured creep from the other side. “We got a lot in common, Rob!” Hot damn! They’re really killing it. Beast Boy quickly transformed into a bull and charged, only for Adonis to grab him by the horns and hurl him at Raven. Annnd there it goes. You ruined it. Shit, it’s just a miracle you turned back before you hit Raven, otherwise you might have killed her. She wouldn’t have been the first girl to die (stop) because of you.

“And would you look at that?” Adonis crowed. “A two-for-one sale on Titans!”

“You will keep your hands off of my friends!” Starfire snarled, launching a flying kick… that Adonis caught in one hand.

“I wasn’t talking about them.” Adonis replied cooly, swinging Starfire into Cyborg with enough force to leave her unconscious and him… broken would probably be the best word. “Incidentally, remind me to thank Calculator for this program he whipped up. Worth every penny.” Robin came in high, staff swinging, rage twisting his features, and lay into Adonis. “Seriously? The people with actual super-strength couldn’t get through my armor, but you think you can because you’ve got a stick?” Adonis backhanded Robin into the counter, shattering the glass and knocking him into the various cheeses.

“Hey there Rae, you doin’ alright?” Beast Boy asked softly. Nope. She is very clearly unconscious, thanks to you. Hit her head on a table. Might even have a little brain damage, so thanks for that. “Okay, guess I’m on my own.” Beast Boy sighed.

“So, what’s the plan, little man?” Adonis snickered, strolling forward. “You ain’t getting any help in the next minute or two, and I think we both know you don’t have what it takes to fight me on your own.” (yes you do) No you don’t. “So how about this? I let you take three of your friends home, and you leave me one of the girls to play with.” For those who haven’t guessed, that was unwise.

A few facts occurred to Beast Boy in quick succession. Fact: no matter how good your armor is, after getting nailed by a heavy hit from Starfire, tackled by Cyborg and hit with three explosive Birdarangs it’s going to have some battle damage. Fact: an amoeba can be as small as 250 microns. Fact: armor doesn’t do much against threats once they’re inside it. Fact: wasp stings hurt like hell. No. Not wasp. Fire ants have an excruciatingly painful-- more. The bullet ant’s bite hurts as much as getting shot-- Remember what he just said. What he did. What he'll do. The Irukandji. A species found only in the waters surrounding Australia, the Irukandji jellyfish is believed to have the most painful sting of any animal on Earth; a sting so agonising that those who fall victim to it will sometimes beg to be killed. Yes. Do it. (no) Yes! (Irukandji kills) The sting of an Irukandji jellyfish causes fatal brain hemorrhages. He deserves to die! (you deserve to kill?) Not the Irukandji.

There has always been, among those of a zoological bent, the temptation to exaggerate certain details. Is a bird’s plumage really as beautiful as its discoverer claimed? A badger’s temperament as bloody-minded? An insect’s bite as painful? Not always. But a purple-backed starling’s plumage is one of the prettiest sights in nature. Badgers, and indeed mustelids of all stripe are vicious bastards, mostly because they’re too slow to ever run from a fight. And the bullet ant’s bite really does hurt as much as a gunshot wound. Which is why Adonis, mere moments away from crushing Robin’s head like an egg, began to scream.

There, doesn’t that sound nice? Bite him again. Adonis began to scream louder, and after a few seconds of scratching sounds, Beast Boy could feel the open air, which could only mean that Adonis had started ripping his armor off. One more, for luck? (stop) Remember what he wanted to do to the girls? (...) Yeah, thought so. Actually, you know what? Maybe you should just change back and start beating the shit out of him now that he’s ditched the armor. Make sure everyone knows you beat him.

Slowly, Starfire opened her eyes, her head pounding like a Tamaranian hunting drum. Adonis would pay; for hurting her friends and for using her as a club. Such actions were not easily forgiven, even from a man screaming in pain, in a heap on the floor, with his armor strewn haphazardly about the room and Beast Boy beating him black and blue, as the human expression went. Wait, what?

“Not so tough now, are you?” Beast Boy snarled, kicking the fallen foe in in the stomach hard enough to make him dry-heave.

“Friend Beast Boy, I believe he has been subdued.” Apparently she hadn’t been clear enough, as Beast Boy wound up another kick that sent teeth sliding across the floor.

“This is what happens when you hurt my friends!” Beast Boy howled, slamming Adonis’ face into the floor repeatedly. “This is what you get!”

“Friend Beast Boy, stop!” Starfire said, rather more insistently, as she staggered over to her friend. “You risk taking his life! Do you wish to be the killer?”

“Yes!” Beast Boy snarled as he turned to face her, the look on his face enough to make Starfire back away. It occurred to her that, in his current state, she might not be able to talk him down, and that she wasn’t certain she could bring herself to fight him if it came to that.

Beast Boy!” Robin’s voice rang out as he dragged himself to his feet. “Stand down.” Beast Boy froze for a moment, and it seemed to Starfire like he may have come to his senses, but after a moment he simply glared at Robin as he stepped on the fallen villain’s wrist which, Starfire noticed, already appeared to be quite badly broken. “I said stand down!”

“And I didn’t listen!” Beast Boy roared back. “You didn’t hear him; you were unconscious in a tub of cheddar when he told me to leave him one of the girls to play with!” Starfire felt a brief surge of nausea; it occurred to her that Adonis would fit in well with the Gordanians. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to make me!”

“Beast Boy.” Raven’s voice was weak, and a little unsteady. “Stop.” Beast Boy seemed uncertain for a second. “Please.” And just like that, all the tension seemed to evaporate.

“Okay.” Beast Boy sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll stop.”

“Broken nose.” Robin scowled. “Fractured jaw; four teeth knocked out, six chipped.”

“I’m really sor--” Beast Boy began.

“Hairline fracture to the orbital socket.” Robin went on, stonefaced. “Five cracked ribs, shattered wrist, three broken fingers.”

“I know I was out of--”

“Hairline fracture to one vertebra. Concussion. Various contusions, abrasions and internal bleeding.” He narrowed his eyes. “Currently unidentified toxin in his bloodstream. Two insect bites.”

“I’m sorry.” Beast Boy said, after waiting moment to be certain that Robin was done. “I was out of line.” Way out of line. If you’re lucky he’ll just kick you off the team.

“What were the bug bites?” Robin demanded.

“Bullet ant.” Beast Boy muttered. “Hurts as much as a bullet.” Yeah, he’s probably going to have you arrested.

“Enter the armour through a damaged area and bite or sting him as an insect.” Robin said thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea.” But… “But your choice of bug was excessive. This is Adonis we’re talking about; a wasp would have been enough.” And that’s without even mentioning the beating. “And the beating you gave him was completely uncalled for. You could have killed him, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Beast Boy whimpered.

“Were you even thinking at all?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look,” Robin sighed. “I understand that you were in a stressful situation. But you can’t just lay into someone like that when they can’t fight back. You’re suspended from active duty until further notice.”

“Understood.” Beast Boy sighed. Seriously? That’s all?

“I won’t be pursuing any harsher disciplinary actions as long as you behave yourself; it was a difficult situation.” Ah. He’s going easy on you because he never expected anything better in the first place. “Dismissed.”

It had been two weeks since Beast Boy was suspended from active duty. Two weeks since you nearly beat a man to death, and loved (no) it. An extremely busy two weeks for the others; it was like there was something in the water riling the crooks up, and they’d been out everyday to deal with something. And apparently, they haven’t had any issues without you. He hadn’t been able to help them much at all; he couldn’t do forensics because he was too damn stupid. Couldn’t canvas witnesses because you’re too ugly; either you make people uncomfortable or they (stop) don’t take you seriously. Just about all he could do to help was search up the occasional file or map and you can barely even do that right, you worthless little turd.

He’d basically isolated himself from the others. Two weeks alone. But isn’t that how it always is? You always end up alone, sooner or later. And it’s nobody’s fault but (shut up) yours. Your parents (no) died because you were too weak and cowardly to save them. The Doom Patrol kicked you out (they didn’t) because you were a liability. Terra (stop) died because you let her down. You’re alone because it’s what you deserve. Before too long, the Titans are going to join the list (never), so you might as well get ready for that. Either they’ll kick you out or they’ll die because of your fuck-ups, so really it’s just a matter of where you put your money before betting closes.

Hazily, Beast Boy realised that he’d made his way to the roof. Jump. Just fucking do it. He took (no) a step forward. Nobody will ever miss you. And (stop) another. Every second you’re alive puts everyone you care about in danger. A third step put him (don’t do this) right at the edge. Come on, do it! End the pain, end the loneliness! It’s almost over, all you need to do is take one little step, so DO IT! He extended his leg, and… CEASE THIS FUCKERY!!! For a moment, his thoughts seemed clearer, and he leapt back, shocked by how close he’d been, terrified to contemplate what would have happened without the intervention of this new and unfamiliar voice is his head.

New? Unfamiliar? Have you no gratitude, boy? I am far from new. You’ve known me for years. When you were bitten, infected with Sakutia, who was it that gave you the strength to endure the pain of that experimental treatment you parents concocted? When they died, who cut through the sorrow and pushed you to survive? Who held your mind together through the thieves, through Galtry and Doctor Register? Who helped you keep pace with the Doom Patrol? And when Raven was attacked by that loathsome creature, who gave you the strength to save her?

The Beast. If referring to me as such simplifies matters then feel free. But do you know what I am? Really? The question seemed bizarre; it was the Beast, what else was there to know? Exactly! Just a big dumb animal! Ignore it! Be silent, intruder! I am your instincts, boy! I am the part of you that keeps every other part of you alive! Impossible, the Beast was an accident, a chemical spill. I existed long before I was the Beast, boy! I was within you from the very beginning. When you became what you are I grew stronger, bolstered by the voices of the animal kingdom. Those chemicals merely gave me more options, a physical form and a degree of sophistication. This was too much to take in all at once; the Beast wasn’t just the Beast? Why was it speaking to him? How? What did it want? To protect you as I always have, and right now that means doing something about the intruder that has taken up residence in your mind!

An intruder? What was the Beast talking about? It’s lying! Don’t listen! That! That’s the intruder! That wretched little voice isn’t meant to be here! But it had always-- Not like this. You must excise this parasite immediately, before it does any more damage! But how? Who could possibly help him with something like this?

Raven’s head felt like it had been stuffed with lint, her eyelids may as well have been made of lead, and various parts of her body were threatening to give notice; the last two weeks had been rough. The simple fact of the matter was that they needed Beast Boy, but they couldn’t put him back on active duty until he’d undergone a psychological evaluation. Which they didn’t have time for because the criminals of Jump city had gotten so bold. Because they didn’t have a full team to worry about. And besides how difficult things had been, there was the simple fact that she’d gone two weeks without any sort of meaningful interaction with a friend she was used to seeing every day. She hadn’t realised how important Beast Boy’s terrible jokes were until they stopped, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.

“I can work it out in the morning.” Raven muttered to herself. *THUNK THUNK THUNK* “Or not. This had better be good.” She scowled as her door opened.

“Hey, uh Rae?” Beast Boy half-squeaked, his expression haggard. “I think I need your help.”

#Teen Titans #beast boy #raven #starfire #cyborg #robin #All in Your Head

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callmenateybird · 6 years

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Depression Never Drove Me To Attempt Suicide; Being Bullied While Depressed Did

I don’t wanna relive my bullying hellscape today but I can’t shake the feeling that people still just continue to blame the brains of suicidal people for any and all suicidal acts.

I’ve experienced depression for a long time. I was lucky that depression alone never led me to a suicide attempt. Being bullied along with being depressed, however, did. I need to use my own experience as an example to get through to people about this today.

Spring 2016: I dated a person I met on The List App (just what it sounds like - a list-making app created by BJ Novak). I went out to CA to be with her for 2 months. She felt it was moving too fast, but didn’t tell me for awhile. Eventually she did, we broke up, I was crushed, I went back to OH to be with family. I whined, I pitied myself, I spoke about the breakup on List.

Eventually, friends of my ex decided this was too much & brought my ex & others into a FB group chat, where they shit talked & mused that I had been manipulative & that I’d threatened self harm.

This was the first in two instances now of upping the ante of false accusation. First, from whining & taking a breakup hard -> manipulation & threats of self harm, then, a year ago right around this time, upping the ante again to “abuser.” More on that in a bit.

Back to 2016 — August, as the group chat began. I had been listing about the upcoming 2 year anniversary of my dad’s passing — Aug 10. On the night of the 9th, my ex’s close friend did what I guess was an accidental like of an old list of mine. At the time, it seemed odd because she wasn’t following me and we’d had conflict with each other on Twitter about a week before.

The next day, it made sense why she’d been far back in my old lists. As I listed about the anniversary of my dad’s passing, parody accounts began to go public.

The first was called Predator. My screen shots here were taken later (I was too upset to screenshot anything the day it all happened) after the name was changed to “Chris, Kay?” to target one List guy these people hated. The original name on the account was “Chrislie K. Veshester” — a mashup of the names of 3 of us from List.

In the second and third screenshots, you’ll see parts of a list. This list has direct excerpts from lists the 3 of us guys had previously posted (gathering lines from old lists the night before…yes, bullies go to great efforts to bully). The writing and recording line, the bravery line, the baggage line, the body is your friend line, the quote of Coyote Hours (an album about the death of my father) — all from me & gleefully twisted into being somehow creepy or wrong.

The line “I try to get others to take care of me” didn’t seem to come from any of us, but seems more to be a line from my ex’s friend’s imagination that reflects how those people saw me in the wake of that breakup.

Also launched that day, in tandem, was the Flounce account (to flounce means to announce that you’re leaving a community, which I had done the night before my dad anniversary, because of what I was going through at the time). I later was told this was created by Jack Waz, an employee of List. The first few followers on the account — my bullies, “Jo-Ann Fabrics” (another parody account by Jack), & even List creator BJ Novak.

Also popping up that day was this dormant “imacreep” account where luckily no new vitriol was added — but you can see, based on the few lists that account had “liked,” that it came from the same group of people.

You can also see, from the few likes on the predator account, that it came from the same group of people.

On Aug 10, I had a nervous breakdown after seeing all of this. The passing of a parent is a deep trauma and, only 2 years out, was obviously very fresh for me. It is an event that is almost sacred in a way, & part of the unhealable scarring of my bullying experience is that this sacred date was snatched away from me, and tainted by this awful social media experience. I now forever associate the day my dad died with being bullied.

On September 1st, an older guy from the group chat sent me an unsolicited harassing email, after being given my contact info by my ex. I had just called her to ask if she would be completing some album artwork she’d promised to do for me around the time of our breakup. I hadn’t heard from her in ages (this was before I knew she was involved in the group chat), so I took one last chance at reaching out about it. In the email from this guy, I was summarily smacked down for “not respecting her boundaries” and told very cruelly by him that she didn’t want to do my art, or hear from me ever again.

In mid September 2016, a former friend told me everything about the group chat. She had been brought into it and pressured/intimidated (by, among others, men in their late 30s — she was in her early 20s, as were a few other women in the group chat) to “provide receipts” of me talking about my breakup. She was forced to “denounce” me and swear she’d never talk to me again.

She named names to me in September and let me know who was involved. I learned that my ex — who had been silent through all the stuff in August — was in the group chat, participated, and watched it all go down. A couple days later, I began a suicide attempt.

The ordeal led to both myself and my mom being hospitalized (she has a heart condition). Thankfully, we both came out of the ordeal ok.

Plenty more vitriol was unleashed on List after August 10th. I was lucky that much of it didn’t involve me (another guy from List got it worse than I did). One older guy from the group chat did a particularly nasty “sublist” and a few other remarks came out here and there, but it seemed to be dying down finally.

Through the fall, I began to find balance again. I returned to List with a new account, and took small steps in standing up for myself.

In November, I confronted my ex about what I knew, in an attempt to make peace. She expressed some regret, but never really apologized in a way that felt adequate to me, nor would she concede that her friends had bullied me and that she had condoned it.

In December, I returned to CA to resume the life I’d begun building when I was dating my ex. I had been dreaming of living in Southern California since the trip to scatter my dad’s ashes there in fall of 2014, and I was using the last chunk of inheritance money I’d gotten to get myself re-established in Orange County.

In January of 2017, I finally realized that my ex was never going to apologize to me for everything, so I launched a text tirade of criticisms her way and stopped speaking to her.

But in the next few months, I faltered in that commitment and sent her three harassing emails. Since the previous fall, I had begun an agonizing habit of digital cutting (creeping on social media that you know is bad for your mental health) and snooped on her accounts, plus those of her friends and family. It is a habit that I have yet to fully shake, even all this time later. The three emails I sent all involved seeing things she’d liked on social media and being angry or jealous about them. I finally stooped to the level of the people who harassed me, and I harassed her. After the final of those three emails, in April of 2017, she wrote back and said she’d file a harassment order if I contacted her again, and I never contacted her again.

But I continued to grow more and more emboldened in standing up for myself publicly, and over the course of 2017 it became a huge part of my social media (especially on Twitter) to speak openly about my experience being bullied, harassed, and ganged up on.

In June of 2017, I was walking in a park in my ex’s town and saw her. A few days later, many of the ladies from List were tagged in a massive Twitter thread. For some reason, a few of us guys from the app were tagged as well. Later that day, my ex’s friend from the group chat - the one who had made the “Predator” account - subtweeted that these List ladies in the mass tagging had “an abuser among [them].” The ante of false accusation had been upped again, from whining and self pity and taking a breakup hard -> manipulation and threats of self harm -> abuse.

This subtweet alone, which I’d only discovered because of my continuing struggle with digital cutting (creeping online), sent me reeling on the verge of another breakdown. I knew that things were heating up culturally, that the imperative to believe women was more important than ever. And now, for the first time, I had to face that dissenting argument from the trolls who don’t like the prioritization of believing women no matter what — “what if somebody falsely accuses someone just to fuck up their life?” But even then, I brought myself back from the brink (with much help from my therapy sessions, my support system of family and friends, my writing, and the good-for-the-soul environment of southern California).

I even had a phone call later that summer with the friend who’d told me about the group chat, where I explained to her that I still acknowledged the importance of believing women, even if I was experiencing a false accusation. I told her that I was trying to hold onto the understanding that the cultural prioritization of listening to and believing women was bigger than me, more important than me.

But I also continued to speak openly about being bullied, and now included the mention of being implied to be an emotional abuser, all through 2017 until finally standing up for myself on social media impacted my real life once more. A few days before Christmas, after a really good period of no digital cutting for the entire month of December so far, I had a weak moment one evening and looked at the social media of my ex and her family. On her mom’s Instagram, I saw a repost from my ex’s private account where she’d said she had gone to the police station to file a report about “a year and a half of harassment, stalking, and general creepiness.” (A year and a half would be going back to right when we broke up - we were still on good terms then - and six months before our friendly if flawed semi-clearing of the air in late 2016). In her mom’s repost, she said “if we see this guy in our neighborhood again, we are coming after him!” I saw this — and hope you will understand my seeing it this way — as a threat of physical harm. If “our neighborhood” meant seeing me on their street, well that was never going to happen. But if it meant seeing me in their whole entire town — like I’d seen her in a park last June — well, what was I supposed to do about being seen in an entire town??

I was terrified, and made a hasty decision two days later (Christmas Eve) to leave my Orange County long term Airbnb about two months before the end of my lease. I struggled for about a month to stay afloat in LA, looking for a new space. But my savings was too low to handle the temporary added expenses of new Airbnbs and hotels, and by early February of 2018 I decided I had to throw in the towel and go back to Ohio to regroup with family until I could afford to be out west again.

And that is my ordeal, to date.

I took a breakup badly, and cried and cried and said “I can’t take it anymore” (the closest I came to “threats of self harm,” as were the initial accusations from the group chat). And all because of taking a breakup badly —

I was ganged up on, parodied, mocked, and bullied on the two year anniversary of the death of my father.

The actual creators/employees of the app where I was bullied - including BJ Novak himself - celebrated and *participated in* bullying me.

I suffered a nervous breakdown.

I attempted suicide.

My mom was sent into the hospital with a heart scare, from watching what I was going through and reacting emotionally as most mothers would.

I drained thousands of dollars from my savings for additional therapy, spiritual counseling, and cross country travel (twice).

I literally left my home because I felt unwelcome and physically unsafe in Orange County, after being threatened with violence by my ex’s mother.

And now I exist in this particular moment on social media, where the valiant and important efforts of the #metoo movement are still sometimes misrepresented by cold statements like “don’t ever fucking tell me that a false accusation ruins a man’s life.”

Even if you set aside my experience of being ganged up on and bullied, of being called a creep for being friends with women who were younger than me in a social media community, of being accused of manipulation and emotional abuse, it should be understandable as a general isolated statement — When we talk about someone’s life being ruined, we have to look at more than just their external life. We have to also look at their internal life.

And rest assured — beyond all the external stuff I just listed, my internal life has been forever impacted by being bullied and by being called “abuser.”

I can no longer say I have never attempted suicide. After years of living with depression and being proud of myself for never giving into the darkest of places, I now have experienced a suicide attempt. I now have experienced being called an abuser. And who knows what else I may experience as repercussions for posting this essay with screenshots and names, since the past two years of interacting with bullies has shown me very clearly that bullies always — ALWAYS — win.

We now live in an age where bullies are empowered by important cultural movements. They sneak in through weak spots, they use amped up language and terms that they know will attract attention. They are stronger than ever.

But the part of the narrative that my bullies and threateners will always leave out of their callouts - their own screenshot exposés of past and possibly future - is the part where they bullied and harassed first. My own instances of email harassment of my ex, my own flawed and self destructive habit of creeping online — these are personal flaws that arose AFTER being bullied. That part of their narrative will always be conveniently scrapped from the record. Bullying proves the age old saying — hurt people hurt people.

And so now, two years after my ordeal began, I try to be mindful that angry statements can verge on harassment, I do less and less digital cutting, I try to be a good person and to value the people who value me.

But when famous people are lost to suicide, and the conversation zeroes in squarely on mental illness and mental health, I just cannot abide the ignoring of so many other cultural factors that lead people to no longer want to live on this planet.

Whether the factors are due to marginalization, systemic oppression, economic hopelessness, ageism, a broken health care system, disease and physical pain, or a bullying ordeal like mine — there are an endless number of external environmental forces that drive people to suicide besides their own pure brain chemistry. And remember, environmental doesn’t just mean places and things — it means people. Many of those external forces that drive people to suicide involve how the people are treated by the others in their environment.

I have experienced depression for much of my life. But it was only being bullied that finally pushed me to the brink. This screenshot below shows the folks from the group chat. Some of them were silent bystanders, but they all watched it go down and did nothing to stop it. They are all complicit.

These are my bullies.

And if I have to live forever with being bullied the day my dad died, with having attempted suicide, with watching my mom go into the hospital, with being called an abuser and whatever else I’ll be called between two years ago and the end of my life, then they will have to live with being called bullies. And even if this post is removed, even if this account is suspended or deleted, I will continue to speak up and speak out when I am bullied or when I see others being bullied. I will not stand for it ever again.

Because all the things those people took away from me left a gaping hole inside me. And, so far, I have only found a couple things with which to sufficiently fill that hole — the understanding of my very loving and supportive family and friends, and love and respect for myself. Standing up for myself is just one of the ways I have learned to love and respect myself, ever since the ordeal that scarred my life forever.

June 12: I decided to add an afterword to this essay, a sort of “FAQ” to address a question I’ve been asked a few times in one form or another.

The question: Do you talk about your bullying experience so much because you want your bullies to feel bullied?

No.

First, "bullying bullies" isn't a thing much like how reverse racism isn't a thing. To be a broken record - to continually expose the bullying act & “Scarlet Letter” the perpetrators - is the only power a bullying victim has, since the act of bullying unfortunately isn't treated like a punishable crime, especially when it’s done online (even though being bullied has robbed me financially and wounded me - and my family - both physically and emotionally).

Second, I talk about this as much as I do because I want the people who bullied me to feel haunted by the consequences of their actions (and inactions, in the case of those who watched and condoned) - actions they probably felt, at the time, were not a big deal. To have spoken about it publicly for almost three years is an effort at making them feel so haunted by their behavior that they not only never bully another person again, but that they *themselves* become dedicated anti-bullying crusaders. It sounds almost laughable - and certainly would to them, as cynical as they are - but I am trying to make a difference in these few peoples’ lives. You can label it crudely as “badgering,” which I feel does a disservice to me by downplaying the severity of what happened to me, but whatever you call my continued persistence in talking about this experience - it is persistence that aims to make a few people more decent and mindful of their past and future behavior.

#bullying #anti bullying #cyber bullying #callout culture #social media

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dfroza · 4 years

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Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for Tuesday, September 15 of 2020 with Proverbs 15 and Psalm 15 accompanied by Psalm 88 for the 88th day of Summer and Psalm 109 for day 259 of the year

[Proverbs 15]

Respond gently when you are confronted

and you’ll defuse the rage of another.

Responding with sharp, cutting words will only make it worse.

Don’t you know that being angry

can ruin the testimony of even the wisest of men?

When wisdom speaks, understanding becomes attractive.

But the words of the fool make their ignorance look laughable.

The eyes of the Lord are everywhere

and he takes note of everything that happens.

He watches over his lovers,

and he also sees the wickedness of the wicked.

When you speak healing words,

you offer others fruit from the tree of life.

But unhealthy, negative words do nothing but crush their hopes.

You’re stupid to mock the instruction of a father,

but welcoming correction will make you brilliant.

There is power in the house of the righteous,

but the house of the wicked is filled with trouble,

no matter how much money they have.

When wisdom speaks, revelation-knowledge is released,

but finding true wisdom in the word of a fool is futile.

It is despicable to the Lord

when people use the worship of the Almighty

as a cloak for their sin,

but every prayer of his godly lovers is pleasing to his heart.

The Lord detests the lifestyle of the wicked,

but he loves those who pursue purity.

Severe punishment awaits the one

who turns away from the truth,

and those who rebel against correction will die.

Even hell itself holds no secrets from the Lord God,

for all is exposed before his eyes,

and so much more the heart of every human being.

The know-it-all never esteems the one who tries to correct him.

He refuses to seek good advice from the wise.

[Living an Ascended Life]

A cheerful heart puts a smile on your face,

but a broken heart leads to depression.

Lovers of God hunger after truth,

but those without understanding

feast on foolishness and don’t even realize it.

Everything seems to go wrong

when you feel weak and depressed.

But when you choose to be cheerful,

every day will bring you more and more joy and fullness.

It’s much better to live simply,

surrounded in holy awe and worship of God,

than to have great wealth with a home full of trouble.

It’s much better to have a kind, loving family, even with little,

than to have great wealth

with nothing but hatred and strife all around you.

A touchy, hot-tempered man picks a fight,

but the calm, patient man knows how to silence strife.

Nothing seems to work right for the lazy man,

but life seems smooth and easy when your heart is virtuous.

When a son learns wisdom,

a father’s heart is glad.

But the man who shames his mother is a foolish son.

The senseless fool treats life like a joke,

but the one with living-understanding makes good choices.

Your plans will fall apart right in front of you

if you fail to get good advice.

But if you first seek out multiple counselors,

you’ll watch your plans succeed.

Everyone enjoys giving great advice.

But how delightful it is to say the right thing at the right time!

The life path of the prudent lifts them progressively heavenward,

delivering them from the death spiral

that keeps tugging them downward.

The Lord champions the widow’s cause,

but watch him as he smashes down the houses of the haughty!

The Lord detests wicked ways of thinking,

but he enjoys lovely and delightful words.

The one who puts earning money above his family

will have trouble at home,

but those who refuse to exploit others

will live in peace.

Lovers of God think before they speak,

but the careless blurt out wicked words meant to cause harm.

The Lord doesn’t respond to the wicked,

but he’s moved to answer the prayers of his godly lovers.

Eyes that focus on what is beautiful bring joy to the heart,

and hearing a good report

refreshes and strengthens the inner being.

Accepting constructive criticism

opens your heart to the path of life,

making you right at home among the wise.

Refusing constructive criticism shows

you have no interest in improving your life,

for revelation-insight only comes as you accept correction

and the wisdom that it brings.

The source of revelation-knowledge is found

as you fall down in surrender before the Lord.

Don’t expect to see Shekinah glory

until the Lord sees your sincere humility.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 15 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 15]

A song of David.

Eternal One, who is invited to stay in Your dwelling?

Who is granted passage to Your holy mountain?

Here is the answer: The one who lives with integrity, does what is right,

and speaks honestly with truth from the heart.

The one who doesn’t speak evil against others

or wrong his neighbor,

or slander his friends.

The one who loathes the loathsome,

honors those who fear the Eternal,

And keeps all promises no matter the cost.

The one who does not lend money with gain in mind

and cannot be bought to harm an innocent name.

If you live this way, you will not be shaken and will live together with the Lord.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 15 (The Voice)

[Psalm 88]

For the worship leader. A song of the sons of Korah accompanied by dance. A contemplative song of Heman the Ezrahite.

O Eternal One! O True God my Savior!

I cry out to You all the time, under the sun and the moon.

Let my voice reach You!

Please listen to my prayers!

My soul is deeply troubled,

and my heart can’t bear the weight of this sorrow. I feel so close to death.

I’m like the poor and helpless who die alone,

left for dead, as good as the unknowable sea of souls lying under our feet,

Forsaken by Him and cut off from His hand,

abandoned among the dead who rest in their graves.

And You have sent me to be forgotten with them,

in the lowest pits of the earth,

in the darkest canyons of the ocean.

You crush me with Your anger.

You crash against me like the relentless, angry sea.

[pause]

Those whom I have known, who have been with me,

You have gathered like sheaves and cast to the four winds.

They can’t bear to look me in the eye, and they are horrified when they think of me.

I am in a trap and cannot be free.

My eyes grow dim, weakened by this sickness;

it is taking my strength from me.

Like a worn cloth, my hands are unfolded before You daily, O Eternal One.

Are You the miracle-worker for the dead?

Will they rise from the dark shadows to worship You again?

[pause]

Will Your great love be proclaimed in the grave

or Your faithfulness be remembered in whispers like mists throughout the place of ruin?

Are Your wonders known in the dominion of darkness,

or is Your righteousness recognized in a land where all is forgotten?

But I am calling out to You, Eternal One.

My prayers rise before You with every new sun!

Why do You turn Your head

and brush me aside, O Eternal One?

Why are You avoiding me?

Since the days of my youth, I have been sick and close to death.

My helpless soul has suffered Your silent horrors;

now I am desperate.

Your rage spills over me like rivers of fire;

Your assaults have all but destroyed me.

They surround me like a flood, rising throughout the day,

closing in from every direction.

You have taken from me the one I love and my friend;

even the light of my acquaintances are darkness.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 88 (The Voice)

[Psalm 109]

A David Prayer

My God, don’t turn a deaf ear to my hallelujah prayer.

Liars are pouring out invective on me;

Their lying tongues are like a pack of dogs out to get me,

barking their hate, nipping my heels—and for no reason!

I loved them and now they slander me—yes, me!—

and treat my prayer like a crime;

They return my good with evil,

they return my love with hate.

Send the Evil One to accuse my accusing judge;

dispatch Satan to prosecute him.

When he’s judged, let the verdict be “Guilty,”

and when he prays, let his prayer turn to sin.

Give him a short life,

and give his job to somebody else.

Make orphans of his children,

dress his wife in widow’s weeds;

Turn his children into begging street urchins,

evicted from their homes—homeless.

May the bank foreclose and wipe him out,

and strangers, like vultures, pick him clean.

May there be no one around to help him out,

no one willing to give his orphans a break.

Chop down his family tree

so that nobody even remembers his name.

But erect a memorial to the sin of his father,

and make sure his mother’s name is there, too—

Their sins recorded forever before God,

but they themselves sunk in oblivion.

That’s all he deserves since he was never once kind,

hounded the afflicted and heartbroken to their graves.

Since he loved cursing so much,

let curses rain down;

Since he had no taste for blessing,

let blessings flee far from him.

He dressed up in curses like a fine suit of clothes;

he drank curses, took his baths in curses.

So give him a gift—a costume of curses;

he can wear curses every day of the week!

That’s what they’ll get, those out to get me—

an avalanche of just deserts from God.

Oh, God, my Lord, step in;

work a miracle for me—you can do it!

Get me out of here—your love is so great!—

I’m at the end of my rope, my life in ruins.

I’m fading away to nothing, passing away,

my youth gone, old before my time.

I’m weak from hunger and can hardly stand up,

my body a rack of skin and bones.

I’m a joke in poor taste to those who see me;

they take one look and shake their heads.

Help me, oh help me, God, my God,

save me through your wonderful love;

Then they’ll know that your hand is in this,

that you, God, have been at work.

Let them curse all they want;

you do the blessing.

Let them be jeered by the crowd when they stand up,

followed by cheers for me, your servant.

Dress my accusers in clothes dirty with shame,

discarded and humiliating old ragbag clothes.

My mouth’s full of great praise for God,

I’m singing his hallelujahs surrounded by crowds,

For he’s always at hand to take the side of the needy,

to rescue a life from the unjust judge.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 109 (The Message)

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