#if you still support amber after the mountains of evidence against her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

minaslittleone · 3 years

Text

Fission & Fusion (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story “And I failed to climb the mountain”.

Word count: ~3300

Wilhemina woke lazily the following morning to the warmth of sunlight on her face as it peaked through delicate lace curtains. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and to identify the source of the insistent scratching which had roused her. As she rolled onto her right side towards the bedroom door she caught sight of Miko's white dipped paw batting beneath it, scrabbling and scratching at the obstacle that dared to impede his free reign. An affectionate smile pulled at her lips as she watched his antics as she sleepily scrubbed at her eyes. His scratching stilled as she let out surprised gasp as her knuckles made contact with her bruised cheekbone, which was now undoubtedly swollen and probably a fetching mottle of red and purple. Now aware that she was awake, Miko's insistent scratching was replaced by a disgruntled meow. Wilhemina tried to ignore him, not really sure if he was allowed in the bedroom to begin with, but she was powerless to resist him once his meows were replaced by what could only be described as plaintiff cries. Who could resist that?

As she eased herself to her feet the full effects of the previous two days began to make themselves known. Her back was undoubtedly stiffer than usual but whether that was the result of two nights in unfamiliar beds or from crashing face first into concrete she couldn't be sure. Likely a combination of the two. The throbbing ache in her right wrist and hand as she supported herself on her cane was definitely a result of the concrete she rued, as she transferred the loathesome object to her uninjured left hand, her back complaining instantly. Today was looking like such a promising day.

Miko continued to make his displeasure known as she slowly made her way towards the door, his cries becoming increasingly insistent now that he could hear her moving. The moment she cracked the door the slightest distance ajar a flash of grey fur shot past her, heading directly for the patch of sunlit warmth at the centre of her recently vacated bed.

She tried valiantly to keep her features schooled as she scolded the cheeky feline who was currently in the process of kneading the covers into an acceptable state of comfort.

"Are you really meant to be up there, Miko?" The grey tabby cat shot her a questioning look as if to say "really human? You're the guest in my house and you're going to question if I'm allowed on the bed" before promptly turning his back on her and curling into a ball on his appropriately fluffed portion of the quilt.

She shook her head fondly, slowly making her way back towards the now occupied bed. Miko raised his head to study her as she gingerly lowered herself back onto the mattress, easing herself forwards to retrieve her book bag from beneath the bedside table. With practiced ease she flipped the lid on the amber pill bottle, dispensed two pills and threw them back dry. Normally she would muscle through the discomfort while the pills took effect but today, she reasoned, she had nothing to do and nowhere to be so for once she could actually listen to the pleading ache in her bones. It also helped that there was no one to witness her indulgence, other than Miko who had made his way across the bed to her and was currently standing about a foot away from her with his head cocked to the side, still not entirely sure what to make of her.

As she returned the pill bottle to her book bag she noticed the glass of water, which had evidently been left for her earlier that morning, and the handwritten note peaking from beneath the coaster on which it sat. She relished the way the cold glass dulled the ache in her hand as she raised it to her lips, pointedly ignoring the way her stomach churned at the tenderness behind it. Miko seemingly sensed her unease, trotting over to her and curling into a cosy ball against the side of her thigh. Her left hand rested against his tiny head, thumb stroking absentmindedly against the side of his chin, while her right hand returned the glass to the bedside table and retrieved the hand written note. She still could not place the feeling of unease it produced in her but she was emboldened to push past it by the comforting warmth of Miko pressed against her thigh, his rhythmic purring easing her nerves.

Good morning dear, I wanted to let you know I was leaving but I didn't have the heart to wake you, you looked so peaceful. I hope you slept well, I'm sure you needed it. I should be back around 6 baring any disasters but help yourself to anything in the meantime. And don't worry about Miko, he has been fed though I'm sure he will try to convince you otherwise. My office number is by the phone if you need anything. Try to take things easy today and be kind to yourself my dear. - Elizabeth

Wilhemina silently tested the shape of her adviser's given name, lips tentatively forming around the sounds. Of course she had seen the name Professor Elizabeth Thompson written for years but the explicit use of her christian name felt scandalously personal. A voice in the back of her head chided that thought - you spent last night in her guest bedroom and you're worried about using her given name? Ridiculous. Evidently in her preoccupation her left hand had stilled for Miko let out a sleepy chirup of annoyance, drawing her attention away from the complexity of her current relationship with her Professor. Elizabeth she reminded herself.

Having already disturbed Miko she took the opportunity to reposition herself to lay back down. The grey tabby was initially unimpressed to have his pillow so rudely removed but forgave her in short order, gently clambering up onto her chest as soon as she was laid flat. Miko stretched himself languidly, face contorting in a gigantic yawn that Wilhemina couldn't help but chuckle at. His little face came to rest upon her sternum, head cocked to the side, eyes watching her intently. Gently he lifted one paw, tiny pink toes pads coming to rest against Wilhemina's unmarred cheek, tenderly inquiring "more scritches, please." She happily complied, arm draping loosely across the little ball of fur who had wormed his way into her heart and her bed. As she began to scratch affectionately under his chin Miko craned his necked back in contentment and began purring again in earnest. Wilhemina smiled to herself as she allowed her eyes to close, the warm weight of the purring feline ensconced upon her chest lulling her to sleep. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to rest, just for a little while. Besides it would be cruel to disturb Miko when he looked so comfortable.

It was several hours later when she awoke again, judging by the way the sun no longer shone directly through the bedroom but instead created a bright indirect glow from further overhead. Wilhemina's stomach let out an indignant growl at the late hour, rousing Miko in the process who glared at her from beneath half lidded eyes. She scratched behind his ears in an apology which was evidently accepted as Miko began to nuzzle into her hand in response.

As she tentatively began to lever herself from the mattress Miko jumped down onto the bed and began to stretch out the kinks from his nap. Wilhemina looked on jealously as his spine extended as she slowly convinced her own vertebrae to support her weight. As she brought herself upright for the second time that day she noted gratefully that the painkillers seemed to have worked their magic, leaving her only slight tender even after the events of the past few days.

Navigating her way down the stairs proved to be somewhat challenging not merely from coordinating her balance with her cane in her left hand but also because Miko refused to leave her side, wending his way between her legs as she focussed intently on not breaking her neck. Having successfully reached the landing she made her way into the kitchen in search of breakfast, or whatever meal this now constituted. She noted gratefully that an assortment of cereals had been left on the kitchen counter, alongside a bowl and the necessities for tea and coffee, saving her from rooting through her professor's cupboards. She set the kettle to boil before preparing herself a bowl of muesli. As she set her tea to steep she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the mug Elizabeth had selected for her which proudly displayed the figure of Little Miss Stubborn, she couldn't really argue with the assessment but for once felt like such a gesture was meant as an affectionate jibe rather than an outright condemnation.

Miko stayed pressed against her ankles throughout the entirety of breakfast and whilst she cleared her dishes afterwards. He trailed behind her as she made her way back up the stairs, intending on changing out of her loungewear and into some proper attire. And he stopped beside her as she caught sight of contents of the room beside hers peaking through the door which had been left slightly ajar. The walls were painted with the most tender depictions of rabbits, squirrels, owls and deer, each peaking from amongst a lush forestscape. She found herself magnetically drawn to the scene, fingers ghosting across the hand painted figures on the plaster. Unfazed by her exploration Miko made himself at home on one of the two child-sized beds clothed in crisp white linen. An old oak bookself sat in the far corner of the room, practically bursting. Wilhemina's eyes skipped over many of the brighter, more modern spines, instead drawn to a shelf higher up full of older, more battered volumes whose titles she recognised from her own childhood. Familiar names jumped out to her like old friends - Blyton, Potter, Milne, Dahl. Far too many hours had been spent alone save for their company, whether alone and immobilised in a hospital bed or hidden beneath her bed clothes by torch light trying to block out her parents arguing, these had been her constant companions. She tenderly retrieved Matilda from the shelf, thumbing through the well worn pages, allowing the little girl she kept so securely locked away a moment to breathe, smiling fondly at the words which had given her hope in those moments of darkness.

So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.

She remembered vividly the delicious taste of revenge the first time she had partaken in Matilda's retribution against all those adults who had tried to squash the precocious young girl. More than once she had allowed herself to imagine what it would have felt like to exact similar vengeance against her mother. How sweet it would have felt to bleach her perfectly coiffured hair, to place newts in the punch at one of her horrendous soirees or terrorize her parents with ghostly reminders of their failings. How she longed to make her mother feel an ounce of the pain to which she herself had been subjected.

Still clutching the much loved volume she curled up next to Miko and allowed herself to retreat to a world of childhood comfort in which the underdog could triumph, in which I'm big, you're little could be usurped, in which Miss Honey might reach tenderly from the pages and adopt her too.

That was where Professor Thompson found her several hours later, relishing in the climax of the novel as Matilda vanquished Ms Trunchbull. She smiled fondly at the young woman she had always known to be so controlled and regimented curled lazily against the wall on her granddaughter's bed, Miko lounging against her thigh and contented smile playing across her lips behind a curtain of firey red hair. The floorboards creaked beneath the older woman's feet alerting Wilhemina to her presence. Her cheeks flushed furiously as she sheepishly met the older woman's gaze but found only genuine affection in her grey-blue eyes.

"Don't even think about apologising, my dear. I told you to make yourself at home and I meant it."

In spite of Elizabeth's assurances Wilhemina still felt the need to explain herself. "I didn't mean to end up in here" she began, "I saw the paintings and I only meant to look at them but then I saw the books and -"

"Wilhemina," the older woman cut her off kindly, "stop apologising. You've done nothing wrong, you needn't justify your every action. Not to me at least" she added knowingly. "My daughter will be flattered that you liked her paintings, though I really should show you photos of the masterpiece she created in the children's room back east. She works as a children's illustrator, though I think she would much prefer to do larger pieces like these if there was the work in it."

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful" Wilhemina whispered reverently. "Their little faces are just so sweet."

"I'll be sure to tell her you think so. Now, I should leave you to finish with Matilda, dinner should take me twenty minutes or so which, knowing the speed you read at, should be ample time."

"Oh no, it's fine" Wilhemina interjected, "I know how it ends, I've lost count of how many times I read it as a child. I should come and help you."

The older woman sighed, of course Matilda would be a favourite of hers. "Nonsense dear, finish your book. I'll call you when it's ready." And with that she was gone.

Wilhemina was indeed finished with the book when the older woman called her for dinner twenty minutes later, her voice floating up the stairs as if Wilhemina's presence at her dinner table was the most natural thing in the world. The simple meal of pasta Alfredo was passed in companionable silence between the two women, with Miko dividing his time equally between them. He remained under their feet as they cleared the dishes, with Wilhemina bracing her weight against the kitchen counter through her left hip to grant herself two free hands with which to dry the clean dishes as the older woman handed them off to her. Elizabeth shook her head fondly at the young woman's stubborness, once she set her mind to something there really was no stopping her.

Wilhemina was drying and putting away the last of the cutlery when the older woman disappeared momentarily, only to return with a manila folder which she placed atop the freshly cleaned kitchen table. Wilhemina eyed it warily. The older woman placed two cups of tea beside it and gestured for Wilhemina to join her. She did so cautiously.

"No need to look so nervous my dear, it's nothing bad. I just brought home the list of available casual positions from the careers centre on campus, I thought you might like to take a look to see if anything interested you."

Wilhemina froze. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course the kind older woman had grown sick of her already. Why wouldn't she, when she was nothing but a useless burden? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could you think that anyone would actually put up with you?

Professor Thompson caught the way Wilhemina's shoulders stiffened and how her jaw tensed, as if preparing herself for an attack. She reached out and took the younger woman's hand in her own.

"There is no pressure dear. This is not about me getting rid of you. I simply thought you might be interested, I know you must be anxious about what comes next, you've never been one to be without a plan." Wilhemina suddenly felt very small and seen in a way she never had been before. It was simultaneously terrifying and yet so, so safe.

"It can wait as long as you like" the older woman continued, "but I'll leave it here for whenever you're ready."

"No, I mean, I'm ready now" Wilhemina blurted, "I just thought you meant-"

"I know my dear, I know" the older woman cut her off with a firm squeeze of her hand, earning her a shy smile from the younger woman. "Would you like me to stay or -"

"Stay" Wilhemina affirmed, "please?"

"Of course dear, now where do you want start?"

"Well, I suppose law or business makes the most sense" Wilhemina sighed, "at least I have some experience there."

"I didn't ask where you should start dear, I asked where you wanted to start - there's a difference. You said your parents chose law for you, what would you have chosen? If you could start over and choose for yourself what would you do?"

Wilhemina froze at that. She had accepted so long ago that she would simply follow the path her parents had set out for her that she had almost managed to convince herself that she wanted it too. It did no-one any good for her to pine after a future that could never be hers.

"I don't know" she stared at the older woman, eyes wide with the realisation.

"What do you miss from highschool then?" the older woman tried. "Is there a subject you enjoyed that you had to give up?"

She considered that for a moment. "Science, maybe?" she added shyly, "I liked that it was predictable, that I could know what to expect."

"Ok" the older woman prompted, fingers rifling through the folder, "any particular area?"

"Electronics or computers, maybe?" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, as if waiting to be punished for daring to express her own desires.

"Ok, there are a couple here that could fit." The older woman traced her finger through the list of positions. "This one looks interesting. A couple of graduate students from the engineering faculty are looking for someone to help with data management and organisation for a start-up. They seem to be interested in bionic limb development" she added, sliding the paper towards Wilhemina, finger marking the appropriate notice.

Wilhemina scanned the brief description greedily, trying to temper her expectations. It sounded perfect but she daren't allow herself to even begin to hope that it might be possible.

"I think you would be perfect for it."

Wilhemina scoffed in response, "I don't know the first thing about robotics."

"But they aren't asking for that dear, they're asking for someone to help with organisation. They want someone who is meticulous and logical to help keep track of their data - that is you to a T. You would be brilliant at that. And it would allow you to see if it's an area that you like and maybe later you could transition into a more technical position, or go back and study more about it if you wanted."

"Look" the older woman reached out to tap the paper in front of Wilhemina, "it even says they have patents filed and a company formed. It seems to have all the makings of a long term prospect."

Wilhemina could feel her heart start to flutter at the possibility, that maybe, just maybe it wasn't too late for things to change. She scanned through the notice again, Elizabeth was right, it did sound perfect. And try as she might she couldn't help but look at the company name printed at the end of article with the hope that maybe it also inscribed her future.

Kineros Robotics

A/N: there is one more part to come after this, though I think I will likely dip back into this universe as one-shots from time to time to explore some of the key moments between here and apocalypse. If there are any particular things you would be interested to see feel free to hit me up

#sarah paulson #wilhemina venable #baby mina #mina #gif: sussoria #lucyintheskywithxanax

39 notes · View notes

fairycosmos · 3 years

Note

sorry but i have to laugh at that one anon who mentioned that the court documents concerning johnny depp's and amber heard's ongoing case prove her innocence bc they actually do the exact opposite... and many people were rightfully shocked and surprised that johnny lost the libel case against the sun in the uk bc he had a mountain of evidence that discredited her claims and even 2 police officers that are trained in domestic violence cases testified that there were absolutely no signs of abuse the night they got called... there are literal audio tapes where amber heard admits to hitting johnny and she tells him that no one will believe him if he'll open up about being abused bc he's a man and he's bigger than her so he could never be the victim... and sadly this is exactly what is happening. i think this whole situation isn't just black and white and neither of them is completely innocent but it bothers me that this misinformation is being spread on your blog especially since you said you are not all that familiar with their case and it's actually still ongoing so no definitive statements can be made. but there are more and more inconsistencies coming out about amber's claims (e.g. her not donating the money she got through the divorce settlement to charity even though she constantly boasted about it lol) anyways sorry this got too long there's just so much more to this story and obviously none of us will ever know the complete truth but i just had to get this off my chest after seeing that ask and your reply bc men can be victims of domestic violence too and they too should be believed especially when there are audio tapes to support it + no one but amber has come out with allegations against jd all his other wives and girlfriends and literally anyone who has ever worked with him speak of him in very high regards

yeah like i said i really dk much about the situation at all and was just speaking in a v surface level way based off of what ive seen in the media/online in passing so im definitely not an authority on the matter 😬 tbh every time i see it talked about theres just v passionate ppl on both sides of the argument and no clear answers. im sure the court documents r very illuminating though and like u said none of it is resolved and i think there's a lot of misinformation flying around. i don't really trust anyone involved fully, it's all very off. but yeah male victims of domestic violence deserve to be listened to and believed 1000%, no question about that. ty for the added context btw!!

4 notes · View notes

themaybewoman · 3 years

Text

You’ll Make It So Damn Big (for all the world to see)

A/N: A warm-up drabble that turned into an interpretation of Eobard Thawne’s speedforce origins.

[Read on AO3]

It feels like everybody around him is growing up. The world turns into a frenzy, as every which way the winds are blowing, but Eobard – the young Thawne standing on the precipice of adulthood – looks out on all sides and realises he’s not one of them. The winds are swirling, almost all in the same direction, but his feet are stuck to the ground, cemented in his past, a prison of his own making; His history holds him.

He still feels that, someday, he’ll make a name for himself. Just like his parents did and now want for him, just like the Thawne lineage predetermines, yet the wish he’d make is for the way of getting there – if only it wasn’t riddled with so many holes, hills, walls, and chasms to leap across. He wishes that the way he’d get there – his mandatory future – had support beams and bright lights. However, the only light for him is the hope glimmering at the end – a candlelight only one person cast upon him (a person who doesn’t even know who he is).

The thing about unrequited love is that it almost never pans out, and the back of his mind tells him this every single day. Phrases of You’ll never meet him and Find a different passion, a more sustainable one configure inside his mind, almost all sounding like someone he knows, and whatever configuration the words are in, the idea is the same: give up, go home, fall in line with the whipping whirlwinds, the status quo, and make a mansion inside of that. That’s what his father did, and a highly esteemed politician he made: governor currently campaigning for senator where a bigger name could be made. Make something like that. That’s what his mother did, and prize-worthy, scientific breakthroughs she’s already made, not to mention the world-winning books for which she’s gone on tours.

How many times has Eobard dressed for a public event congratulating his parents on their mighty achievements? How many times has he laid awake at night, wondering how on Earth he was going to top them? How many times did he fume when he saw his brother’s report card on the fridge when his own straight A’s were never satisfactory? How much longer does he have to endure this, how much longer until it’s his name written in the clouds, in the stars, uttered from the lips of people across the nation, across the world?

Hopefully soon.

But it’s just his luck that the one idea he’s rooted to feels like a pipedream.

City lights drown out the stars above. He longs to move someplace rural, far removed from the bustle of everyday, where he can see the cosmos. He doesn’t need a firsthand look (although what an adventure going to space would be!), but he wants the steadfastness, it’s array of little pinpricks of hope, just like his, to make him feel less alone.

Once upon a time, he learned the stars made sounds, so maybe he’ll invent a device that lets a human hear the sounds – the actual sounds, not a recreation. Would that be enough? Would people like that, love that, praise him and his ingenuity for that? Or would they still yearn for a greater greatness, juicing the life out of him until he’s left with the bare essentials, the pulp, the carbon form?

If he could scream ‘STOP!’ and earn a breather, he would.

And if he possessed the powers of The Flash, he could. He would race for the Canadian tundra and catch the northern lights, or race up a mountain and sleep on its peak.

At least he’s close. So close, he can taste promise of lightning in his veins. In preparation of the reaction, he has the chemicals in order and the electricity on standby, and he knows how to contain the dark matter wave. What he needs now is... well, all he ever needed. He thought by recreating the speedforce accident, he’d bestow upon himself the confidence he always lacked, but standing here physically prepared to leap, he hesitates in the realisation that the confidence he needs must come a bit sooner than that, lightning before the storm.

It’s a catch twenty-two.

He sees every step ahead of him in crystal clarity, he sees what he gets out of it, but what he lacks for this first step he’ll gain with his last. Can the stars shed light on this conundrum and tell him what to do?

Unfortunately, stars don’t exist in the city.

Eobard exhales, his lungs fogging up the two a.m. air. The murky navy-brown of sky mirrors in his eyes. Once, they seemed so clear, so decisive. Why can’t he call upon the twenty-year-old him for this? Better yet, his seven-year-old body and mind, all fascination and no doubt. All eagerness, no fear. Perhaps society’s ruined him. Perhaps his parents’ values have snuck their power around him like ivy. Perhaps he isn’t cut out for this after all.

“Of course, you are,” he grumbles to himself. “No one else is bold enough– let alone smart enough– to piece together any of what you did!”

Perhaps he just doesn’t want too.

He lifts his forearms off the railing he’s leaning against, and fingers fasten around the metal, turning his knuckles white.

Amber lights wash over the storage district of Keystone City spreading before him. It’s the cheapest place he found where he could set up his experiments; the undisclosed building he rents reside near a crisscross of highways, over and under-passing each other over. It’s his safe haven for all scientific pursuits – the legal research of a quantum physicist, and the illegal research of a speedforce-enthused young man.

Do you really want this? a part of him insists on asking again. The buzzing silence with which the rest of his mind replies scares him.

Yes. Yes! Of course I want this!

His feet break contact with the fire escape. His hands shove off from the rail.

Then, stop thinking and get the fuck inside.

Eobard spins on his heel and wrenches the emergency exit open. He steps into the rented facility and makes his way through tables and equipment, until he’s reached his chemical set up. There’s a viewing deck – small – cluttered with a couple monitors, matching keyboards, and a mug drained of tea. To the right is the contraption he’ll step inside, shining stainless steel and clear vials and straps to which his wrists and feet will be bound. In all its glory, it looks unpleasant, but appearances don’t matter – he repeats it like a mantra to appease his fluttering stomach – as it’s a means to an end only he will be experiencing. Risks have to be taken if anything is to be made of yourself.

The young Thawne takes to the viewing platform and pulls aside a monitor. Checking levels, checking contraption ability. Checking twice, then thrice. Stalling? No. Ensuring his safety? That’s more like it. The calculations, they appear sound, so Eobard hovers his fingers above go.

When he presses, he’ll have a minute. A minute until true ‘go’, a minute to prepare himself, a minute to slide into the machine and wait. If I press now, he promises, only sixty seconds stand between me and The Flash.

So, press now.

Only twenty-four years old (and a few more months until his next number up), and he’s on the verge of unlocking a brave new world for himself. His father didn’t win his first court case until twenty-seven. His mother didn’t make her first discovery until twenty-six. His brother still hasn’t done anything remarkable. I’ll be ahead of the curve.

So, maybe I’m not as much of a lost cause as everybody thought.

Guilt and the shame shed from his skin the second he presses into the space bar.

Eobard sets himself up inside the machine; steel bands wrap around his wrists and clamp around around his ankles. The machine’s generator starts to whir, glass vials of multicoloured liquid begin to drain, a rainbow, into and underneath his skin. Into me! The machine vibrates– so heavily it vibrates that the floor itself begins to rumble with power. His power, he made it. And he can taste it better than he ever has: a promise.

I’m ready.

—

An explosion rips through his body. It’s of white fire, all his nerves igniting with pure light. His eyes, his nose, his mouth fill with brilliance. His ears ring with blazing song. The metal cuffs dig into his skin as he body tries to fly forward.

At first, he thinks he’s grown numb; perhaps his calculations were off, perhaps he’s dead now and this is it; his stomach rolls and knots itself; but mere seconds after the thought, all thoughts knock away as he slams down. The floor beneath him is cold and rough, and it should have hurt. All he feels, however, is the fire of explosion.

The whiteness dies from his eyes. His eyes return to the compound, everything coming into focus only tinted in red. Around his body, blood still races a warmth, a cosmic warmth, the same warmth he feels gazing at the milky way they’re situated inside while his feet stand on grass – a warmth it is as if the universe were wrapping him in blankets.

Electricity shivers up and down his spine, and peering down at his hands, he notices his nerves aren’t the only thing dancing at impossible speeds. He hands and ankles shiver through the metal cuffs, which fall unceremoniously (and broken) to the floor.

Have I done it?

By analysing the current evidence, he suspects so, and his mind starts leaping to further conclusions and future tests, but at the present moment with relief and excitement and glee and triumph shooting up and flushing the nerves straight out of his system, there is really only one thing to do now. Only one way can he prove if he’s really done it, if he’s really become The Flash of the future...

Eobard steps forward, cautiously optimistic...

That single step takes him to the other side of the room.

Exhilarating!

What would twenty do? he thinks, counting as he bursts out of the building. Thirty? Sixty!? A hundred?!

Eobard Thawne bursts into the night, a streak of red following him the entire way out. Sneakers slapping against the road, he rushes through wind which shoves over trash cans and swirls litter into the air. He follows the curving, ramping highway, beating cars in a spontaneous race. The coat around him heats to an uncomfortable degree, so he throws it off, and once it’s off, it’s void, it’s out of his mind. I’m running! His feet are slapping and his thoughts are racing and every details is sharp, pristine. His heart is pumping, each pound five times stronger than ever before–!

Before long, he’s out of the city.

He’s out of the state–

–out of the country, before he comes out of autopilot.

The lightning fades when his feet skid against permafrost, limbs lit up for a second as red crackles around them, a sign of transferring energy – motion to rest. The air he huffs from his lungs condenses into a greater cloud than it did in Keystone. He knows it’s could, he feels the chill gracing his arms beneath his long-sleeve with goosebumps, but it doesn’t quench the redhot now filling him up inside. Cold is no match against raw power, and this raw power is his gasoline; he can run with it forever and ever, never batting an eye.

He tilts his head to the sky. A beautiful spread of cosmic wonder, through which northern lights flow – a river of green, violet, and red. The stars, at last, are his to see. He breathes, in and out.

You’ve made it, Eo. For all the world to see.

#eobard thawne #reverse flash #the flash #arrowverse #ajr #dctv #fanfiction #lilly's fanfiction #writing #the flash fanfiction #speedforce #next up forever #ajr brothers #neotheatre

2 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Rallying Speeches

The fall of New Haven to the Scumull was the greatest defeat humanity had experienced since the war had begun. New Haven had been the first colony established by humanity outside their origin solar system some hundred years ago and had since then become a shinning beacon of human achievement and a nexus point connecting newly established territories to Earth. Scumull forces launched a series of surprise attacks all along their galactic border with humanity and had wiped out several dozen colonies before word even reached Earth. By the time the fleet had gathered to retaliate the Scumull had already swept aside the orbital defenses surrounding New Haven and had begun landing a massive invasion force to secure the planet. New Haven had a sizable defense force already on planet that fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground to halt the invaders, but the sheer size of the enemy eventually began overwhelming the human defenders until the final bastion at the governmental building in the capital city fell to the enemy. Humanity had now been pushed back to their home system and now gathered for the final battles to come. As the Scumull fleets neared the Sol system they began intercepting transmissions from humanity. It was decided that these transmissions would be played for the invasion force to show them how feeble their foe had become.

“Sons and daughters of humanity...It goes without exaggeration that we face our greatest struggle for survival in our entire species history in the coming days. I will not lie to you in this darkest hour. Our enemies number in the hundreds of thousands. When their soldiers march they shake the mountains with their boot falls. When their ships take to the sky they blot out the sun in their shadows.When they call out their war cries the very air itself seems to stand still. Our final bastion outside of our home system fell before we could even mount a proper response and only now are reports of what happened on that world coming in. There are those among us that say that there is no point in fighting against such odds now with our backs against the wall. I do not blame those who share this view, nor do I consider them cowards. To those out there who may feel like this I wish to read you some accounts of those that stood on New Haven. Sergeant Markus Holland. Sergeant Holland was part of an adhoc militia unit formed in the final days of battle of New Haven. After the capital city was breached Holland found his unit cut off and surrounded by enemy forces and fell back into an indoor mall complex. For the next seven days Sergeant Holland and his unit held off repeated waves of enemy soldiers as they attempted to storm the mall and wipe them out. By the seventh day the bodies of enemy dead piled so high that it was impossible to enter the mall as every entrance was blocked. By the end of the 8th day the enemy commander had decided the fight was no longer worth an honorable struggle and leveled the entire complex with massed heavy weapon fire. Elan Tollan. Ms. Tollan was a school nurse for New Haven Academy. Once the invasion went full swing the New Haven Academy was converted into a military hospital and the students evacuated on the first shuttle off world. Rather than join her students, Ms. Tollan volunteered to stay behind and help with the medical needs of the injured being treated at the converted hospital. When the Scumull forces stormed the hospital it was Ms. Tollan who stood in their path, unarmed and unafraid, and demanded they leave at once. This act of defiance would cost Ms. Tollan her life as the Scumull warriors she was baring through her aside and fractured her skull. Amber Nowak. Amber Nowak was a girl of a mere thirteen years who lost her family in the opening days of the invasion. Taking her father’s hunting rifle she stalked the woods of New Haven hunting Scumull forces with her tally was 98 confirmed kills including the original Scumull invasion leader as they toured the front lines. The people of New Haven came to know her as Cień Lasu which means “Shadow of the Forest”. From what we have gathered the Scumull have claimed several times to have slain Amber Nowak, but they have yet to produce any evidence supporting the claim leading us to believe she still lives and hunts those who have wronged her family even now. And these names are just a few of the heroes who have stood their ground against the alien menace. Harper Lindel, a corporal who flung himself on a scatter bomb to save his fellow comrades. Katie Pastel, a butcher that drove her clever into the Scumull soldier that tossed her child through a window after making fun of their “slug face”. Pepper Kell, Morgan Yalton, and Qwint Felling who crewed the tank Angeles Bounty alone on the only bridge into the capital against a full two companies of enemy armor for five hours. There are countless accounts here with me telling countless tales of sacrifice, bravery, heroism, and courage in the face of impossible odds.

Across the stars are countless heroes that have fallen to bring us the sunrise of a brighter future; and countless more that are fighting on to keep the flame of humanity lit as the dark void of the galaxy closes in to snuff it out. Worlds can be taken from us, cities reduced to ash, ships left as cold broken husks floating in the void; but the human spirit to continue the fight is something that has never been broken. Not by the ravages of a universe that finds us unacceptable, not by the likes of an alien fiend, not even by our fellow man in ages long since past. We have survived for so long not by the grace of some otherworldly being, but because we have dug our teeth and nails into the universe and refuse to let go! So I say to those who are afraid of the coming storm to cast aside your doubts and take heart in those around you! Raise your fists to the sky and raise your voices even higher! Let our enemies know that humanity backs away from nothing! We fear nothing! Stand with me and we will remind all the enemies of man that even when we are beaten, we will never give up the fight!”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

257 notes · View notes

caitliinstasey · 4 years

Note

I genuinely didn’t think that there are still people out there who after all the proof and evidence being uncovered s t i l l stand behind that psycho amber herd ... I get you like to empower women and support them- as we all should- but not to the point where we believe their blatant abuse towards their partners...?

https://caitliinstasey.tumblr.com/post/189417673892/violence-begets-violence-i-am-writing-this-in

https://caitliinstasey.tumblr.com/post/626442758452838400/why-do-you-still-believe-amber-heard-despite-the

#amber heard #johnny depp #anti johnny depp

5 notes · View notes

princessvicky01 · 6 years

Text

Brother knows best

Part 6 of Happily Ever After- my self indulgent Annabel x Cullen epilogue, because they deserved one!

This part is SFW with angst and lots of comfort feels as everyone adjusts to the big news revealed, also features cameo by @inner-muse oc Kelandris. You can read it all on AO3 here or on tumblr Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 - hope you enjoy!

Brother knows best

“You are allowed to touch my tummy you know,” Annabel cracks one eye open against the growing light to peer at her husband. “It’s not like you’re going to break the baby somehow,” spying the warm wonderment Cullen wears she blinks the remaining sleep away to instead try and focus on the liquid amber of his eyes which dart up from staring at her stomach.

“Yes, right, I know… but still, you’re sure?” Those honey glazed ambers peer up at her from under a mop of wheaten curls that’s fallen limply over his forehead, and she can’t help but feel like the luckiest woman alive. Silly, handsome, man.

“Yes, Cullen, I’m sure,” she nestles her cheek back into the pillow with a serene little smile. The room is filled with the pink hue of breaking dawn which tells her it’s far too early to rise, although it does make her wonder if he’s even slept at all since hearing the news.

The mattress shifts and tender fingers run over the small mound of her tummy, she hisses and jerks from him, and his hand withdraws like he’s touched hot coals.

“Maker’s breath! I- Annabel, are you-“

Her giggle breaks off the panic in his voice, and when she opens her bleary eyes, she finds him caught in some kind of mixed state of concern, confusion and chagrin.

“I’m joking!” she flashes the same beaming smile which has gotten her both into and out of countless mischiefs before. “In what way could you ever possibly hurt either of with a feather-light touch? Scratch that, in what way could you ever hurt us, period." Propping up on her elbow she gives a mildly exasperated shake of her head.

"How about you save your worrying for the bigger things, ok?” She goes to reach out and brush the dusting of curls from his forehead but promptly discovers only a stump. She still expects it to be there, her hand, and can’t believe just how much she’d taken it for granted. The reminder that she’s now much less than she once was is able to fowl her mood like very few other things could. ”Like how I’m going to cope with one arm to start…” she grumbles with a passing glare at the end of the limb before flopping back down into the sheets.

“You’ll be brilliant,” Cullen’s tone is warm but rough, riddled with sleep and a whole host of loving emotions that she knows he’ll never likely be able to put into words. “You have the gem, and the false hands, you've been doing amazing," the bed dips slightly as he shifts closer, wrapping one leg over hers. "You'll find a way, you always do… Besides, I'm here, I always be here,” now his hand does rest on her stomach, and she sighs heavily.

Reassuring as his words are they don’t quite shake the feeling that she’s not ready, that she’ll never be ready. How was she supposed to change the babe when she couldn’t even do up her own buttons? The prosthetic hand was becoming easier to use, but it still would never match the natural dexterity or strength of the real thing.

“What if I can’t do it?” It’s a whisper, she makes with her eyes closed. Speaking aloud that tiny voice of doubt that has seeped in, that has soiled everything since she lost her limb, since she'd found out about the baby. “If I’m not ready… You know how emotional I get, how angry... What if I can't cope?” Another shift in the mattress and she feels his callous palm brush over her cheek, enticing her eyes open with the soft drag of his thumb.

“You can, I know you can,” Cullen nods, his eyes as earnest and devoted as she’s ever seen them. “I have many concerns; getting you home safely, the birth, making Skyhold infant proof. Then there’s the threat of kidnap, the cold in the mountains, the sicknesses that spread through barracks. And how I should pick it up when it cries? How do I know when it’s hungry? How am I to manage work and nappy changes? The list almost never ends. But one thing that never has, and never will worry me, is how you’ll cope. You’ll be a brilliant mother.”

Tears start to itch the back of her throat, and she nods, letting one spill over and down her cheek, only for him to place a kiss in the wake of its trail. Nuzzling against his jaws they share a kiss, tender and true, and the dark thoughts are chased away by his warm lips against hers, the slow slide of his tongue and the embracing hug of his arm as it hugs around her waist.

“And you’ll be a brilliant father…” she breathes against his lips, nose lifting to nudge against his before letting her eyes flutter closed once more. "Of that, I have no doubt."

“We should arrange to have you seen by the midwife, make sure you’re as well prepared as possible… I’ll look into sourcing a cot, a nanny, and all the things Maker only knows a baby must require…” Bryan is already scribbling out a list, his thoughts spilling too fast and furious to stay in his head. This is amazing news, incredible in fact, but also distinctly terrifying, and his mind has already worked out a dozen ways for things to turn disastrous. His aunt and his uncles had been quite significant in his life, trying to fill in the gaping holes his parents had left, and while he has no doubt that they'll make wonderful parents, he still wants to help any way he can.

“A nanny?” Cullen brows furrow across the table at him, his arms crossing, a tell-tale defensive sign which Bryan notes with a brief glance before continuing his list.

“Yes, a nanny, to help raise the child,” he’s already moved on to thinking about the crib and wondering where best to find the best advice on newborns. “I’ve heard-“

“No,” Cullen cuts across in the kind of stern tone all strong military commanders possess. “We shall not require a nanny, we shall raise the child, ourselves, besides there will be plenty of help at Skyhold.“

The quill in his hand stops what it’s doing, and Bryan takes a moment to gather himself, cracking his neck before he straightens. This child will be his niece or nephew, and Annabel is the closest family he has. To that extent, he knows her well, and while he knows she will be a warm, caring, fantastic mother, he is also not so naïve as to believe she won’t need some support. Support, which he fully intends to give, and he can hardly provide it with hundreds of miles between them.

He knows he can’t keep her here forever, she has moved on with her life, but he can at least help her through those first few days, weeks, or months even. Keep them both safe. Besides only a fool would take a pregnant first-time mother to be on such a long treacherous journey over the waking sea and miles of wild Fereldan countryside. “Yes, but what about when the babe first arrives here and is screaming through the night? What you do in Skyhold is up to you, but I shall not be kept awake all hours by a screaming-“

“Hang on,” Cullen’s palms come to rest firmly against the table with the hefty rustle of steel from his armour as his face twitches with a scowl. “What do you mean ‘when we get to Skyhold’? We are leaving, at once. The baby should be born at home.”

“And is no one going to ask for my opinion?” Annabel quips, one eyebrow and hand raised from her spot beside her husband.

Bryan barely registers her interruption, too focused on the stubborn man opposite and the challenge he represents. “The baby should be born here, Annabel should not have to endure months on the road. Besides this is the child’s ancestral home, countless Trevelyan’s have been born and raised under this roof, including-“

“This baby," snarks Cullen. "Our baby, is a Rutherford.”

Now its Bryans turn to scowl. To honestly think a commoner’s start to life is superior to the likes of what he has to offer here is absurd. “No offence,” he glowers. “But my niece or nephew should at least be born into the comforts of nobility, not on a Fereldan farm in the backend of nowhere.”

“No offence!” Cullen’s sharp tone and snarl slam through the air only to hit a wall of ice from the Lord which nothing, not even a lion’s roar could shake. Solid and steadfast Bryan rises to meet the heat of the commander’s glare with one of icy blue fire. He would not be intimidated and he certainly won’t allow a man he barely knows to make such life-changing decisions for his sister.

“Again, is no one going to ask me?” all playfulness to Annabel's tone is now evidently gone, apparently swallowed by the growing tension in the room which lifts even Kelandris to her feet beside him.

“The plan remains the same,” Annabel’s eyes narrow, her voice firm and authoritative. “As this baby is growing inside me, I’m the one who gets to decide. And I’ve decided our current plans are to remain the same. We’ll cross back to Fereldan, visit Cullen’s family in Honnleath then travel back to Skyhold, just all a bit earlier than we originally planned.”

“What!?” Both men twist to face her with expressions that scream as if she had just announced a most unholy blasphemy.

“I don’t see why things have to change just because I’m pregnant,” folding her arms, she also lifts her chin as any proper noble would. “I’ve been waiting two years to meet your family, my family. I’m not about to miss this chance. Once the baby arrives, we won’t be going aware for ages. So, no, I’m sorry, but that’s final.”

“Being pregnant changes everything, you should be resting,” Cullen steps towards her, hands outstretched in a silent plea.

“Yes, I agree with the commander,” Bryan nods. “You should be resting. Here, with all the comforts you require,” the quip receives an over the shoulder growl from Cullen but no rebuke.

“No,” she steps away from them both, genuine anger appearing to grow from the annoyance in the flicker of embers in her eyes. “It will only take a few weeks more travelling. I’ve spent years travelling, I’m quite accustomed to it. I do not need wrapping up in cotton wool or being waited on hand and foot. I’m the Inquisitor damn it!”

“Which is why you should be at Skyhold,“ Cullen implores with a softness to his tone which is overruled by a growl opposite.

“Which is precisely why she should remain here!” Bryan can’t keep his voice in check any longer, the debate is getting truly ridiculous. He senses Kelandris shift closer as he struggles to hold onto his control.

Had the damn Inquisition not done enough? Taking her from her home, her family, almost taking her life several times over, and not content with that taking a damn limb! All his life he’s protected her, kept her safe, be that from stupid childhood accidents or teenage courtly gossip quickly countered. As far as he can see this Inquisition had done nothing but put her in danger. “Let someone else deal with the title and the stress it entails, your priority will be with the child, not the Inquisition, and the further you are from it the better.”

“You’re unbelievable!” Annabel throws her arms up in open hostility, but he doesn’t waver, standing rigid with absolute conviction. This is a battle he won't lose.

“If I might be the voice of reason?” A far calmer, but no less assertive voice finally makes itself heard as Kelandris steps to Bryan’s side. “How about we have this discussion with the physician and midwife, have them decide the best course of action? They are the experts after all.”

All three shift, tempers still clearly flared and hackles raised, but none seem to be able to find a reason to openly object.

“Fine,” Annabel huffs. “But I’ll not just wait around here-“

“No!” the slam of a fist thunders through the small room as Bryan’s eyes blaze and his lips curl back to reveal a flash of blunt fangs. He won’t see her come to any harm. He simply won’t. “Damn it. For once in your life, Annabel, will you just listen to me!”

“What’s your problem!?” Her own iris’s flare with a kindred inferno as she snarls with equal ferocity, ignoring the attempting calming hand Cullen places on her shoulder. “You’ve not even seen me for years. I’ve been fighting giant demons, dragons, dark spawn magisters, and all a thousand miles away, how is this more dangerous? Huh!? How Bryan!?”

The outburst has left him panting lightly, unable to control the emotions the pulse through his veins with every pound of his heart in his chest. Lips curling, he snarls at the hostility, at the fear and hopelessness he can fill rising up from his stomach to clench every muscle in his body. He has to make her see.

“Because…” his voice is stern and he quickly trails off, reining back the ferocity with a shake of his head and an exasperated sigh, hands scrubbing at his hair. “Because I know you could fight those things and win. Even then, I still worried myself to death, first the conclave, then the reports about demons, dragons, the fade, bloody Orelsain royalty! Maker's breath it's as if you were trying to give me a heart attack. Then this with your hand… This Inquisition has put you through the void and back, and dragged me along with you, even though I knew you were capable… Knew you could thrive… I couldn't, can't help wanting to protect you, wanting you safe… And childbirth…” he trails off with a wave of his hand as his true fears finally become evident to him, the words choking in his throat. A heavy weight settles around his heart and drags his eyes down with it.

“… even a woman as strong as mother couldn’t survive that…” His voice is quiet now, speaking aloud words he’d rather have kept inside, words that only bring dark and vicious pain closer to the surface. “Perhaps you have forgotten,” he shakes his head and shuffles some papers uselessly in a vain attempt to distract from the crushing pressure in his chest. “But I have not, cannot,” as Kelandris arm rests on his shoulder and squeezes he gives up on the charade and puts the papers down. Emotions buried deep now ripple close to the surface, burning the back of his throat and clenching his chest like a fist curled around his heart. “How do you erase the sight of your mother’s blood-soaked sheets? Of mops smearing bloodied water across the flagstones by your mother’s bedside? Of her skin, so pale and cold to the touch. Of the way she screamed and clenched her teeth? The fear I saw in her eyes, heard in her voice… the weakness I felt as she tried to hold me, tried to tell me it would be ok… Made me promise, made me swear even, to always look after you, to keep you safe,” he shakes his head, dark hair flopping over his eyes as he does so. He hates this, opening up like this, it’s is so alien, and makes him terrifyingly vulnerable, but he hopes against hope it makes her see sense, see how serious this matter really is.

“Annabel… I can’t risk losing you... I especially can’t have that happen a thousand miles away, have you die without my knowing, without being there. To lose you to such pain in some hovel or on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, to have that after we’ve been through so much… when you mean so much… I can’t…” His voice cracks as tears sting his eyes, but he refuses to cry, refuses even to lift his head and look at her, because he knows that’s all it'll take to open the floodgates.

“Oh, Bryan,” Kelandris’s tone and body are warm as they press against his side, both a small distinct comfort amidst the turmoil, not that he can even meet her gaze to tell her such. He can do nothing but keep his hold himself together with what little control that remained. He had looked after Annabel from the moment their mother died, had ensured she had food, a cosy fire, a shoulder to cry on, all while their father dismissed the staff in a drunken stupor. Everyone had just assumed the children would be taken care of. Two young nobles in a fancy castle… but at five and six with no adults, bar a few sparse guards, what were they to do? Even then he had been stubborn, unwilling to admit they needed help. Even at that age he understood the game and knew having everyone see their father, covered in his own vomit passed out amidst empty bottles would ruin him, ruin them. So, he’d stepped up, and he doesn’t intend to step down now, nor ever.

The next thing he knows he’s tugged, shaking his head he recoils at the invasion, but it’s Annabel, and he knows resistance against her hugs is futile. A hot tear slips down his cheek as she holds him tight and he clenches his face against it, and hugs back. Soon his chin is being lifted, dragged up to find his sister staring at him, with eyes like his own, only far softer, far warmer.

He can’t believe he’s fallen apart like this. A man in his position could not afford such weaknesses, and yet, he can’t bring himself to detach from that ancient pain, that promise. It seems that the oldest scars ran the deepest, especially when etched in blood.

“You’re not going to lose me like that, ok?” Annabel’s soft but stern message reaches him, and he wishes he could believe her, but he’d learnt the world was a cruel place long ago, back when his mother screams had echoed in his chambers.

“You can’t know that, not for certain,” he murmurs with a shake of his head, blinking more tears away even though it stings his throat to hold them back.

“And you can’t know I’ll have the same complications as mother. Bryan, the team we have at Skyhold, the healers, the mages, are some of the best in Thedas… and you’ve met my personal lion. Cullen will make sure I’m ok. I’m not a little girl you need to rush into defend anymore, remember?”

He can’t deny the man she’d wed seemed capable, protective, loving, all the things he’d wanted for her, but still, he can’t fully hand responsibly over, it’s too much of a momentous task. Finally, though he nods, wanting the discussion over more than anything else. “I know, but that doesn’t stop me being your big brother or worrying... No matter what happens, whatever decision you make, no matter how stupid, you know I’ll support you. Always have.”

“I know,” she smiles warmly. “I’ll be fine Bryan, and so will the little one,” tears shimmer in her eyes although none have slipped over. “Now don’t get too soppy or I might start crying, and you know how quickly that gets ugly.”

Scoffing a little chuckle as she lets go and pushes her gently from his grasp. “Finally, something we can agree on.” For that, he receives a tap against his arm. Somethings never change.

Cullen isn’t quite sure what to make of it, what to make of this Lord who one moment had been shouting insults in blind fury and the next broken and crumpled the way he’s seen few men do. The way he knows he has in the past when weighed down with burden, pain and regret. It isn’t a pretty sight, and he’d done his best to look away, to afford them some privacy, but the bond between them is so strong he could even feel it hum in the air.

He recalls the night of Haven’s attack when Annabel had stumbled out of the snow, racked by fever she had talked all night, had sought comfort in her delirious state from a ‘Bryan’ and it's now clear they are far closer than he’d realised. It seems that sharing such trauma so young had forged a sibling bond of steel. One he's loathed to come between, but he truly believes Skyhold, being home, is whats best for her.

“I can see your concern, Lord Bryan,” he remarks to fill the silence as Annabel slips back to his side. “But I promise by the Holy Andraste and Maker above; I will devote myself to her, and the child’s care. I will not falter in this task, that I swear.” His tone is serious, solemn, and he hopes to convey the gravity of what he says, of how much he means it, of how nothing has ever mattered more than this. Blinking he straightens a little as Bryan slowly steps around the table towards him, only to be blindsided as the man holds out his hand.

“I know you will,” Bryan nods. “And I’m sorry, for being so harsh, so brash, but she is dear to me, as I can see she is to you. Look after them for me,” with that they share a solid, heartfelt, handshake the kind Cullen had been hoping for all along.

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments all make my day <3

#cullen x annabel #my fanfic #happily ever after #part 6 #brother knows best #sfw #angst and comfort #commander cullen #annabel trevelyan #bryan trevelyan #kelandris trevelyan #cullen fanfic

41 notes · View notes

the-wicked-beasts-that-roam-blog · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1

Bitter whiskey and old piss ripped the breath from Aidyn’s lungs. Loud music vibrated the walls and wooden floor of the bar called Pig’s as he pushed past bigger men than him—some measuring well past his 6’3. Glancing into the dark crooks and crannies of the small biker bar, he rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb.

Where the hell was he?

Usually, he could spot his brother from a mile away. You couldn’t miss the huge son of a bitch.

He paused, leaning against a wooden pillar, turquoise eyes shooting toward the men around the pool table. That was where he had expected his brother to be—drinking a pint and putting money on the table against the old bikers decked in leather. But … he wasn’t there.

After another long second, he pushed off the pillar and headed towards the back door, the night breeze hitting him as the screen door slammed shut. Another intake of breath had his chest rising with a giant sigh.

Yet again, no sign of him. His boot tapped the rotted planks of the porch as his eyes scanned the wheat field.

Bad things happened when his brother disappeared. Death. Havoc. Things of the like, usually ending with a body to burn and evidence to bury.

A strange popping noise from behind the dumpster had him stepping off the makeshift porch. It was a squishy, wet sound. And the closer he got, the louder it became. At first, he thought it was a couple getting freaky. He almost turned around—even twisting on his heel—but as he did, a tangy, coppery, distinct smell hit his nose. He pulled a one-eighty and shuffled around the corner. On the clay ground, his brother’s huge fists continued to bash in a blond body builder’s face.

The man was dead. Aidyn was sure of it. If he wasn’t, then he wouldn’t live much longer with his brains smeared across the gravel. Blood dripped from his brother’s face, soaked his hands as his fists continued to strike the crushed skull.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, reaching for his enraged brother, and gripping him by the arms. “Enough, Dom. Enough.”

Reluctant as hell, Dom let off and pushed up from the ground, stumbling a bit. Still drunken with rage, drops of blood stained Dom’s carved face, and his ebony eyes glowed with hellfire.

“Jesus Christ, his brains are everywhere.” Aidyn stared down at the sludge smeared in the dirt and gravel.

“Good.” His brother spit on the body, and then he peeled the t-shirt off his back and wiped his face.

“The hell did he do—cheat you out of money?”

Dom shook his head. “Don’t worry about what he did.”

“We gotta get out of here before his buddies come looking for him.” Aidyn grabbed the man’s limp arms and winced as more pink sludge oozed from his skull. “Get his legs.”

“Leave him. I want these humans to find him.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

In response, Dom put a cigarette in his mouth and bent down, picking up a full bottle of Jim Beam that leaned against the dumpster. He poured the contents over the man, and lit a pack of matches, lighting his cigarette, and then tossed the fire onto the body.

And then Dom walked away as if it never happened.

Aidyn glanced once more at the burning body before following his brother down the dirt path and around the building. About halfway, Dom paused and Aidyn nearly collided with his back. His brother tilted his head, peering toward an opening between two shacks, and with the little bit of streetlight that shined through the crevice, a small shadow moved. Aidyn’s breath hitched, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. A blonde girl, who didn’t look any older than seven, kneeled in the dirt, staring up at his brother, with her cheeks covered in dirt and tears, her nose and mouth a bloody mess.

His brother stared back at her, and for the first time in a while, a speck of sadness crept into their abyss. And just as fast as the emotion slipped in, Dom was on the move again, stalking toward the black ’70 dodge challenger that set in the corner of the parking lot.

His brother’s blood-stained hands yanked open the driver door, and he chucked the shirt into the floorboard as he dropped into the seat. A woman’s cry rang out and with one last look over his shoulder, Aidyn hopped in the passenger side. Their other brother sat in the back, his half-empty whiskey bottle sitting between his legs.

“You look like you had fun,” Zeke muttered, green eyes red and swollen.

Dom didn’t look back as he shoved the key in the ignition, his patience seeming to have built up over the trip.

“Shut up, Zeke.” Aidyn watched Dom from the side, a frown on his lips.

“Go ahead. Take up for him like always.”

“She told me about you.” The middle-aged man nodded as he cleaned the knife, the ten-inch shine of the steel reflecting the broken sunlight that gleamed through the trees. “She told me.”

The chirping birds settled in the trees above her head, their whistling a comforting sound. Jade glanced up, her top lip folded under her bottom lip as she watched the cardinal perched on the branch. Her grandmother had told her cardinals meant someone was visiting from heaven.

“I never believed before, but I do—I do now. I know. She showed me.” He smiled, tears glistening his brown eyes.

His fingers itched at the salt and pepper scruff on his cheeks. He sharpened the knife a few more times, the clash of steel gritting together like the teeth of a lion.

At the edge of the brush, Jade stood, afraid to step past the tree line in fear that it would swallow her up. Her honey colored eyes stared past the trees and into the darkness.

“I wouldn’t stand that close if I were you. These woods are alive in more ways than one,” a raspy older woman’s voice spoke from behind her.

With a deep breath, Jade glanced over her shoulder. Passing between the magnolia trees, Len hobbled her way toward her, using a wooden cane for support. Her gray, brittle hair hung loosely in a low ponytail, and her flowery gown fluttered in the breeze.

“Don’t tell me you have werewolves living in your backyard?” Jade smirked at her.

The old woman stopped and looked at the trees. “They’d be the least of my worries.”

“You forget I ran through those before.”

“Just because you got out once, doesn’t mean you’ll get out again.”

“Twice.”

Len looked over to her. “Two is a lucky number.”

“My lucky number is three.”

The old woman broke a smile. “Smartass.” She turned to look at the small cottage nestled meters away. “Still traveling with the circus?”

“Yeah, and in about,” Jade pulled her phone out her pocket and clicked on the screen, “forty minutes you’ll see the main attraction: a twenty-four year old pissing her daisy dukes.”

“Hm. Already drunk at four in the afternoon?”

“Oh no, she’s been drunk since 10 a.m.”

Len shook her head and sighed. “She doesn’t waste time.”

“Well, she’s mad. She had some dude in Ohio she was crazy over.”

“Why didn’t she stay?”

“His wife wasn’t too keen on her living with them.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “That’s a good reason.”

Jade stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded toward the ’06 red charger sitting in the driveway. “She’s in the grief stage until another man sweeps her off her feet.”

“She’ll have a nice list of men to choose from in a few days.”

“Just what we need—her getting a new boy toy.”

“At least she’ll find a new vice.” As if on cue, the right back door to the charger swung open and a pale foot slid out followed behind a long slender leg.

After a severe case of struggling and slinking in a less than graceful manner out of the car, Erica finally tumbled out of the back seat and onto the ground in nothing but a pair of daisy dukes and a pink bikini top. The entire five-hour ride from Cincinnati she’d sipped on a bottle of cheap peach schnapps stolen from her ex’s house, and in a less than a second she managed to puke all of it up on the back tire of Jason’s car.

“So, these guys … are they bodyguards or something?” Jade asked, cutting her eyes away from her sister and turning her attention back to Len. “Jason hasn’t said much about where we’re going or who we’re staying with.”

“Figures.” Len began walking toward a wooden bench, motioning with a finger for her to follow. “They’re cousins of his—technically. He doesn’t like asking them for help, but he’s out of options if you ask me.”

Maintaining the slow pace of the woman, Jade’s gaze shot to where Len pointed past the car and toward the range of large dark green mountains looming in the east.

“The house is secluded, and that’s what you need right now. Not to mention, Jason—as much as he loves you—can’t protect you on his own. He doesn’t have the strength.” She plopped down on the bench. “Just be careful around the oldest brother. He’s got attitude problems a mile long.“

“I’m surprised I haven’t met them before.” Jason usually introduced her to everyone in his family.

A ghost of a smile settled on Len’s face. “You probably crossed paths once or twice.”

The door of the house slammed, and Jason stepped off the porch, blonde hair wet and black circles beneath his annoyed amber eyes. If he were taller than 5’8, he’d look menacing.

“No more hiding bottles in your damn bag.”

“It was an accident. Do you think I would’ve wasted perfectly good liquor on you?” Erica asked, resting her head against the car door as she sat on the grass with her legs stretched out and her hands palming her flushed cheeks. Sweat matted red locks of hair to her pale face, and she looked the definition of a hot mess.

Jason ducked his head in the driver window. “My seat’s still soaking wet.”

“Towels are hanging up on the clothesline and cleaner under the sink,” Len called to him.

With a frown, Jade sat on the bench and eyed the poor guy. His patience had to be running thin—if he had any left at all.

“He looks worn out.”

Jade nodded. “The driving around is wearing him down.”

“The worry is eating him up too.” Len looked over to her, pale blue eyes staring straight through her. “And what about you—how are you holding up?”

“I’m here.” And she guessed that counted for something.

“Why’s the car running so rough? Sounds like it’s about to die.” Aidyn chucked his cigarette-butt out the window.

“I think someone might be fucking with it.” And that someone had a talent for witchcraft fuckery.

Dom watched the smoke rise from the exhaust, silently counting all the ways to kill a witch.

The cheap florescent lights of the gas station flickered as Aidyn jumped out the car and walked inside, his entire body twitching from withdrawals. Dom shook his head, feeling a headache coming on at the base of his temple. T would be getting his ass fed to him tomorrow. He was supposed to be weaning his brother off, not feeding him more. Aidyn had snorted less cocaine before they left Tennessee.

He glanced up at the clouds hanging low and stuck his hand out the window. A few cool drops of rain hit his palm, and then the few drops turned into a downpour. He rolled up the window and leaned his head back against his seat, fighting to keep his eyes open. For just a moment, he gave in and let them close.

He saw Zeke in the woods like he had three years before, covered in blood as he sat naked on the ground, cradling the girl who lay deathly still in his arms. Except this time, his fingers twisted in long dark curls instead of blonde tresses.

Dom blinked, realizing it wasn’t Zeke sitting there holding that girl … but himself.

The car door opened, and his head snapped up.

“I got two packs this time, so if the alcoholic decides he wants to drink us under the table again, he won’t leave us empty-handed.” Aidyn threw the cases on the floor and paused outside the door. “I gotta piss before we get back on the road though.”

Slamming the door, he jogged across the street to the woods and disappeared into the brush.

“Had the dream again, didn’t you?” Zeke’s rough voice broke the silence. “Guilty conscious starting to eat away at you, huh?”

Dom rubbed his eyes, trying hard to erase a pair of honey eyes from his memory. But three years later, here he was, still reeling from the effects of that one shit week.

“I hope that memory stays with you forever.” He accepted his brother’s hate like a burden to bear.

With a glance in the rearview mirror, he caught his brother’s disheveled appearance—glassy red eyes, two weeks’ worth of beard growth, and greasy hair. The depressed bastard was one step from being a hobo. God forbid a woman ever make him sink that low.

The door opened yet again and Aidyn jumped inside, soaking wet and smelling like a dog.

“Never felt so good to piss.” He laughed as he got comfortable. “You know when you wait to pee and your gut starts to hurt from holding it for so long? Yeah, totally just had that experience.” Aidyn then looked over, and his face changed as he realized Dom wasn’t laughing. “What’s a matter with you?”

Dom frowned, wishing he had the power to fade into thin air. He lived with these people. These idiots. They invaded his space like Martians, and stayed and thrived and threw up everywhere as if it were a common territorial marking.

He turned the key in the ignition and the car gave a pitiful knocking sound. He closed his eyes, swearing that if anyone ever touched his car again, he’d remove their bowels through their throat. He turned the key once again and the car came to life. He revved it, drowning out his brothers’ voices with the roar of the engine and backed out. Staring at the long road ahead, he couldn’t wait to be home and imagined himself barricaded in his room with nothing but liquor, a pack of Oreos, and a carton of cigarettes for company.

“So, you like it?” Jason asked.

Jade blinked, pulling her headphones out of her ears. “Huh?”

“The house?”

She looked over at it, barely taking it in before looking back to him. His amber eyes pleaded with her to say yes, but damn if she didn’t have the biggest urge to say no, just to see if it would matter.

In the last three years, she had lived in twenty different places. Twenty different towns. With twenty different people. She didn’t care if she liked it or not—she’d be leaving it soon anyway.

But for Jason’s sake, she nodded.

He smiled, raking his fingers through his dirty blond hair and nodding as if he’d done right by some degree. She glanced at the house and guessed he’d done better than the others. A finger-eating unicorn wasn’t trotting across the lawn, nor was a komodo dragon being used as a guard dog.

There was a catch though. There was always a catch.

A four-car garage connected to the side of the gothic-styled house made of gray stone. Gargoyles guarded the giant front porch and the lonely balcony on the top floor. Maybe Dracula was their landlord? The high king of bloodsuckers probably waited inside for a fresh, juicy throat to chomp on.

It could be no worse than Lola’s place. The bearded lady used to make her walk her talking pet gorilla to the beach daily. His name was Ralph. He smoked cigars, painted watercolors, slept in a hammock, and wrote sensuous poetry about butterflies.

A true artist at heart indeed, aside from the fact that he liked taking craps on sandcastles.

“Any dead bodies in there I should know about?” She picked her backpack off the floorboard.

Jason grinned. “Not this time.”

“You sure?”

At his aunt’s house, they had walked in and interrupted a séance one evening. The poor woman had been hell-bent on bringing her dead boyfriend back to life. Problem was: he’d been dead for a week and his body was starting to rot.

“That was one time. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

She stepped out the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder. When her sister didn’t move, she poked her head inside the vehicle. Erica lay spread-eagle with a night mask covering her eyes. There was no way she’d be waking up that woman. It wasn’t worth the risk of having her face mauled by a hyena. Jade shut the door and received a dead look from Jason.

“You wake her up. It’s not my job to wrestle a bear.” She tapped the roof of the car. “Pop the trunk.”

She headed to the rear of the Charger and the trunk sprung open. A suitcase fell out, and another one threatened to topple over. Jade shook her head as she threw her sisters suitcases to the ground, not caring if she broke the cheap crap inside them, and rummaged through the trunk until she came across her black suitcase and two green duffel bags that lay crushed at the bottom of the pile. Jason came to her side, holding a hand out to help.

“I’m good. Cinderella’s gonna need you to carry hers, though.”

He grimaced. “One of these days I’m going to drop her off on the side of the highway.”

“I’ll help you push her out.” She maneuvered her bags in one hand and dragged the suitcase in the other.

She wasn’t as adventurous as her sister. In fact, she could live a whole lifetime without any adrenaline rushes. She’d had plenty in her twenty-three years, and she was done with them.

And she swore if she had one more ankle sprain from a failed attempt on her life, she’d beat the living hell out of that conniving old witch with her bare hands.

Jason held open the oak door of the house, and she wobbled into the main hall, surveying the cherry-wood walls and the white marble floors. A barroom was to the left, along with a wide staircase, and a living room was to the right. Not bad, not bad. Had character, she supposed. Her almond gaze traveled back to the stairs, and she took a deep breath and shuffled her way toward them.

“What room?” she asked.

“Just pick one,” Jason said with a shrug as he disappeared into the barroom.

He’d been drinking more lately. She wondered if she needed to start drinking too since she was the only one left sober amid all the chaos.

Jade climbed the stairs, praying for someone to shoot her as she conquered them one step at a time, determined to get to the third floor. She veered to the right and paused in her tracks. Black iron lamps hung on the mahogany walls of the corridor. Shrugging, she walked the hall, eyeing each of the four doors, until she zeroed in on the last two.

A pie slice of light streamed from the last door on the right, and she nudged it with her elbow. With a slow creak, it opened, exposing a room void of color and personality. She dropped her things carelessly on the floor of the hall and stepped inside.

Two French doors led out to the balcony. And honestly, she would have picked the room for the balcony alone.

She was ready to get her things and drop them on the bed. Until her eyes landed on the closet. A lone jacket and a pair of black boots set on the floor. And that’s when she also noticed the bed had been laid in—the gray duvet crinkled and nearly falling off the mattress.

“You would go in the one room you can’t have.”

She looked over her shoulder. Jason leaned on the frame of the door, his gaze scanning over the empty, cold room.

Disappointment set in as she sighed. “Sorry, I couldn’t tell anyone was living in here.”

He gave a nod. “The one across the hall’s open. Promise it’s a lot better than this one.”

Jason picked up her bags, and she followed as he went into the other room. Sunlight spewed in from a large wall-sized window adorned in red drapes. Her eyes slid to the dark walls of wood, and then to the fireplace across from the bed. The room spoke to the inner part of her that leveled with Wednesday Adams, and called to all those little dark spots in her heart.

She put her things on the trunk at the foot of the black four-poster bed and glanced around, noticing the cobwebs that hung low in the corners and the spiders dangling from the ceiling. Her eyes swept over the claw tub by the window and the broken black iron chandelier swaying in the middle of the room.

“It needs a little work, but I think it fits you,” Jason said, wiping a finger along a dusty white writer’s desk in the corner.

“Where is he? He was supposed to be here three hours ago,” a woman’s shrill voice called from inside the room.

Leaning his shoulder on the wall outside the office, Lu glanced around the living room, noting Marcy had an expensive taste. A red chaise lounge set in front of the marble fireplace, along with a bear rug. Paintings covered the white walls, and a black grand piano stood in the corner next to the patio leading out to the inground pool.

He heard a young man mumble something incoherent.

“Give it here, you incompetent oaf.”

With a deep breath, Lu stepped from behind the wall and stood just outside the doorway.

“Always gotta do everything around here,” Marcy muttered under her breath as she signed her signature.

A deep chuckle left Lu’s chest. In an instant, Marcy’s gaze flicked from the paper to him.

An evil grin curled her chapped lips. “Well, you sure took your time.” She turned to the frazzled brown-haired boy and handed him the papers. “Leave.”

As the young man scurried from the room, Lu stepped in. “I’m not one to rush.”

For a second, he paused, realizing the tip of her usually pointy nose was missing. Along with her two pinky fingers. And it looked as if she’d caught a case of leprosy—bumps lining her chin and dead skin hanging from her forehead. Not to mention, the balding taking place on her scalp. Her blonde hair hung in thin clumps, and he had the urge to name her “Patches.”

Blinking off the shock, he strutted into her office, looking around with a holier-than-thou disposition. He was certain his arrogance pissed her off more than anything. Marcy glared but kept her smile.

“So, why’d you call?”

“I need your help with someone.”

Lu fiddled with the gnome ornaments on her desk. “Who?”

“A girl I can’t seem to catch.”

His eyes flicked to hers. “Gone soft, have you?” Her smile faded into gritting teeth. “What’s in it for me?”

“Did you seriously just ask that?” She cut her blue eyes and rubbed her forehead. “What do you think’s in it for you? A soul to add to your list.”

And he never said no to a free soul.

As her words sank in, he scowled, his eyes cold and calculating. “What do you have in mind?”

“You just do whatever you feel is necessary at the time. Knock her out, or do your little voodoo wonders on her. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be that creative, just as long as she gets back to me alive.”

“Body’s rotting that bad, huh?”

“What do you think?”

He paced in front of her desk. “So, who’s the girl?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s got the ingredient I need to finish my spell.”

He cocked a brow. “You don’t even know her name?”

“Do I look like a fucking detective, Lu? I know the elf’s name, and for me, that’s enough. I just wanna have her heart on a silver platter in front of me. I’m hungry, and literally falling apart.”

“And how do you expect me to find her?”

“You’re Satan, Prince of Darkness, King of the Underworld, do your voodoo and figure out where she is.”

“Exactly. I’m Satan, not God. Unless she’s made a deal with one of my minions, then I don’t know her off the top of my head, sweetness.” He played with his unruly black hair in the mirror on her wall. “I need something of hers to get an idea of where she is.”

Marcy sucked her teeth, her fingernails tapping the arms of her chair. “Really?”

The witch sighed loudly, leaned forward, and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. She dug around for a minute before sitting up straight and slamming down a single piece of paper in front him.

Lucifer lifted the vanilla paper, eyeing the sketch as an uncontrollable hatred stirred within him, his hands trembling with rage. Heat crawled up the collar of his white button-down shirt, along his neck and to his face.

“That good enough, Prince?”

His eyes turned into slits as he switched his fiery gaze to Marcy. “Where did you get this?”

In an instant, the witch’s face paled as if he’d stabbed her with his words.

“One of my men found it in a hotel room she stayed in.”

He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and a thousand memories flooded him, ones that weren’t his own. A tiny cottage, the dark woods, and a coarse river running between mountains—it all flashed to him in a matter of seconds.

But that’s not what piqued his interest or told him exactly where the girl was. It was the hazy outline of a man shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t see his face, but the power pouring off him in the memory alone told Lu exactly who he was.

“Well, hello,” Lu muttered as a wolfish grin spread across his face.

Marcy perked up like a girl scout. “You found her?”

He glared down at the sketch. “I found a lot more than just her.”

#The Wicked Beasts That Roam #Story #Writing #Romance #Fantasy #Supernatural #Reading

0 notes