#i hope they are shaking with rage and hatred. seething. twitching. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anlian-aishang · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 21: Make-Up Sex

“Hellooooo! You are taking ideas for kinktober 2020 for Levi right? Or did I misread? I hope I didnt. How about Make Up Sex after a very big fight, alternative universe?”

Word count: 1400 Tags: smut, levi x reader, angst turned smut, fem!reader,

Remember! Levi hates art theft.

One hand dug into your own chest. The other gestured out to him, your apartment, your everything. “Why the fuck should I even stay?”

It was only in your fights that you doubted the relationship. Every other moment was Heaven on Earth. But when you did fight, it was Hell a hundred times over. You had shared years full of memories - wonderful memories - but your anger was so blinding, you could not remember any of them when you needed to most. Mind became clouded, blocking out any potential ray of light and optimism. Why are we even dating? What do I see in him? What does he see in me?

Levi looked up from his folded hands to you. His leg was shaking, face twitching, ocean blue eyes appeared a fiery red. I swear to fucking god… “No one would ever love you the way that I do.”

For a few painful seconds, your harsh breaths filled the air. Semi-silence was cut off when he pointed at the ground and spat, “That’s why the fuck you should stay.”

The rage in your expressions painted you both unrecognizable to the other. Love once thought to be unconditional had disintegrated into a seething hatred. No one else will ever love me? Is that what you’re saying?

Your throat caught, limbs shook. Fuck you. Fuck you, Levi. Get the fuck out of my sight. With a closed fist, you pinched the inside of your hand, a futile attempt to ground yourself. In a way, it worked, you managed to hold back any swears and instead muttered, “I’m going to lay down.”

He diluted likewise, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Deliberately avoiding the other’s eye contact, you both went your separate ways. In that moment, neither of you felt you would care if those paths ever reunited. While you felt that you were living in separate worlds - certainly, to have been seeing things so differently, there must be some disconnect - when you slammed the doors to the bedroom and bathroom respectively, the truth was that you were in the exact same situation. The sound of being closed off so harshly, without the sight of the other, now alone and bitterly alone, it was unknowingly the most alike you had felt all day.

// // //

The moment you heard the faucet run was the exact moment that your tears began to flow as well. It was something you could not help - crying after a huge fight. They were distinct from the typical tears of sadness. It was not a mere weeping, you would start sobbing. The entire scene was far from pretty: tears would gush down your face, your skin would get hot and rashed, with a stuffed nose, you would have no choice but to breathe out of your mouth, only making your cries even more audible.

Past the other side of the wall, even under the drizzle of the showerhead, he could hear you.

For a few split seconds, his built-up armor kept him numb, but after only a short while, your sadness pierced its way straight to his heart.

It was no longer an issue to him, who was right and who was wrong. Who gives a shit? Once he heard you crying, it flipped an innate switch for him. All prior quarrels washed down the drain with his turn of the handle. He wrapped a towel around his waist and shook his hair a few times, wet bangs slicking to his face. With haste, urgency, and an inherent forgiveness, he flung open the door and came into your bedroom.

His eyes widened and softened at your sight. You faced away from his side of the bed. Your body was curled into the fetal position, shaking. You had moved yourself as far away as possible - so far that your legs and arms dangled off the edge of the mattress.

In this heap of your own tears, you looked so pathetic, but the way he saw it: you had never needed his love more than this moment. Hurrying to your side while also ensuring your comfort, Levi was both careful and swift in joining you in bed. Still, you could not get yourself to look at him. His words had stung you deep, there was no way he could have forgiven you so quickly, right?

Cautiously, considerately, Levi met his front to your back, making a perfect C that met your body from head-to-toe. An arm around your stomach tugged you closer, placing his lips right at your ear. He spoke softly, “It’s okay. It’s okay…” A blend of confusing emotions caused you to whimper. At your sounds, he soothed you further, perfectly, as he always did, “I’m here, you’re okay, it’s okay...”

You backed yourself even closer into him, allowing not an inch between you. Just as his grudge had melted away as he heard you cry, your resolve had likewise disappeared when you felt him pressed against you. In such a moment of weakness, you could not refuse any help, you needed all that you could get regardless if it came from him - no - especially if it came from him. You exhaled shakily, “Oh, Levi…”

Emotions, hormones, the entire situation had you in a spin. One moment, your thoughts were about the fight. The next, about his shift in attitude. All your feelings had been bundled and bound too tightly inside. In grounding yourself physically, one of the first things you noticed was the unmistakable hardening against your curves. His skin was warm and wet, a blanket that comforted like no other. He smelled amazing, too, fresh out of the shower. You were not sure exactly what emotions you were feeling, but one was glaring. Fingers descended to the hem of your shirt - his shirt, actually - and lifted up, revealing yourself entirely to him.

You ground your cheeks against his erection, drawing desperate groans from him. His sighs fell right on your ear, simultaneously riling and relaxing you.

Pent-up emotion needed to be released somehow, some way. There was no better use for this energy than to make you feel good. With a sound determination, he was going to fuck you right, the way his baby girl deserved.

Levi was gentle in entering, making you cry was the last thing he wanted to do. You arched your back into him, wordlessly accepting his length and pleading for more of it. Levi wrapped an arm underneath your back, hand cupping your breast as the other held a firm grip on your hip. With a sturdy tenderness, solid hands rocked you back and forth along with him until he was able to push himself all the way to your back.

You were entirely in his hands, entirely in his care, and he was going to take good care of you. With just the right amount of pressure, he massaged your breast. In all the right spots, he kissed your neck. His pace was perfect as he thrust himself in and out of you.

Any doubts you had felt were disintegrated with each movement. It was obvious in every way that he loved you. Even after a fight, he would shower you with kisses. Even after a fight, you still gave him that surging desire. Even after a fight, in which neither of you were innocent, he would spend his last thread of energy in making it right - making you feel better. All signs pointed that he really truly loved you, and foremost, that he forgave you. The memories of today were in the past. He lived in the here and now and pulled you back with him. And fuck, did it feel good to be back.

The catch in your throat lingered. Your moans were made harsh, amplifying their sexuality. Whimpers were made vulnerable, amplifying your cuteness. With the increase in pitch and pants, words would be inadequate to express what you were feeling, but he knew exactly.

As you shuddered through your orgasm, his strong arms flexed, keeping you stable and secure against him. Being able to bring you such comfort, both emotional and physical, after such a horrible encounter… it was not an ego boost, but rather a swelling in his heart. He had felt like such a fuckup for letting things get so out of hand, for saying things he instantly regretted, but when he heard you call his name in climax, he was assured that making you feel better was at least one thing he could get right. No longer were you crying from pain, but now, from pleasure. That’s more like it. In wake of your reconciliation, he began to forgive himself as well - himself coursing through the climax that both of you deserved.

You had not yet said your “sorry”s, but the apologies were soundly made.

Levi held your trembling body in his arms, tightly as ever. What fools you had been to ever think you could let go. Every relationship had its bad days, and you would be damned if you let them ruin the good years you had spent together.

A calloused hand scratched your back as the other drew your hair back behind your ear. He pressed his soft lips to your cusp before whispering, sending another slew of shivers down your spine. Those words he hurled at you in a flash of disgust, he repeated them now in a passionate confession.

“No one else will ever love you the way that I do.”

Kinktober Year 1 Masterlist

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi #kinktober year 1 #my writing #alias's #smut #specials #request #spice rack

235 notes · View notes

hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little · 4 years

Text

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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

“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point. His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate.

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part.

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating.

“That’s all I know swea- ack”

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place.

Crack!

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence.

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted.

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless.

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide.

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with.

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them.

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks.

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened.

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero.

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.”

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did.

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing.

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open, no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place.

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly.

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back.

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor.

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane.

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case.

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage.

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup.

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now.

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment.

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later.

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out.

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door. A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place, making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time.

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification.

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds.

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air.

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping.

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him.

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers.

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now.

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash”

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky.

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back.

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy. The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him.

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance.

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own.

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings.

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport.

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips.

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately.

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?”

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments.

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love.

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world.

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time.

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state.

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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

Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

#bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #hawks x reader #bnha keigo takami #boku no hero academia #mha #hawks #keigo takami

109 notes · View notes

spnhell · 6 years

Text

we sin as devils do

a destiel ficlet/poem based on the seven deadly sins. canonverse. mature. 1.5k

Past

i. Envy (Cas)

Envy was fire, heat and anger boiling in his blood and licking at his flesh. Ash kindling in his stomach as butterflies were smoked out and replaced with fuel for desire.

Envy was watching Dean leave pieces of himself all over the country, his fingerprints on endless diner mugs and his laughter in other people’s ears. It was the seeds of lust, but also of self-doubt and unjustifiable hatred towards those that got to be in Dean’s orbit. It was jealousy, wanting what wasn’t his and what could never be. It was wanting to take Dean’s phone and hold it to his own ear, if only for the echo of the sound of his laughter. It was wanting to smash Dean's mug so no one else could ever taint the traces of his touch, the ghost of his breath on the rim. It was wanting to cut his hand on the shards and run the wound over what’s left, to let his blood pick up a piece of Dean and carry it through to his heart.

Envy was irrationality in its purest form.

Envy was wanting to destroy, to erase anything that held a part of Dean and take it all for himself. Envy was wanting, in every sense of the word. It was white hot jealousy and cool dark self-hate. Not good enough, not enough.

Envy was waiting, a simmering pot ready to boil.

Envy was a live wire. It left him raw and exposed and spitting at every frisson of energy, at every furtive glance and graze of flesh that could be twisted until his mind screamed reciprocated. It was wanting to corrupt, to pull Dean into the pit of fire and devour. It was possession, a need to take and claim and let everyone see what was his.

Envy was irony, the heat of the flames and yet still the desire to drown. To plunder and indulge and never come up for air. It was dark, debauched; irrational and depraved. A barrage of thoughts that could not be silenced, the distortion of simple gestures and innocent thoughts until he felt it beginning to change him.

Envy was meant to be green, clouding his thoughts and seeping into his vision. But all he could see was red.

Envy was a tease, the knowledge that even if he could have he wouldn’t be able to keep. It was despair, destruction from the inside out. And worst of all, it was the deep-seated realisation that there was no escape.

ii. Pride (Dean)

Pride was stone, cool and unforgiving. A faceless mask, marble on the outside.

Pride was walls crumbling in silence, tucked away at the back of his mind while the exterior laughed on. It was never being able to ask for help, never being able to cave to his feelings. It was never being able to admit.

Pride was a lie, carefully crafted. It was throwing away the keys to the locked box inside of him whose contents were spreading like black ink through his brain. It was ignoring the tightening in his gut when brown hair and blue eyes filled his vision. It was denial, an unwillingness to accept a truth he’d tried to defy. It was a mask, worn to please others in the hope that eventually it would stain his face and forever remain enough.

Pride was falling apart when alone, hands scraping along skin. It was trying to tear the skin from his bones, to turn himself inside out and find out what went wrong on the inside. It was fear, unbridled and unchecked, like a poison in his veins. It was bitterness, acrid in his mouth as his mind rebelled and his body raged.

Pride was a cold hand wrapped around his neck, tightening until he couldn’t breathe.

iii. Wrath (Cas & Dean)

Wrath was inevitable.

Wrath was a swelling storm set on the path for destruction. It was rolling clouds and rumbling thunder as anger lashed upon the window panes. It was accusations and rebuttals, denial battling desire.

Wrath was pain, heart wrenching and violent. It was knuckles cracking as fist met bone, shocked stares etched on faces as breaths gasped wet and heavy. It was electrifying, sizzling across every fibre, clouding every thought. It was agony, leaving them wretched and shaking as hands balled and the world continued on outside. It was the stinging reality raining down upon them, fury boiling in their blood.

Wrath was honesty, unwillingly torn instead of wilfully given. It was secrets being spilled and truths being shared as lightning flashed. It was a chasm, the gaping void it rent between them.

Wrath was the crescendo, poised and waiting for the fall.

iv. Lust (Cas & Dean)

Lust was the overflow, the spilling of rage across a fiery palette. It was when wrath and envy and desire clashed, and had no choice but to ignite. It was the high point of a crescendo, a stinging note that was fragile and just waiting to explode and descend into anarchy. It was an exploding star, taking over every sense and every thought and stripping them back to base level, taking away everything but animalistic instinct and carnal need.

Lust was Dean, passionate to the core, leaving Cas a mess in his wake.

Lust was strong hands pushing sleeves to elbows, predator stalking prey. It was hands fisting in his hair, yanking his head back, lips on his neck and his pulse throbbing underneath. It was hands clenching in shirts, breath misting windows, chests heaving and tongues searching.

Lust was the sound of harsh panting, desperate moans and drawn out whines. It was a plea and an order, begging and giving. It was the sound of zippers being opened and discarded shirts colliding with bedside lamps. It was a desperate groan, whispered names and shouted profanities.

Lust was memory overriding as senses tried to keep up, as hands mapped and explored and mind tried to file away the details; the curve of ribcage, the taste of teeth and tongue. It was the feel of hair under fingertips, the sound of a moan when hands tightened and pulled. It was biting, making marks; leaving evidence that was visceral and grounding.

Lust was wet heat, tight and mind-blowing. It was resistance, a pinch of a brow and a clench of muscle, eyes worried as movement halted and hands stroked and reassured. It was acceptance, the sharp inhale and the smoothing of a frown as wonder overtook fear. It was legs hiked above hips as sweat slid down and spines arched; as hands scrabbled and eyes rolled.

Lust was selfish, both of them taking what they wanted, anger still rich in their blood. It was hard and fast, bruises blooming on thighs and clavicles, evil smirks as pulses peaked and the race began. It was the moment of suspension where everything whited out and it was just them in the room and the consequence of action.

Lust was the sound of the door swinging shut; the harsh reminder that to want was not the same as to need.

Present

v. Greed (Dean)

Greed is unexpected, a twisted take on the envy that had burned so bright. It’s the flaring of an itch thought satiated.

Greed is satisfaction, victory; the knowledge of having unlocked a secret that no one else has. It’s smug, arrogant; smirks at the casual touches between them, remembering the illicit ones that have occurred under the cover of darkness.

Greed is possessive, not wanting to share, not wanting to give; only wanting to have. It’s sitting next to Cas when they watch movies so he can hear all of Cas’ muttered comments; letting him ride shotgun even when Sam is with them. It’s seething quietly for every not tonight, I can’t stay.

Greed is a creeping force, sneaking up on him as confidence fractures and insecurities grow. It’s thoughts turning black at every smile that isn’t aimed his way. It’s destructive, as he had known it would be. It’s whispers of mine breathed into the curve of Cas’ neck, it’s bruising hands that hold and never want to let go. It’s leaving marks in places Dean knows can’t be covered. It’s waking up and feeling the curl of discontent at the cold sheets beside him. It’s the never ending pain of the door swinging shut.

Greed is the desire to seep into every crack of Cas’ life so every beat of his heart thumps Dean, Dean, Dean. But more than anything, it’s the hatred of hope that festers in his mind and tells him that this is more than just friends who fuck.

vi. Gluttony (Cas)

Gluttony is insatiable. It’s kissing until lungs burn with the need for air and it’s suffocating in the heat of another person.

Gluttony is this is the last time, just once more. It’s hoping that this will be enough. It’s the door locking after it shuts behind him, telling himself he won’t be going back for more.

Gluttony is an addiction; Dean his drug. It’s the moments after they fall, lying shoulder to shoulder amongst crumpled sheets as static hums between them. It’s twitches of fingertips against fingertips that speak of the urge to grasp and hold.

Gluttony is the forbidden fruit, the ultimate sin that reeks of temptation. It’s selfish; it’s telling himself that he can keep taking and there will be no repercussions. It’s lying to himself when he pretends like this isn’t something he needs, something he craves.

Gluttony is indulgence, heady and intoxicating, filtering out through his lungs until every breath is tainted with the need for more. It’s heated stares across diners and motel rooms, minute changes in expression that lead to fumbled encounters in empty bathrooms and back closets. It’s not being able to concentrate on anything else. It’s losing his sense of purpose, almost getting himself killed time and time again, because he’s trying to ignore the way that Dean looks at him.

Gluttony takes over, an unrelenting pattern of shattered moans uttered in secret behind bunker walls. It's a flimsy wall, thrown up to protect the wavering emotions between them. It’s questions silenced with a kiss in the hope that that will keep them at bay. It’s the not-knowing, the partaking in questing hands and knees squeezing hips so that he doesn’t have to look any further into what this is or what they’re doing.

Gluttony is the lie that allows him to keep believing he’s selfish, that it’s a physical need to fulfil that means nothing to him, that he keeps going back because god it’s good and that’s all it is. It’s the sin which lingers in the mind, never silenced, never satiated. It’s the sin that means it’s already too late.

vii. Sloth (Dean)

Sloth is complacency, warm content at the way things are and blind denial at how they’re changing.

Sloth is the ghost of what could be. It’s liquid silk, running through his fingertips and impossible for him to grasp a hold of. It’s panic, tight in his throat at the thought of finality.

Sloth is lazy fingertips tracing sternum and hipbone, it’s the fake aroma of serenity as he swallows around the words in his throat. It’s missed sunrises as he wallows in the cold of the empty space next to him on the bed, as the silence rings so loud.

Sloth is the most wicked sin, for it lured him in under the false pretence of lazy mornings and the smell of coffee, when really it’s no more than the reflection of indolence and torpor. It’s loneliness, it’s having but wanting more and being too afraid to lose what he already has. It’s a lie of contentment, but it’s so inviting, pulling him in and cradling him in apathy, whispering in his ear that it’s better this way.

Sloth is the siren’s call, impossible to resist but knowingly the descent into disaster.

#destiel #ficlet #poem #profoundnet #seven deadly sins #spn #dean winchester #castiel #jj writes

58 notes · View notes

likeabcmbboi-blog · 6 years

Text

just chill.

Apollo digs his fingers into his eyes, his elbows hard on his knees as he leans over himself. He can feel the wetness collecting. He isn’t sure if it’s tears or the pressure he’s putting on them, but he’s been fighting not to puke most of the morning. He urged Tim to go to class, not wanting to keep him from his class too much, especially after he’d gone with Apollo the day before to see the doctor.

He can’t stop thinking about it...

He’d known there was something wrong. He’d said as much! Something wasn’t right.

And he’d been right.

But nobody was sure what WAS wrong, either.

They had looked at everything, the ultrasound, the dates-

Apollo’s eyes well up with what was definitely tears thinking about the sound of his baby’s heart. It was so strong. Strong and healthy. He’d heard his baby alive and well for the first time. Something that monumental should be something he isn’t plagued with gut wrenching fear about.

But what if something was wrong?

With the dates and when Apollo had started to show symptoms, he should only be six or so weeks. It felt like yesterday Virgil’s mother told him. But the ultrasound showed a different story. The baby is bigger than twelve weeks. He’s showing, even if it’s just a little so far. He can feel the top of his uterus, a hard spot on his lower belly that only gets bigger by the day. More than six weeks ago he was not only on testosterone- true it’s possible even on hormones, but when he ended up in the hospital… someone should have spotted it. They took blood! They would have seen it. So why is he this far along with no explanation?

What is wrong with him? Is his baby sick?

He heaves a shaking breath, trying to get himself together when his prosthetic chirps three soft beeps. Apollo’s brows furrow, unfamiliar with the sound. He sniffs hard when he pulls his hands away from his face to look at his arm. As he does, turning his wrist, the holo screen projects a face with a small, polite smile and an unmistakably scheming glint in a pair of beady eyes.

“Good afternoon, Mister Harper.” Apollo stares at Luthor for a long moment before his lips pull in a snarl, “What the fuck do you want?” “Well, that’s not unexpected but still, what a greeting.”

“Luthor,” he snarls, nose twitching with an anger and a fear that has him shaking like a leaf. He tries to keep his arm steady so the projection doesn’t move. “Dear boy, calm yourself. Breathe. The stress isn’t good for the baby.” And with that, just as quickly as the anger came, it’s gone. It washes out of him along with the color in his face, leaving him looking pale and sick, eyes wide and watering a little again. He stares at Luthor for a long moment, voice soft and quaking. “How do you know about that?” “Apollo, you were my property for YEARS. I keep up on my investments, especially when they’re still sporting my equipment.” He gestures a little, his hand coming into frame. He means the very arm he’s contacting Apollo on. “Ho-How do you know?” Apollo demands, the hint of a snarl coming back. He’s scared and defensive. Like an animal backed into a corner. He wants to bite. “You’re smarter than that, boy, think ab-” “I don’t give a SHIT about-” Apollo cuts Luthor off, and then himself to take a breath, then begins again, slowly, “How do you know?” “Your arm attaches directly to your nervous system. As long as you wear it, I have readings on your nervous system. A little birdy told me you’d been looking worse than usual lately, so I thought I’d take a peek. Healthy. That’s a good sign.” “Don’t you- don’t you fucking talk about my kid, Luthor.” “Are you keeping it?” Luthor asks, almost as if this is exciting for him.

He smiles the whole time and Apollo feels sick. This man is nothing but trauma for him. Anger and hatred and fear. So much fucking fear. If he could do what he did once, he could do it again. That place- what Luthor subjected him to isn’t something he’d ever wish on anyone. Even years later he can’t sleep without a light on somewhere. “That’s none of your business,” he answers very slowly and carefully. “Oh please, Mister Harper, you’ve got questions and I’ve got answers. If I know about it, I know what it’s condition is. That’s what you’re thinking, right?” Apollo balks a little, staring at the projection. He hadn’t been thinking about it- had figured Luthor had been bluffing and his defensiveness was what had given him away, but how could he have gone to such a hunch without SOMETHING to go off to begin with. He blinks slowly, forehead tight with his scowl. “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” “I’ll kill you, Lex Luthor. I’m going to strangle you to death with your own fucking EQUIPMENT.” Apollo snaps, face red, “Tell me.” “You were the first stepping stone in what would later be called Project Genesis.”

Instead of pressing for more, he just watches him. He hopes by now Luthor has gotten the message that he’s not fucking around. He wants answers or he’s coming for Luthor’s scrawny neck. Thankfully, he continues, but only after a lengthy pause, for effect no doubt.

“At first our attempts at cloning weren’t fruitful. A little of your DNA was never enough, and nothing would grow to term in the tanks. So before we removed your arm, we altered your gestational period. We were going to simply use your uterus as a tank to grow clones. An actual biological tank would have better odds than something artificial. “What takes most humans forty weeks to accomplish, the average time for a pregnancy, your body now can accomplish in just twenty weeks. Or so that was what we were hoping for. We were never able to test it because with the board I had at the time it was deemed unethical. Good news for you though, it seems to be working just as we had planned.” Acid rises in Apollo’s throat. He stares for a long time, lost in his own mind as the words wash over him. He sits on his bed and listens to the man who ruined his life and traumatized him beyond believe- listens to the man who DISABLED HIM- “You altered my gestational period,” he repeats, a voice of soft disbelief. “Correct. Your pregnancies last half the time they should, so long as things go according to plan. As I said, we were never able to test it, so think of this as a blind field test.” “This isn’t a fucking game, you psychopath!” Apollo snaps again. All he is now is rage. “This isn’t another one of your sick fucking experiments, Luthor! This is my goddamn life! This is my KID’S life. NOT yours. It was NEVER yours.” Luthor looks like he’s going to speak up in protest, though the amusement at Apollo’s outburst isn’t hidden, when he’s interrupted.

“I WILL kill you, Luthor. Mark my fucking words. You contact me again- me, or anyone I speak to- and I will murder you with your own goddamn gift. Do you understand me?” There is a long stretch of silence, a long time Luthor just watches Apollo’s face and the way he pants hot through his teeth, seething at the man who damaged him in ways he’ll never be able to heal from. When he’s good and ready, he inclines his head once, his expression a mix of satisfaction and yet disappointment- he didn’t get all that he had wanted from him, never satisfied- but he relents. “Best of luck then, Apollo. And congratulations.” He watches another beat before he deems Apollo done with him and he closes the contact from his end. The projection disappears and leaves him disoriented and dizzy. He had been so focused on it, without the image there, he feels like his world is spinning. Slowly Apollo lowers his shaking arm, hand coming around to settle on his belly. He has his answers, but the tangled mess in his chest has managed to jam his heart up into his throat hard enough he swears he might choke on it. He swallows, as if it would help, and curls up slowly, shaking too hard to do much else. He wraps arms around himself, laying in the sunlight coming in from the window. It’s warm on his face.

When the tears start, he hides himself in his blankets instead.

#ic: action #body horror/#trauma/#experimentation/#medical/#ptsd/#pregnancy mention/#// Listen Luthor's a scumbag

7 notes · View notes

cygnetofthesea · 6 years

Text

Absolution in You: Part III

When Barry meets Iris under unusual circumstances, he never would have imagined just how tangled in her he would become. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But the fates had a twisted sense of humor, it seemed and here he was…

Part I on tumblr and AO3

Part II: tumblr and AO3

Part III: AO3

Warning: Violence and angst ahead.

Barry had an idea for what could come after.

With a new sense of resolve, he walks into the flower shop the next day. His uncle is standing at his usual post with his back turned against him. Darhk sits nearby, lazily counting money from the till.

Darhk looks up, never ceasing his counting while his uncle carries on making flower arrangements.

"I'm out," Barry says without preamble. "You're going to have to get the next job done without me."

Zoom pauses in his arrangements, his hands stilling. "I don't think you understand quite how it works, son."

"I understand just fine." Barry takes out a worn paper bag from his jacket pocket. "This is my payout on the last job. As a courtesy and everything you've done for me." He set it down on the table in front of him with a thud.

Zoom slowly turns around, his movements unhurried. He looks at Barry and quirks his lips slightly. "Just like your father," he drawls. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. He picks up a rose from the table and begins clipping it. "Do you remember that day, all those years ago your father came right to my door saying the same thing? Well, not quite the same," he amends. "Your father was a lot more polite about it and yet you stand here like you're some kind of prince."

"Why do you have to make this hard, Hunter?"

Zoom's eyes snap up to look at him, flashing with barely concealed anger. "Have some respect, boy."

Barry ignores him. "You have your boys and I know you're always looking to recruit. You don't need me anymore."

"Oh well Barry, I didn't realize you were feeling so useless. I apologize you feel that way—"

"Fucking cut the crap, will you?" Barry walks up to the table where his uncle sat and leans forward, his hands resting on the surface. He looks at his uncle with every bit of bitterness and hatred he held for the man. "Let me repeat myself since your aging ears didn't catch it the first time. I'm fucking done. You have a problem with that, you come find me at 323 Infantino Street. Stop by any time."

Hunter's stare hardens as Barry pushes off the table and take a step back. "You didn't let me finish the story, Barry,” he begins with an eerily calm tone that belies the fire in his eyes. “See, when your father tried to walk away, I clipped his nuts and took everything from him. I destroyed his family.”

"Don't fucking talk about my father," Barry grits out, his blood pumping with anger he was trying to keep at bay. The last thing he wanted was a brawl and he didn’t intend for it to escalate. He takes a breath, fighting to keep calm.

The smile that spreads across Hunter's aged face is so sinister, it might have made Barry quiver in fear had he still been eleven years old. He knows it made grown men twice his own age still tremble and it was that power that made them do whatever Hunter Zoloman asked of them.

But not Barry Allen.

"Well then, let's talk about your mother, shall we? Your father said she uh, she left, right? Is that how the story went? She couldn't take being a coward's wife anymore and didn't want to be the mother of a little piece of shit like you so she hightailed it out as fast as she could. That's how you remember that story, don't you?"

Barry says nothing, standing stock-still as he tries to prepare for the heinous words that would come next. He knows his uncle would do anything to manipulate him, had been doing so for the last seventeen years.

"Well, let me enlighten you, my sweet nephew." He walks around the table and slowly strides over to Barry until they stood face to face. Barry refuses to look at him, his height making so that his eyes land on Zoom's chin. He feels the heavy hand of his uncle land on his shoulder before leaning in to whisper in Barry's ear. "I fucked her up with some smack and let your daddy find her body." The hand on Barry's shoulder travels up to the back of his head to catch his hair in a firm grip. "And then I watched as the cops took him away for something he didn't even do, knowing full well my brother would live the rest of his natural life rotting in a high-security prison. But he didn’t make it very long, did he? So you tell me, son—"

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Barry seethes, his eyes shifting up to meet Zoom’s. He could feel the walls inside him trembling with the b+arely suppressed rage and the heartbreak.

But Zoom ignores him, looking at him with a calm that belies the barely hidden threat in his gaze. He jerks Barry’s head closer while gritting his teeth. “So you tell me, son, just who do you think you are?”

Barry’s fingers twitches, his knuckles tingling with the urge to hit something as the blood boils up inside him. Against his will he finds himself breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, giving away how affected he was by the words that cut through him like razor blades.

He glares into his uncle's eyes, feeling the heavy hand on the back of his head like an armored weight. He would love nothing more than to take that hand and crush every fucking bone in it before taking apart the rest of him.

He had always wondered where his mother went, always fantasized that she would return to them one day. Perhaps she had settled somewhere nice where she could watch the sunset by the beach, where she was able to take the break she needed before coming back to them. As he got older, his hope had dwindled, but there was still a flicker that stayed alive. Deep in the dark recesses of his thoughts, he imagined that he would one day go looking for her instead. He would show her that he had turned out ok and show her the money he had raised to give her.

But now...now that hope was snuffed out just like the light had been when his uncle stole her mother’s life.

He could feel the burn in his nose that warned him of the tears to come, but he forces himself to fight against them, to think of Iris. Iris, Iris, Iris…her face flickers in his mind, her bright smile that never ceases to simultaneously thrill and calm him. Iris, Iris, Iris...she needs to be kept away from all this. Trouble was coming, the dark clouds looming ahead and he needs to make sure she didn’t get caught in the eye of the storm.

He grits his teeth and pulls out of his uncle’s grasp with a rough jerk. He straightens a glare at his uncle before turning away toward the door.

"Oh, and one more thing, Barry," Zoom calls out. "I hear you have yourself a nice, sweet girlfriend.” Barry stops in his track, a cold shiver running through his chest. “Lives right by the park…I wouldn't want to send her funeral arrangement to your house, now that I know where you live and all."

Without looking at his uncle, Barry burst out of the flower shop, marching until he rounds into the nearest alleyway. He punches the brick wall and lets out a scream of anguish, his mind filtering with the new information about his mother and the looming threat on Iris's life.

He couldn't let Zoom win. He had to find a way out of this.

He made it to Iris's place in record time, using his set of keys to walk in. "Iris?" he calls out, his heart thumping in his chest. The place was too quiet for his liking. He put one hand on the gun on his belt as he carefully moves within the apartment.

He makes it to her bedroom where the door stood partially open. His pulse is fast, vibrating against his skin as he slowly reaches out one hand and pushes open the door.

Iris sat there on her bed, shaking as she looks at the floor with stricken eyes. He rushes over to her, kneeling on the ground in front of her.

"Iris?” he breathes. “What's wrong?"

She jerks at his touch, before settling down. She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly, nodding her head in jerky movements.

"I'm fine," she finally chokes out.

Had someone gotten to her already? But, no if they had then she wouldn't be here, he reasoned. "Baby, you don't look fine. Please, talk to me." He reaches out a hand to cup the side of her face. Her skin felt so hot, almost feverish. For a brief moment, the thought that she was poisoned crosses his mind.

"Hey, did you go anywhere today?"

She looks at him then with furrowed brows. "Why?”

"Just-d-did you go to the orphanage or Dr. Finkle’s?"

She shakes her head slowly and Barry let himself relax a little. He would worry about the fact that she skipped out on her appointment later. "What's going on, Iris?"

Iris looks down at the phone clutched in her hand and lets out a quiet sniffle. “Martin's granddaughter is taking him to Starling City. She said that he needs to be in rehab for awhile and is bringing him closer to her."

Barry let out a deep sigh of relief that he hoped she would take as distress on her behalf. Getting the news that Martin Stein had suffered partial eye loss and some memory loss as a result of the robbery had been hard for Iris when she found out months ago. Her guilt had only gotten worse and the determination to find those responsible grew stronger.

He had tried hard to steer her away, telling her that the FBI was more equipped to handle it and would bring Stein to justice, but it only made her pull away from him and keep secrets. He was in no place to feel hurt by it, but it didn’t mean he wasn't.

Her visits to see Stein never stopped, but now hearing how he wasn't even going to be taken care of by family must have cut through Iris even more. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to assuage her guilt even if she did find out about his involvement.

"Iris, don't do this to yourself. It's not—"

"It's not my fault,” she says softly, her voice cracking. She turns to him with a strange look. "I know that now."

He doesn’t say anything, wondering what that look was before he nods slowly. "Good. It isn't. You shouldn't carry that weight on your shoulders because it isn't your burden."

"Is that how you carry on living?"

Barry's breath catches in his throat, his blood running cold. "Wh-what?"

"Not feeling an ounce of guilt or pain every time you see me distraught over what happened. Because you tell yourself that it's not your burden to carry…even if it is."

And suddenly the arm he was gently stroking no longer feels familiar as he finally recognizes the look in her eyes. In the midst of hurt and anger, there was betrayal. How long had it been there but he was too blind to see it? Too caught up in his fantasy that they were going to be ok to see that she really was pulling away.

"Iris…"

She sits stiffly, never looking away. "What else do you have to say to me?" she asked in an eerily calm voice.

"H-how? Who spoke to you?" he asks in a hushed voice, his heart racing. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, this wasn't how she was supposed to find out.

"I told you, I was going to find them. And that's exactly what I've been doing."

She pulls a small crumpled paper out of her cardigan pocket and shows it to him. “Recognize this?”

Barry cautiously looks away from her face and down at the paper she held out in front of her. He squints his eyes and immediately sees what she’s showing him. It’s a white sheet of paper filled with sketches of what looked like a logo. There were variations of it, as though trying to get just the right look. And there it was, just off to the center of the sheet. A circle with a lightning bolt across it. It was the only sketch that was darkened with repeated hard strokes and two underlines below it.

His heart thuds in his chest and he fights to maintain composure. It was the very same logo for the auto shop Hunter had let him work for years before finding a better opportunity at Ramon Industries.

“I’d been working on it for awhile,” she murmurs, still with that eerie calm. “When I was blindfolded in that van, I couldn’t see anything ahead of me. But, for a brief moment, I saw something under the blindfolds. A hand passing off a sheet of paper across my lap with a logo on the stationery. There was writing on the paper that I couldn’t catch but that logo haunted me. I tried to pin down just what it was because all I saw was a flash of it.”

Barry swallows thickly, looking up at her shiny eyes. He waits with bated breath, wondering just how he had missed this all along while he was with her. How did he miss the fact that she had gotten this far? How the hell did she pin it down to him?

“And then Linda asked to pick up her car from this shop one town over and guess what I find when I get there?” She pulls out a notepad with the words “Flash Auto Shop” printed next to a circle with a lightning bolt inside it. And just like that, the realization settles in.

“I pulled their employee records and found out that once upon a time a Barry Allen, Leonard Snart, and Mick Rory had worked there. The manager spoke of the three brothers that kept business booming.”

She stands up and Barry sees that she was sitting on a folder and he realizes she must have hidden it when she heard his voice.

“How-how did you even get those records? They’re confidential.” He stammers uselessly in a daze.

“A scorned woman finds a way.”

She tosses the folder to him where he still remains kneeled, frozen as her words penetrate the fog his mind had fallen into.

"What really solidified things was the tattoo. Mick Rory's records show that he has a fireball tattoo on his neck…just like the one I saw the man that bruised my arm as he told me he'd come find me if I spoke to the Feds. That's your buddy, isn't it, Barry?"

"No!" he says vehemently as if it would make a difference to her. "He is not my friend, Iris. I just work with him, but I've been keeping him away from you."

She let out a mirthless laugh, her eyes welling up. "Oh, so you're my savior now? Condemning me to a life of looking over my shoulders, but somehow you're protecting me."

He stood up, holding his hands out in a placating manner. "You need to give me a chance to explain, please. Ok? I promise I can explain everything to you."

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. "Just get the fuck out of here. I have all the explanation I need."

He feels the prickle behind his eyes but swallows past the urge to scream. He needs her to know the truth, he needs her to know that he loves her more than life itself.

"Iris," he pleads. "There's more to the story. I promise you, I wanted to tell you. That night I took you out on that boat? I was going to tell you then. I just wanted to spend one last night with you because I knew you would hate me afterward."

"Oh you mean, the night you screwed me?" she burst out. Barry closed his eyes slowly, realizing she was mistaking his intentions from that night. He really hadn’t meant it to go that far that night. He hadn’t meant for a lot of things to go as far as they did.

He presses his hands to his temples as she continues. "Was that your plan all along? Follow me, terrorize me, trick your way into my life, into me?"

His eyes snap open. "No! Of course not, Iris, you don't understand how much you mean to me. The reason I followed you, to begin with, was to protect you. I know you don't believe it, but that is the truth. I had no intentions of falling—"

"Fuck you!"

Her screech echoes in the abrupt silence of the room and suddenly he could hear the beat of his heart loudly in his ears. It was so loud as though he was listening through a pair of stethoscope and for an irrational moment, he wonders if she can hear it too. How it was beating and breaking for her all at once.

"Iris," he says in a small voice, weak with despair. Please, goddamnit, please believe me. “Look at me. Please, just look at me.” He begs her even as she does look at him.

"Get out," she says, the tears finally spilling. "Get the fuck out of my home and don't you ever let me see your face again."

He walks toward her, his hand reaching out, needing her to feel him and what he felt for her. She jerks away just as his hand brushes against her arm.

"Don't," she says dangerously. "Don't you touch me."

I love you so fucking much. He wants her to know, god how he needs her to know. But looking at her ashen face, the way she looked at him with such betrayal, he knew uttering the words would only piss her off further. She was in no state to accept his love...and really, could he blame her?

So without another word, he steps to the side, keeping his sights on her before leaving.

The sunken feeling in his chest follows him as he makes his way to Snart's, knowing he'd find the brothers home there.

Sure enough, there is Rory sniffing a line of coke while Len messes around with a newly acquired guitar.

"Heeey, there he is. Mr. I-don't-do-no-more-jobs," Len said with a smirk. "Have you talked to Zoom? Because he's not too happy with you wanting to back out and quite frankly neither are we."

"I don't give a shit," Barry mumbles, eyeing the small packs of blow sitting beside Rory. His heart hadn't stopped thumping in his chest and there was a fire that had been building inside of him needing to be released.

"No? Well, whatever happened to loyalty brother?"

Barry looks at Len. "You never get sick of this shit? Don't you ever want to put this life in your rearview? We never asked for this, Len."

“You’ve never complained before.”

“That’s because I didn’t know anything else. I never knew better.”

Len only shrugged. "Hey man, I have no complaints. I have food in my belly, money in pockets, and all the drugs and weapons I could ever need to keep my family safe. What's there not to love?"

"What about getting killed? Or getting caught and spending the rest of your life surrounded by cinder block? That never crossed your mind?"

"Well, I live for the danger. What's life without a little thrill?"

Barry feels the energy thrum in his body, his fingers twitching as they reach up to rake through his hair. He pulls on the strands roughly, feeling the onslaught of a headache coming on as he looks at where Rory was sitting back on the couch, his head tilted backward, taking in the high.

Barry marches over to Rory and snatches up a pack of white powder.

"Hey!" Rory's head snaps up to glare at Barry. "Get your own fucking stash."

"Fuck off." Barry walks into the kitchen, Rory following hot on his trail.

"Hey, I said get your own damn stash." He feels a heavy hand clamp down hard on his shoulder and Barry whirls around, twisting Rory's arm painfully behind him.

Mick Rory may have been built heavier than Barry's thin frame, but he was dumb and relied on brute force. Barry, on the other hand, is equipped with well-trained muscles and a calculating approach. He knows his attacker's moves before they could make it and Rory was no different.

Barry tightens his hold on Rory's arm who lets out a grunt of pain. "No, I'm pretty sure you said 'Get your own fucking stash,' but you know what, Mick? I want yours and I am going to take it."

"I'm going to kill you," Rory says in a strained voice before twisting around and throwing Barry against the fridge. He lands painfully but it doesn’t stop him from fucking just in time as Rory's fist came toward him, hitting the fridge instead. The glasses within shook at the force.

Rory charges toward Barry, slamming his body against the counter, the edges digging into Barry’s bones. Barry brings his elbow down hard against Rory’s back, but he doesn’t let go, only gripping Barry tighter. Barry struggles to breathe as he tries to maneuver around his hold.

Rory suddenly lifts Barry up and slams him hard against the floor. Barry’s head bounces painfully off the linoleum, his vision blurring for a moment. Through the spots in his eyesight, he sees Rory looming over him and only waits for him to make his next move.

Rory grabs Barry roughly by his shirt, nearly tearing at the thermal fabric but before he could do anything else, Barry’s hand strikes quickly at his throat, choking Rory with his own trachea. In the second Rory let go of him, Barry lands another punch to his eye. He takes Rory’s head in his hand and slams it against the kitchen counter with a loud thud.

Rory's body slid to the ground and Barry watches, trying to catch his breath. His chest feels constricted and the pain in his head is barely a thought as the adrenaline pumps through his blood. He walks over to Rory’s prone body and straddles him, grabbing him by the neck and looking into his one eye that wasn't bloody.

"I want you to look at me, Mick," Barry growls. "I want you to fucking look at me. You see this face? I don’t give a damn about the history you and I have because you need to know that you do not fuck with me. I'm done with your bullshit."

He hears footsteps come up behind him as he stands, breathing heavily.

"What the fuck, Barry!"

Barry ignores Len and walks over toward the fridge where the pack of white dust had fallen. He picks it up before opening the fridge as though nothing was amiss, letting Len take care of the piece of shit. He grabs two bottles of beer that had fallen on their sides before slamming the fridge shut and looking at Len.

Len stares at him as though looking at a stranger, his brows furrowed in confusion. He shakes his head.

"I thought you gave up on that shit."

Barry shrugs. "Who said you can’t go back to old habits."

Barry makes to move past him when Len grabs him by the arm. "What the hell is going on with you?" There was a tinge of concern in his voice as he scrutinizes Barry's expression. “You don’t pull this shit.”

"He's fucked is what it is." Barry and Len look down at Rory who was twisting on the ground, somehow managing to speak.

"Put some ice on that and shut up," Barry says. He shook Len's hand loose from his arm and slammed the door shut on the way out.

Hours later he sits in an abandoned train cart staring at the white powder he had shaken out on a glass surface. The two bottles of beer sat empty as he contemplates the pile of coke. It had been a long while since he had it in his system. He had decided a long time ago he needed some kind of stability in his life that a life of crime couldn't offer so he quit drugs and tried to lead as much of an honest life a thief could.

But sitting there alone in the train as the sun showed signs of setting, Barry wonders what he had to lose at this point. He supposes he always knew there was something out there for him beyond this life, but he never could pinpoint what it was until Iris West happened.

Iris, who led an honest life. Despite the tragedies she faced through the years, she never used it as an excuse to be cruel and punish people, but instead, she used it as fuel to do good in the world. To find ways to make the world better and inspire those around her.

But now he had lost that. He had lost the one good thing in his life that made everything else worth it and here he sits alone, wondering what he had left to fight for.

No, she wasn't gone, he thinks. She may hate him, but there's still a target on her back and there wasn't anyone else that could do anything about it besides him. Gritting his teeth he leans down close toward the white powder and takes in a deep breath. He purses his lips and blows across the surface watching as the powder floated away from him.

This wasn't the end. He still had a job to do.

#Westallen #Westallen fanfic #Westallen fic #HeroSavesPeople #Absolution In You #so much cringe over this #I had to rewrite one scene and cut out a fight scene but then as I was reading rereading I was shaking my head #it just sounds weird for some reaosn #*reason #something feels missing #anyways...here it is #tw: violence #WA ff

4 notes · View notes

thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years

Text

Glitched: Part 3 - A Storm is Coming

Author's Note: A reminder that this is a dark, angsty horror story centered mainly on Anti torturing Jack as well as the egos. There is nothing remotely happy or positive about this fanfiction I'm writing. This chapter is rather intense, is quite dark (especially near the end), and there is a bit of bloodshed. There WILL be feels. You have been warned.....Enjoy!

Listen to this while reading it

Darkness – that’s all he saw now. Nothing but pure black.

Shadows caressed and coiled around his weak and crippling body, chilling him to the bone and draining any hope he had left. This darkness was poisoning him just as bad as that unstable monstrosity’s words. The YouTuber was always known as a cheerful soul filled with so much positive energy, always being there for the community and getting them to have about as much fun as him. It was easy for him to be happy and think positive.

But not now – not after everything he’d heard, everything he’d seen.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get himself to keep his head up and think of something positive. He had tried countless times telling himself that the community hadn’t given up and were actually making an effort at getting him back, but every single time the thought sparked into his head, the spark would almost instantly burn out; getting torn out of the way by Anti’s ruthless truths. There was barely any light left in the Irishman’s eyes now, the energy slipping from his body the longer he remained caged here. He was convinced now – there was no hope left.

No one was coming to save him. He would rot in his cell along with his dying beliefs and wishes.

He sat in the corner of his cell, hugging his knees in close to his chest as he struggled to breathe properly. Laying across from him in the dead center of the cell was the corpse of his best friend, Sam, the eyeball still very much dead and unmoving; his severed pupil staring coldly at Jack. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but Jack could’ve sworn it was like the septic eye was looking at him with sadness and agony, almost like he was frightened. The green-haired man let out a shaken raspy breath, staring back at Sam with sore, reddened eyes. When Anti had carelessly tossed the dead optical organ at him, it had seriously left a deep, agonizing scar in Jack’s heart. He had screamed in anguish over his murdered friend for what had felt like hours, crying until he had no tears left to shed, and even then, he had continued to dry heave and sob. His eyes wandered down to his hands, seeing the sticky blood and residue still lining his hands and arms from when he had held Sam. He felt the tears beginning to come back, but he quickly tore his gaze away and closed his eyes, inhaling slowly and unevenly to try and relax his nerves.

Right as he was starting to calm down, he jumped, startled when he heard the main door swing open, hearing someone come storming into the pitch-black room. Jack instantly sat up straight, squinting his eyes and making out a lean figure – Anti – rushing through the darkness, looking quite…angered. Enraged seemed like the more appropriate word, given the way he was acting. His entire being was glitching out spastically, growls and curses leaving him as the ground rippled beneath his feet with each step he took. Jack opened his mouth, almost tempted to ask what was wrong, until his eyes traveled down to see that Anti was armed with his favorite kitchen knife, which was currently getting strangled in his tight grip. The idea instantly escaped Jack’s mind at seeing that knife. If Anti was in a bad mood, while also holding his signature weapon, it would be bloody murder to dare ask him what was wrong.

“ThOSe fOoLs! THosE DEnsE, aRrOGanT BRaTs! HoW StUPiD aRe THey?! HOw dARE thEy THinK tHey CaN stOp mE – PuT an ENd to aLL oF thIS! I dON’t gEt PUt DowN, I’M tHe onE wHo PUts othErS doWn – THey sHoULD knOw tHIs bY NOW!” The demon roared, his speech pattern laced with a bunch of static and getting dragged out at times. His motions were getting increasingly more jerky and sharp, his neck twitching violently and causing the gash along his throat to widen slightly.

The Irishman in his cage watched the manifestation jerk and twitch and glitch out back and forth, waving his hands around out of anger, and at one point, he was genuinely worried the enraged creature’s knife was going to slip out of his grasp and come flying directly at him. Luckily, it didn’t. He had never seen Anti this upset before. Every time he had seen the glitch, he always had a devious sadistic grin plastered on his face, one of which managed to make his blood run cold. But seeing him like this – a completely raving lunatic, armed no less….this was truly terrifying. If Anti was already scary being happy, Jack could only imagine what he was like when angered.

Suddenly, with no warning, the demon stopped dead in his tracks, and with a violent snap of his neck, he had his eyes locked on his prisoner – eyes completely black as coals. He shot his hand out, the one wielding the knife, and pointed it directly at the green-haired man.

“YoU!” He seethed harshly through clenched teeth. He stormed towards the cage. “THey ARe aLl DRowNing iN DeNiAl – YOu aLL ArE! NoNE of YoU sEem tO grAsP the GrEAteR picTuRe iN alL of THis! YOu’Re aLL BliNDinG yOuRSelVEs frOm wHAt’s aCtUaLLy gOinG oN anD iT’s PAthETiC! HoW AM I thE oNlY oNe wHO seEMs tO acTuallY acCepT tHe rEaliTy oF tHe siTuATion?!” The ground beneath him rippled violently, as did the blackness surrounding him. It seemed like any space around him was glitching and tearing apart at the seams like himself.

Jack straightened up and pressed his back into the wall behind him, feeling his heart begin to race out of fear. Anti was actually truly scaring him at the moment. He was pissed – consumed by rage, and being just how unstable he already was, Jack had absolutely no idea what the demon would do. Was he going to kill him, right here and now? Had he had enough of the wait? He didn’t dare say a word, he simply kept his tired eyes locked on the manifestation, watching his figure increasingly get more and more distorted.

“ThEY keEp GOinG oN aBOuT hOW tHeY waNt to SAvE yOu – ThAT tHey CAN sAve YOu! THey KeeP iNSisTiNg thEy CaN sToP mE! WhAt The FUcK aRe thEy plAYinG aT? WHo dO theY thInK tHEy’rE kiDDinG AnYMorE? ThEy CaN’t SAvE yOu – thEY wOn’t, aNd they HavE to aCCepT THaT!” He lashed out with his knife against the bars of the cell, causing Jack to gasp and jump, actually beginning to tremble nervously. The demon growled, his entire face contorted into a menacing look filled with malicious intent. “THeY’rE mOCkiNg mE nOw, CAlliNg Me THeiR ‘GliTCh BiTCh’!” He spat with such distaste his whole body shook violently. “ThEY’rE maKiNg A jOkE ouT oF mE, clAimINg I Don’T haVe tHE gUtS tO sHow MYseLf aNd GEt oN wiTH it ALL! THEy thiNK tHey HoLd ThE poWeR – tHAt beCauSe I’M thEiR crEAtiOn tHat THEY caN coNtRoL mE! WeLL thEY’rE All DEAD wROnG!” He glared at Jack through the bars, genuinely striking fear into the YouTuber’s body. “I pULL thE stRiNgs nOw! I’M thE onE in COntRoL, noT thEM! THey MaY waNt tO teST mE anD sEe mY TRue PoWEr, bUt tHEy arE aLL goiNG tO mEEt tHEir OwN hORriFiC fATeS aT thE rAte tHEy’Re GOinG!”

Jack remained shaking in his corner, watching with wide eyes as Anti ranted on about how the community was a true disappointment to him. He went to open his mouth, actually going to attempt to speak to the demon, but he didn’t get a chance to. Any and all words he was going to say instantly got clogged in his throat, as the unhinged abomination growled and very unexpectedly glitched himself into the cell with Jack, immediately lunging for him. Before the weakened Irishman could react, Anti grabbed him by the hair and yanked on it, pulling him to his feet with incredible strength and then driving the back of his head violently into the wall behind him. Jack, far too weak to scream, let alone fight back, winced and let out a choked gasp of pain, feeling agony throb through the back of his skull. He tiredly looked at Anti, raising his bloodied hands to try and get out of the demon’s grasp, but it was no use. He could feel any and all energy dissipating from his muscles and he barely had it in him anymore to fight.

Anti pulled harshly on his hair, yanking his head back to extend Jack’s neck out to him. With his other hand, he brought his knife to the green-haired man’s throat and pressed the blade to his flesh, applying just enough pressure to make the skin break. Jack gasped at the sudden sharp pain, eyes widening in horror and his whole body going still. One wrong move and he would end up with the exact same gash on his throat as Anti. He immediately locked eyes with his alter ego, his heart racing wildly and his raspy breathing coming out rather panicky. Those demonic soulless eyes staring right back at him were filled with nothing but hatred and rage, and a terrifying burst of fire that clearly screamed ‘murderous intent’.

“A-Anti…?” Jack choked out, hoping like hell this wasn’t the end for him.

The unstable demon glitched spastically, his head jerking violently to the right, then the left, before he growled and pressed the knife against his jugular a tad bit harder. “I shOUlD fuCkiNG KiLL yOu RigHt NoW! FuCK tHe wAiT! I’M doNe wAiTinG! I’vE wAiTeD loNG eNouGh fOr tHiS! ThEY waNt A shOW, tHEy wANt to SeE mE cAUsE hAVoC, then tHaT’s wHAt thEY’ll GeT! I’LL coMPleTelY bUTCher YOuR wEAk, SOrrY aSs uNTiL thERe’S nOThiNg lEFt tO sLiCe!” He hissed through his teeth, the tone in his voice changing drastically from deep and demonic to high-pitched and sharp.

A faint whimper slipped from Jack’s lips at feeling the blade press deeper into his skin. He didn’t move a muscle, fear pulsating through his veins at a rapid pace. This was it, wasn’t it? Anti was going to kill him, right now without care. He felt tears coming back to his eyes, terrified at how this was his fate – getting his throat slit open by his evil alter ego.

“A-Anti…A-Anti, please…D-Don’t do this.” He pleaded desperately, lifting a shaky hand to try and grasp the hand holding the knife to his throat. “I-It doesn’t have….to be like this.” He said, a few loose tears running down his face now.

Anti ignored him, glaring daggers at him and pressing the knife a bit deeper. Jack shut his eyes tightly, yelping out in pain and waiting for the demon to slice him open.

But it never came.

He reopened his eyes when he felt the blade leaving his neck. He glanced up at Anti, a mixture of confusion and fear written clear across his face. The glitch was staring at him, almost in what looked like thought. He scoffed and shook his head.

“No…No, I can’t do that. I can’t kill you just yet.” He lowered his knife and smirked. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the grand finale for everyone. Where’s the fun in that? No, I’m going to wait. I’m going to show them all what I can do, but not just that. I think it’ll be time you see for yourself how ‘loyal’ your fanbase truly is. I think it’ll be the perfect time for them to show their true colors to you once and for all.”

Jack blinked out of puzzlement, letting out a shaky breath of relief. Anti released his hold on him, shoving him hard into the wall before doing so. The YouTuber gasped at the sudden pain and collapsed to the ground with a thud, getting the wind knocked right out of him. He coughed violently, moving a hand up to his mouth, tasting copper unexpectedly blossom in his tongue. He gagged and panted, weakly lifting his head to glance up at Anti. The demon stared down at him, that signature smirk pulling up into a twisted smile at seeing him like this.

“A-Anti, please, I - .”

“Save it, Jackaboy. You and the rest of them need to finally face reality.” He leaned down close to his face. “It’s too late for you. It’s too late to save you. They had their chance and they fucked up.” He grinned, hissing through his teeth. “Nine months too late, Jackie.” He chuckled deep in his throat before standing up straight.

Jack felt an agonizing pang in his chest at hearing what the demon said, staring up at him in horror.

Nine months….He had been here….for nine whole months? He had been chained up like a freak and tortured for nine months, ever since Halloween? If that was the case, the community – they didn’t know. They had no idea. Anti was the one inhabiting his body, pretending to be him, day after day for over half a year now. And yet, whether they knew the truth or not, deep down, Jack knew they still wanted to see Anti – they still longed to see their devious creation cause havoc.

Just by seeing the expression upon his face, Anti knew he had finally gotten to the Irishman and erased any hope he had remaining – if he had any left to begin with. Smirking, he turned to leave, crushing Sam’s corpse with his boot in the process of leaving. He didn’t seem to care how there was now blood and goo smothering the sole of his boot. What he did care about was hearing the choked up gasp of horror that emitted from Jack’s too-dried-up throat. He smirked and with a violent glitch of his body, he was outside of the cell again.

Jack panted shallowly, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes at seeing the bloodied mush on the ground that was once his friend. Bile rose in his throat and he felt a wave of nausea come over him. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. With no warning, he rolled onto his side and vomited, feeling his stomach twist into knots. He whimpered as he held his stomach in pain. Tears left his eyes, racing down his cheeks and onto the dirtied floor.

“Please…Please just…j-just make it stop…” He begged weakly before coughing violently. “Make it stop!” He cried out. “Let me go! Please! Please, Anti! I’m begging you, please!” He sobbed, curling in on himself. “P-Please…M-Make it stop…” He pleaded desperately, painful thoughts of his fanbase coming to mind and only increasing the gut-wrenching agony he was feeling.

Anti stopped where he was and turned to face the wrecked mess of a man, begging him to let him free. He smirked with delight. “Don’t worry, Jackie. It’ll all stop soon, I promise you that much. It will all come to an end.” He sighed with content. “Everything is falling into place. You, the Doc, Brody, even the fans – you’re all right where I want you. And you’ll all get what you want in the end, you’ll see.” His eyes flashed a sickening neon green as his smirk stretched from ear to ear into a terrifying toothy grin. “A storm is coming, Jack…You know it, the other fuckers know it, and your trustworthy community most certainly knows it.”

The Irishman didn’t respond, he didn’t even move or lift his head to look at the glitchy manifestation. He remained in his fetal position, sobbing quietly and choking on his own raspy breaths. He suddenly heard something hit the ground a few feet away from behind him. He sniffled and moved, rolling over onto his stomach to look at what had been thrown. On the ground outside of the cell was a watch, the time set at 3 o'clock pm. He stared at it unresponsive, lifting his head to look over at Anti. Even though it was incredibly dark in the room, he could easily make out that sinister grin on his pale face.

“Keep that. You’ll need it.” He turned and headed for the door.

Jack blinked before returning his attention to the watch. He dragged himself over to the edge of the cage, reaching a trembling hand through the bars to grab the watch and pull it towards himself.

“W-What…What for?” He questioned, his speech uneven as he licked at the tears over his lips. He eyed Anti, waiting impatiently for an answer.

Anti opened the door and glanced over his shoulder at his hostage. He smirked and went to leave, and as he did, the last words he said sent tremors of fear and heartache through the poor Irishman’s body.

“The time of your execution. When the watch reads 4 o’clock, that is when I’ll come back for you. And when I come to retrieve you, you better be ready for what’s to come.”

Part 2 - Save Him

Part 4 - Glitch in the System

@fear-is-nameless @golden-eyed-guardians @anti-support-group

Welp…I did another one…I also plan to do a fourth part as well :)

#i am such a horrible person #i thought it'd only be a two parter #but nope #after seeing the latest video i have such an urge to keep writing #i may do a fourth part too #antisepticeye #anti #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #horror #fanfiction #fanfic #glitched

128 notes · View notes

jeichanhaka · 6 years

Text

If Any Would Avenge: 2

Chapter 01|| Chapter 02|| Chapter 03|| Chapter 04|| Chaper 05|| Chapter 06|| Chapter 07|| Chapter 08|| Chapter 09|| Chapter 10|| Chapters 11+||

Trigger Warning: Death of a child/character death. References to drunk driving.

Summary: A terrible decision on Killian Jone's part leads to horrible tragedy, and a revengeful Dark One.

Chapter Two: Despair

"No."

Gold stumbled backwards from the bed where his son lay, so still and silent. The sheet that had been placed kindly over the toddler's tiny body, he'd pulled down to see the damage and fix it. That sheet should've warned him not to look, to not unveil the tiny body while his wife was there. It was obvious even before he saw his son's crushed, broken body, that no amount of magic could fix things.

He lived for centuries and recognized death.

"No!" Belle screamed beside him, her horrified eyes and whitened cheeks drenched with tears. Her voice nearly hysterical, she screamed and cried and pleaded, while collapsing to her knees. She screamed until her lungs felt like they'd explode, her words were unintelligible but her anguish cut to the bone.

"Belle…." Gold reached out tentatively to his wife, his brown eyes wide with fear and pain. Kneeling down beside her, his hand trembled as he touched her back and then pulled her towards him. A gesture meant to comfort and console, as well as to seek the same. His vision blurred with tears as he embraced her, patting her head and back while she cried. "It's…." Gold faltered, unable to find any words to comfort his wife - it was all he could do not to collapse into a similar state. "I…."

"Rumple." Belle choked out, her throat raw and voice ragged. She slowly gazed up at her husband, her blue eyes reddened and puffy. Her lips trembled, same as her hands that she lifted to embrace Gold. Staring into her husband's familiar eyes that held the same anguish as her, Belle opened her mouth to speak - her brain and heart both shouting at her, but without consensus. Her husband, she knew, would want revenge - would want to hurt someone. She had to make him promise not to, it was the right thing to do, yet…. She shook, terrified of the thought that had just entered her mind. Hollering at her, tempting her, and refusing to budge like a deeply set splinter.

Gold drew in a breath upon seeing the conflict in his wife's eyes. It was a moral conflict he'd never thought Belle would ever face, one he'd never wanted her to. To seek revenge or not. That was the dilemma he read on her face, and that terrified him. Belle was his light, his compass that kept him from falling back into his old ways, back into the darkness. If she lost her way….if she gave into darkness….

"Belle," Gold wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close, shushing her gently when she attempted to speak. "...we'll get through this….you're strong, and…."

"No." Belle sobbed, shaking her head. "No. I'm not. I want….I…." She swallowed back another sob, unable to say exactly what she was thinking. That someone should pay for Gideon. Her son was dead and she wanted someone to blame, someone to hurt. She took in a deep breath, forcing that thought back into the recesses of her brain. Instead she focused on another. "...why? Why did this happen…? How?"

"That's something I'm going to find out." Gold muttered and kissed his wife's forehead.

Emma leaned against Killian, her eyes moist and tired. Though Belle's distraught screaming had stopped, it still echoed in her ears. It resonated with her, reminding her of her first year in Storybrooke when Henry ate the cursed apple turnover. Nearly a decade had passed since that day, but she still remembered how painful it felt almost losing Henry. Yet that, she knew, didn't come close to what Belle must be feeling. Emma had been able to save Henry, but nothing would be able to bring back Gideon.

"...Killian?"

"Yes, luv?"

"Why were you driving?"

Killian fidgeted, dreading the question. He had hoped Emma wouldn't ask it or would leave it for another day. To give him time to think of how to answer, of how to explain. "Luv, I think that's best to discuss another time."

Emma lifted her head and stared into her husband's face, scowling. "No. I want to know. We talked about this before, when you got your driver's license, no driving after drinking."

"I know...I…." Killian faltered, gazing into his wife's face, recognizing the expression she wore. It was one that would not tolerate anything but the truth. Not even if a lie was kinder. "I got a call that you'd collapsed, and I thought about you and the baby, and I panicked. I…." He thought back to when he got the call, and what had gone through his head. "This is a terrible excuse, but I sailed the Jolly Roger before while much more inebriated. I thought I was sober enough to drive. Obviously, I was mistaken."

Emma frowned, unable to decide whether to yell at Killian for his dumb decision or not. "Killian…."

Killian simply squeezed his wife's hand, drawing in a breath as he stared down the hall. He tensed, his gaze locked on Gold storming down the hospital corridor towards them. The fury in the other man was obviously. "Emma, Gold's coming back."

Emma squeezed Killian's hand. She whispered just loud enough for Killian to hear. "We'll get through this. We tell the truth, and…."

"And if the crocodile just wants to kill us?"

"I…."

"That depends on your response." Gold growled having teleported just a few feet in front of Emma and Killian. Chills went up Emma spine, same with Killian's, as Gold leered at the couple. Standing menacing before them, his brown eyes cold and livid, the Dark One scowled. His face full of fury, he spat his question through gritted teeth. "What the hell happened? Which one of you is responsible for killing my son?!" His eyes narrowed when neither Emma nor Killian answered immediately, his face twisted with disgust and contempt. "Well?!"

"Gold, I think it'd be best if you..."

"Shut it." Gold hissed and raised his hand warningly, his eyes darting from savior to pirate. The brown orbs darkened as his gaze shifted back to Emma. "Belle and I left Gideon in your care, trusted you to watch him and keep him safe. Yet..." Gold clenched his hand, bristling.

"Gold, it was an accident." Said Emma trying to explain, her stomach churning from the depth of anger in the man's glare.

"Shut it!" Gold spat and started magically choking Emma, without compunction. His own pain and rage making him impervious to her pregnant state. "Unless it's to answer my questions, neither of you gets to speak."

"Stop! Let her go!" Killian cried out in horror seeing his pregnant wife struggling for air. "It's my fault, I was driving drunk. Emma wasn't even there!"

Gold froze, his fiery anger shifting into a cold loathing. The centuries-old, murderous hatred he'd had for the pirate reignited within the seconds it took to comprehend and shift his attention to Killian. He dropped Emma, who sputtered and gasped for air upon being released.

"Emma!" Killian hurried to his wife's side, terrified for her well-being and that of their unborn child's.

"...you...you were drunk?" Seethed Gold. Despite it doing nothing to curtail his anger, until that second he'd assumed the accident had been an unfortunate and even unavoidable one. He bristled and leered at Killian, his wrath more vicious than before. "You were drunk and yet you drove while my son was in your car?"

"Gold, please don't..." Emma gasped, too weakened to protect her husband as Gold closed the distance between him and Killian. Her eyes widened in panic as Gold sunk his hand into Killian's chest. "Gold! Don't!"

Killian gasped and groaned in pain as Gold wrenched his heart out of his chest. The crystallized crimson organ pulsed in the Dark One's hand. Gold glared at it, and then into the pirate's frightened eyes. A sneer marred his face as he squeezed it slightly, enough that Killian winced.

"No! Please!" Emma pleaded, lifting up her hand to use her magic to knock Killian's heart from Gold's grip. A sharp pain in her abdomen caused her to wince, throwing off her aim and concentration. "Ah! Shit."

"Emma?! What's wrong?!" Killian's eyes widened hearing his wife in pain, he barely noted how Emma's magic blast flew past them and struck the wall. All he could focus on was Emma curling up, clenching her abdomen in agony. "No! Emma!" The pirate shouted, the commotion finally drawing attention from the hospital personnel and visitors. Though each of them were too terrified of the Dark One to intervene. "Do whatever you want to me, crocodile, I deserve it. But Emma doesn't. Neither does our unborn child. Please."

Gold laughed coldly, his hand midway to crushing the pirate's heart into dust. He paused upon seeing the terror in Killian's eyes, terror and pain not for himself but rather Emma and their baby. Gold gave another cold laugh and pushed Killian's heart back into the pirate's chest, to both Killian and Emma's confusion.

"Gold...?"

"A child for a child seems a fitting price." Gold sneered coldly, the darkness within him feeding on his grief and anger. Contorting both until he took delight in the idea that had just occurred to him - to see Killian suffer, he'd hurt anyone. Even the pirate's wife and unborn child.

"...No." Killian tensed at the Dark One's words, his eyes wide and livid. He lunged at Gold, instinct as a father-to-be moving him to protect his child, even if he died in the process. "Don't you dare…."

Gold simply flung the pirate aside with a flick of his finger, magically pinning Killian to the floor where he had full view of him and Emma. Sneering, Gold started choking Emma again, this time with his hand rather than magic. His lips twitched into a dark smile as he stared into Emma's eyes and saw the fear, pain, and anger welling up inside her.

"You should've taken better care of what was mine, dearie." Gold growled, slipping his free hand to Emma's abdomen, the Dark One inside him telling him to take revenge. To not let any qualm or compunction stand in his way.

"Crocodile! You bastard! If you dare hurt her I swear I will take your dagger and plunge it into your worthless heart!" Killian snarled, struggling to resist the magic that kept him bound in place. All the guilt he'd felt earlier about causing Gideon's death was replaced by his fear for his wife and unborn daughter.

"What the hell?!" Regina exclaimed, appearing in a puff of purple smoke just feet from Gold. Fearing and accurately gauging the direness of the situation, Dr. Whale had called her when he'd noticed Gold accosting Emma and Killian.

"Stay out of this, dearie."

"No." Regina seethed, using her own magic to teleport Emma out of Gold's choke hold, and placing the blonde behind her, as well as releasing Killian. "You need to get a hold of yourself!"

"'Get a hold of myself'?" Gold snarled, his rage redirected towards Regina. He readied a blast of magic to push her away, but froze when he noticed the vial of squid ink she held. He leered at her. "Do you have any idea what they've done?!"

"I've….I've been told the jist of what happened." Regina answered tentatively, her gut and heart twisting in empathy. "But it was an accident. Tragic and heart wrenching, yes, but…."

"Accident?! That filthy pirate was drunk! He just admitted it himself!" Gold snapped. "He was drunk, yet he drove with Gideon in his car. He killed my son!"

Regina clenched her teeth and scowled at mention of drunkenness being involved. That bit of info hadn't been shared by Dr. Whale when he'd called. "If that's true, then Hook will pay for that. With jail time. But hurting Emma...hurting their unborn child…." Regina shook her head, her empathy for the grieving father only going so far. "That is not something I nor anyone else in Storybrooke will tolerate. Your grief is no excuse to hurt a child that hasn't even taken its first breath yet."

"I don't give a fuck what you or anyone else in this fucking town thinks, dearie." Gold spat and readied a fireball, having thought up a plan to avoid getting hit by the squid ink.

"Really?" Regina tilted her head, gesturing behind Gold. "Not even Belle?"

"You…."

"...Rumple." Spoke Belle as she stepped towards her husband, her voice distraught and trembling. It was a tone Gold had never heard his wife use before. "Please, don't. Don't do this."

"But...but Belle….because of them, our son…." Gold turned towards his wife, his rage faltering seeing Belle's pale, tear-drenched face. "...Belle."

Belle shook her head, her chin trembling and tears slipping from her red-rimmed eyes. She closed the distance between her and her husband. "Please. Don't."

"B…." Tears filled Gold's eyes, his murderous rage being swallowed by grief and anguish. His heart throbbed seeing his wife tear-stained cheeks and trembling lip. The desperation in her eyes, the loss….He pulled her to him and embraced her, trying to offer her comfort. Kissing her forehead, he whispered just loud enough for Belle and Regina to hear. "All right. I...won't hurt them further. I won't. I promise."

Sighing in relief but otherwise not dropping her guard, Regina turned towards Emma and Killian. "Ok, now…."

Emma crying out in pain and clenching her abdomen, stifled the words in Regina's throat.

"What's wrong?! Emma?!" Regina hurried to the savior's side, her face white with fear. Next to Emma, Killian knelt, a look of helplessness marring his face. He glanced fearfully at Regina, wordlessly begging her to help. The mayor nodded and knelt beside Emma, waving her hand over the younger woman in an attempt to heal whatever was wrong. She froze when it didn't work. "What the hell?"

"Fuck! Ah!" Emma groaned in pain, grasping her stomach. "It's too soon. It's too soon." She mumbled and struggled to not hyperventilate, her eyes wide. Her pain filled cries drew the attention of the hospital personnel who'd loitered nearby, too terrified of Gold to intervene sooner.

"Emma, what is it? What's too soon?" Killian asked, though he was terrified that he knew the answer. "Luv?"

"...the baby...she's com….ahgh!" Emma gasped, a too familiar pain engulfing her body. "Coming."

"No." Regina stared horrified at the younger woman. "This is way too soon…." Her heart racing, she turned back to where Gold and Belle had been, only to discover that the couple had left. Teleported away.

"That bloody crocodile!" Killian spat, having had the same idea as Regina. Before either of them could continue their tirade against the Dark One, Dr. Whale and a few nurses brought over a gurney.

"We need to start treating her now." Dr. Whale stated, firm but gently pushing Killian and Regina to the side. His attention on Emma and getting her onto the gurney and into the ICU as quickly as possible. He interrupted when Killian, worried about Emma, started to protest being shoved aside. "I may be able to stop Emma going into preterm labor. But I need to start now."

"...do whatever you need to...just save our daughter." Emma pleaded with the doctor, before sucking in a sharp breath, the pain in her abdomen worsening. "Please."

Dr. Whale nodded, following the gurney as it was wheeled down the corridor. Killian followed too, refusing to leave his wife's side.

0 notes

gardenthegates · 7 years

Text

Water Under the Bridge

Chapter One: A Rocky Start

Description: In the years to come, people would often ask Caiwen Lavellan how she could have fallen for the Dread Wolf himself. And her answer was always the same; She didn't, she fell for an apostate named Solas.

A look into the moments that snuck up on both of them, and captured both their hearts.

Link to AO3: Here Up to Ch. 9 available there

Caiwen Lavellan was not someone who was easily disoriented. Years of training to be her clan’s leading huntress (17 out of her 27 total to be exact) meant that she was quick, observant, level headed (for the most part) and poised. So the sensation of waking up in a human prison of some sort, chained, already being shouted at in Common (words of accusation? For what?) shouldn’t have shaken her. But then she felt it. Her hand. Her bow-steadying hand. It ached. No – seared! She couldn’t remember a time a pain shot through her whole body from a focal point like this.

It was green. And glowing. Magic – she suddenly understood. At the same time it was impossible, she was no mage. Folding the fade around her will was never a talent she possessed, unlike her kin back home. Fear slowly clouded her vision, and clawed at her stomach so that she barely made out the words the Seeker spat down at her.

At first she assumed they caught her spying. Innocent as her mission may have been she knew instinctively that because of her tapered ears she was suspicious to these southerners. In the Free Marches elves were disliked and mistrusted on the whole as well, but at least her clan (one less prone to nomadic practices than others she knew of) had a tenuous relationship with the nearby human cities and tradesmen.

Here she was an intruder, a stranger. They had no way of knowing she was only here to keep her clan as safe as possible. She knew their ignorance of her intention was not their fault. And yet. She words of the Seeker finally took form through the haze in her brain. The conclave was destroyed, people were dead but she was not. Why her brain could not conjure any image of the last few hours (minutes? Days? How long had she been down here?) she could not fathom.

“You think I’m responsible?” She asked incredulously. Hundreds of people dead. She’d never so much as killed one. Boars and bears and rams sure but never a person.

“Explain this.” The woman spat in her thick Nevarran accent, holding up her hand as a particularly powerful spasm of pain shot through it and – was that sparks? She dared not wince; she could not show weakness. Not here, not in front of these strangers’ eyes so full of accusation and conviction.

“I-I can’t.” She stammered out, hating the shake she could not hide in her voice.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” The confusion and panic she felt in her gut was creeping into her voice despite her attempts at steadying herself. It was all she could do to not cry out at the pain from that mystery on her hand. She figured if her choices were a shaky voice or tears, she might as well go with the better option. “Or how it even got there.” Instead of Caiwen’ denial placating her, the woman before her growled and lunged forward

“You’re lying!” Before Caiwen could even react, a second women, one cloaked in shadow despite her brilliant red hair, pushed the desperate Seeker off of her.

“We need her Cassandra.” The woman shot back tersely, concern seeping into her voice despite her strong stance. Well, at least Caiwen wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hide all of herself right then.

“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent.” She managed to make her voice sound a lot more confident and strong than she was currently feeling. But then the red haired woman asked her what she remembered and she lost any sense of confidence she had mustered before.

“I-I remember…” Spiders. Millions of them. She hated the insects normally but these – all spiky and beady eyes and pincers and huge – “…running. And these creatures were chasing me. And then…” A soft glow, an outstretched hand finally hope in this wretched wasteland “…a woman?” Even as she said the word she couldn’t be sure if it was right. “A woman?” Caiwen’s own amber eyes met the woman’s, she saw hope suddenly flare up in them but she could not decipher why. “She…reached out to me but then…” Nothing. Blank. It was gone, whatever fleeting memory or dream she was grasping at dissipated in her mind.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.” The other woman, Cassandra, at least sounded calmer now. That did not stop the surge of unease that washed over the elf at the thought of going anywhere alone with this woman. But then she was reaching down, unchaining her but still not removing the ropes around her wrists. She felt certain enough to ask now, even if she did not know if she would like the answer.

“What…did happen?” Cassandra shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unsure herself. “It…would be easier to show you.”

The sun blinded her for a moment. No it was the wrong color for the sun. As her eyes adjusted to the sight she felt a stone in her stomach. This wasn’t right. There was…a hole? In the sky. It was swirling and massive and terrifying and green. The same sick green of her hand, which was tingling in…recognition?

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She felt the stone in her stomach shift again. Demons. Definitely not good. “It’s not the only rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Explosion. Ok. At least now she knew what everyone was talking about, even if she still didn’t know how she fit into this just yet. She was faintly aware of herself questioning how any kind of explosion could do…well that, and Cassandra assuring her. This didn’t feel real. It had to be some sort of night terror. But no her hand sparked again and pain shot through her body at an unexpected velocity, sending her to her knees.

“Each time the breach expands you mark spreads. And it is killing you. But it may be the key to stopping all this.” The matter of fact tone of the Seeker both calmed and infuriated her, and reminded her so much of her Keeper. There is danger, its not a question but a fact, and you must deal with it da’len.

“How?” Was all she could grit through her teeth, hand clenched around the searing mark as the pain ebbed and flowed through her palm.

“It may be the key to closing the Breach. Whether that is possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance however. And yours.” The edge was back in her voice, sharp like the sword at Cassandra’s waist. These insane accusations (didn’t humans ever hear of proof) ate at the knot of fear in her throat and she could hear the anger boiling in her own voice.

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.” The woman’s lip sneered in distaste as she yanked her to her feet.

As she was pushed through their camp she felt more than heard the anger emanating off of the people around her. Eyes alight in rage and hurt focused on her, as Cassandra confirmed her suspicion of everyone’s blind hatred. She had been disliked by people before, but this pure seething hatred, more like a giant wild animal than a throng of people, was something she had never experienced directed at her, let alone for something she didn’t even do (for now, despite her gaps in memory, she was sure none of this could have been her doing). Cassandra talked of their Divine (dead?) and her good works, bringing the Templars and mages together like this was something Caiwen had expressed distasted in. Didn’t she, didn’t anyone, know that this stupid war effected her people too? Why did they even think an elven clan would take interest if it did not. They didn’t want this meaningless violence to continue any more than their human counterparts did.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come.”

And with that the ropes on her wrists were gone and the Seeker was leading her up the mountain pass. It took some convincing to let her keep the bow she grabbed but a few quick shots to a rage demon behind the Seeker quickly made up the woman’s mind. Up and up they ran, cold ate at her but it distracted her from the pain, from everything that she needed to tune out and so she welcomed it. She was on the hunt now, bow comfortably grasped in her left hand , the pressure felt welcome against the sharp sparks of hurt there. Her ears twitched and she hurled an arrow at a demon creeping up behind them. For once she didn’t even know who the prey was. She had a bad feeling it was her this time.

And then Cassandra was leading them to a fight. A dwarf and a man were fighting off demons around a smaller version of the Breach above. No not a human man, an elf, a mage. He was clanless, his face as bald as his head but his strong features moved like the hunters she ran with, his weapon a staff instead of a bow. Muscles twisted and stretched, magic shooting from both him and his staff in a way she wished she could imitate with an arrow. She fired off a few more shots, felling the weakened opponents at they ran up to the two strangers.

“Quickly! Before more come through.” And before she could marvel at the depth of his voice or the raw panic and adrenaline threaded through it, his hand was on her wrist and she felt sparks. Her confusion heightened as she realized the sparks were coming from her. Her hand sparked and throbbed and stiffened as a green light connected the rift and her mark, until she could no longer stand it and she pulled her hand back into her. It felt like pulling a rope, one that was once attached to something heavy and unmoving, but suddenly detached with such force that it temporarily knocked the wind out of her. And suddenly, the pain was gone. Not entirely but lessened to such a wonderful degree that she felt tears of relief prick at her eyes.

She turned suddenly to the strange elf next to her, his hand a sudden absence her body regretted.

“What did you do?” She heard the wonder in her own voice, felt her eyes go wide but for once she didn’t feel like schooling her emotions.

“I did nothing.” His face broke out into a triumphant grin, like he was proud of himself, proud of her, and his eyes lit up in a way that made her whole body ache for a minute. Finally, someone who didn’t wish her dead. Yet, at least. “The credit is yours.”

“I did that?” She looked down at her hand again, doubt rippling through her body. That was definitely magic and she was definitely no mage. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon her hand.” The wonder and curiosity he exuded made her feel like a puzzle he had solved. The thought thrilled and infuriated her at the same time. She didn’t want this, ask for this, even know how to use this and here this strange man is, giddy as the thought of such power thrown upon her. “I theorized that the mark could close the rifts left in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” Oh. So not proud of her, but proud of himself. His joy turned to smugness and she felt the relief warring with pure annoyance.

“Meaning it could close the Breach itself.” She had forgotten about Cassandra, and the dwarf for that matter.

“Possibly.” And suddenly those giant blue eyes were on her again, the smugness still sitting on his face but now it was overshadowed by a smile that stopped her dead. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” It was like the wind was knocked out of her all over again. The weight of his smile, of the sudden responsibility he landed on top of her. Everything was too much. This was not what this mission was supposed to be.

“Good to know.” And just like that she was grounded in the present again. “Here I thought we were gonna be ass deep in demons forever.” The dwarf cocked his crossbow and sidled up to her like a drunkard in a tavern. Yet somehow it was charming rather than sleazy. She fought the urge to grin. “Varric Tethris. Rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He punctuated his introduction with a wink aimed at Cassandra, which made the woman’s lip curl in a sneer. Ok, she definitely liked this dwarf.

“Are you with the Chantry, or…?” The elf chuckled and she felt another flare of annoyance, despite how brilliant his smile was or the rumble of his voice.

“Was that a serious question?” Well it wasn’t her fault she barely knew anything about these crazed Andrastians or their ways. She didn’t even know anything about what happened in her own recent past.

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you considering current events.”

“It’s nice to meet you Varric.” She interjected, taking on her best ambassador voice. She was here to do her people proud after all. And she felt a kinship to this trapped dwarf already.

“You might reconsider than stance. “ the elf interjected dryly, one dark eyebrow cocking up, even though mischief glittered in his eyes.

“Oh I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.” Well that certainly was an odd name for anyone, let alone the elf in front of her. And that was when Cassandra piped in again, arguing with the dwarf, Varric, about whether or not he’d be coming.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” Her breath faltered again under his direct gaze. “I’m glad to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” Her natural suspicion of strangers fell over her shoulders as she examined him. For something no one understood, he understood a lot.

“You seem to know a lot about this.” He grinned smugly again, even though she was not trying to stroke his ego he seemed to take it that way.

“Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra quipped, as if that would explain it all.

“Technically all mages are apostates now Cassandra.” He focused his gaze back on Caiwen, as if to answer her unspoken question. “My travels allow me to experience much of the fade. Far beyond any circle mage.” He grew solemn then, the joy from before vanishing as quickly as it appeared as his seemed to remember everything around them. “I came to offer my help with the Breach. If it does not close we are all doomed, regardless of origin.” No pressure, then. Instead she swallowed the lump in her throat and asked him what he would do when it was all over. When not if. “One would hope those in power would remember who helped. And who did not.” Not such a different mindset than what brought her to the conclave in the first place. “Cassandra. You should know the magic at work here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage, but I have a hard time imaging even if she was, that any mage could have such power.” “Understood.” And with that they were heading towards the next forward camp, seemingly forgetting her behind.

Varric turned to her and grinned. Tapping his crossbow affectionately he said, “Well…Bianca’s excited.”

“You named it?”

#solavellan #lavellan #female lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #dread wolf #fen'harel #inquisitor

0 notes