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buckyalpine · 1 year

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Spicy Snacks

Bucky x reader, Steve

Warnings: 2 high super soldiers who get into your stash of spicy snacks, fluffff

“Dear god”

You weren’t sure what it was you were going to walk into when you heard a ruckus in the kitchen but it was everything but this. Literally anything. The last time you’d seen such a mess was when Peter thought it’d be a good idea to babysit Morgan alone. Even that was salvageable. You should’ve known how bad it would be, given the trail of crumbs you followed from your drawer to the kitchen, but still.

This was something else...

There were snacks strewn about left, right and center. Bags of chips and candy littering every inch of the counter tops.

But what truly topped it all were the two massive super soldiers sitting cross cross apple sauce on top of the kitchen island, giggling like school children with their hands, literally in the cookie jar.

“Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar” Steve sang to himself while stuffing a chocolate chip one into his mouth, practically swallowing it whole.

“Steve stole the cookie from the cookie jar” Bucky snickered, taking the jar for himself and scarfing them down two at a time.

“Who me?”

“Yes you!”

“Not me!”

“Then who?”

“What are you two idiots doing” Your voice broke them away from their nursery rhyme, staring at your boyfriend first before turning to his bestfriend, the both of them trying to hide the jar behind their backs.

“Nothing’ y/n” Steve gave you a dopey grin, his baby blue eyes glazed like donuts, snickering at his bestfriend attempting to stab an apple juice box with the straw.

“S’too hard!!” Bucky whined, sticking his tongue out in concentration, eyes wide, trying to get his straw in to no avail, looking back up to you for help. He gave you his most innocent puppy pout hoping you’d help him, sticking his hands out for you to take his juice.

“Bucky get down” You huffed, trying to hide your smile when he clambered down like an admonished child with his head hung. You rolled your eyes, pushing the straw and giving it back to him, shaking your head at the grin he gave you, whispering a shy thank you.

“Ooooooo you like herrrrrr” Steve howled, now kicking his feet, letting them hang off the counter while Bucky blushed, peeking at you through his lashes. “BUCKY HAS A CRUSH”

“Nooooo” He drawled out, taking a long sip from his juice box.

“We’ve been dating for 2 years you dork” You watched his cheeks redden more, which only made him more adorable but you weren’t sure how much more nonsense was going to ensue when the both of them were higher than kites.

“She’s my girlfriend” Bucky giggled at the last word, now struggling with a new box while Steve’s eyes lit up, a classic God awful captain America plan had bean to manifest itself. He slipped off the counter, the effects of the gummies and whatever else he’d swallowed had knocked his agility off its rockers; he moved with the grace of a donkey.

“Where are you going” you stopped him before he could sneak off, your boyfriend looking equally guilty.

“Noooowhere” Steve shrugged but you gave him a pointed look while Bucky flailed his hands, hoping to silently communicate they were not about to do something idiotic.

“Sit down. Finish your snacks and then you both need to go take a nap” You felt like you were talking to toddlers, not bothering to add they had to clean their mess because you were sure that would only end in more chaos.

“But we were gonna go flying with Sam’s wings!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this” You muttered to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking again, “No. You can’t just go take Sam’s wings and go flying. Now finish your juice boxes and go to bed”

“NOOOO” Steve jumped onto Bucky, wrapping his long legs around his waist, holding onto him like a massive koala, giving you his best puppy eyes, matching his equally ridiculous best friend. “WE DON’T WANNA GO TO BED”

“Boys....”

“Please???” Bucky pouted effortlessly holding the captain up while your face scrunched up, mentally face palming yourself.

“No. No, you cannot go flying! You’ll end up hurting yourself or breaking the wings or- for fucks sake what are you doing?!” You gawked; Steve and Bucky had stopped listening many moons ago. They were back to rummaging for food, a stray sour patch kid falling to the floor.

“5 second rule” Bucky shrugged, bending over to pick it up, not seeing the smirk that crossed his bestfriends face.

“Chubby dumpling” Steve whispered, giving Bucky’s ass a poke, making him yelp. Bucky stared at him like a deer in headlights while Steve cackled to himself, tossing back another packet of nerds into his mouth. You were to engrossed at the scene in front of you to notice Tony walk in, his face equally perplexed at yours.

“What it God’s name” Tony stared at the chaos that was taking place with you in the middle, “Do I even want to ask?”

“They got into my stash of....snacks...” You smirked while Tony cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Snacks, y/n? Really?”

“...Spicy snacks”

“Who would’ve thought this would be their downfall” He mused beside you “Oh-I think clothes are coming off-oh fuck” Tony ducked while Steve's shirt flew above his head, eyes growing wide when a pair of jeans followed.

“It’s so hot!!” Steve huffed, star fishing on the cool tile floor, arms and legs splayed out to the sides. “Soooo hottttt, n’I’m sleepy now” He yawned, stretching out like a cat before closing his eyes, a sugar crash sneaking up on them.

“Okay, someone call for this ones bromantic partner to figure this out” Tony covered his eyes while calling for Sam, hoping to get Steve into some clothes before hauling him back to his room. “Y/n, I’m assuming you got terminator covered?”

“Yeah, I- Oh no” you were met with your boyfriends Henley, followed by his joggers, landing on your head, squealing when you found yourself hanging off his shoulder seconds later.

“Buck, where are we going?!” He mumbled something while making his way to the elevator in just his boxer briefs.

“S’nap time” he mumbled sleepily, trudging with you to the bedroom and plopping down on top of you, using your chest as a pillow. “wan cuddles”

“Mhm, then you get cuddles, baby boy” you giggled, carding your fingers through his hair, unable to stop smiling from how ridiculously adorable he was. He let out a content sigh, softly snoring moments later. You bit you lip to keep your laughs down, hearing the commotion outside your room in the hallway.

“Steve, you need to put on pants”

“Pants are for the WEAK”

“No-Steve NO!-don’t take off your-for fucks sake”

“THIS IS AMERICAS ASS”

“That’s America’s cock and balls”

“Please, for the love of God, go to your room”

“I’M GOING TO MAKE A TIKTOK”

“Steve no”

“Steve yes”

“STEVE”

“What’s the live feature”

*Sounds of Steve shrieking and then a thump with continued muffled pouting*

“You’re never eating spicy anything again”

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Could we maybe see the first meeting between fast food worker reader and the handpit

"Y/n! Some kid lost his teddy in the ball pit!"

You peel yourself from the breakroom chair with the minuscule amount of energy you had regained from it. You learned the first week on the job to never expect a moment of rest, but that didn't make losing precious break time any better.

The ball pit had been a pain since its reopening a full week back. Customers loosing precious items, child claiming to have been scared out of the pit by a scary monster. In defense of the first thing it probably isn't the greatest idea to wear great grandma's wedding ring to a restaurant where the police leaves the phone on the receiver when they call in.

You enter the main area. A parent shouts at the cashier while clutching a sniffing child's name; a glimmer of hope in their eyes as you walk out.

"This is exactly why I don't let my children into those disease pools! If you don't bring my son, his toy this entire franchise is going under!:

Your coworker's eyes water. You throw them a thumb's up as you pedal to the playarea. It's common knowledge you're in this nightmare together so most helped one another when they could.

The play area was your average child's environment. Overhanging tubes leading to a twisting slide. Colorful walls and statues of the mascot looming in watch. The ball pit. The windows to the parking lot had been painted over after similar reports of odd behaviors outside.

You walk over to the wall where the net for such occasions was stored, but it's gone. Figures. Nothing's easy around here. You pop your shoes off and squeeze them into a cubby as per comand of your commerical marketed overlord. You fish around at the top before doing as expected and climbing into the pit when you can't find it on the surface sweep.

The balls come up to your waist, but you can feel they go further than that as you kicking through them. The ball pit was as big as your average swimming pool, so you definitely had your work cut out for you. Better than being screamed at by customers from hell you suppose.

The search is gruelling. Each ball you push out of the way is replaced by a tidal wave of more. You unknowingly sink down to your chest as your frustration rises. It feels like the pit hasn't been cleaned in ages either. Some of the balls sticky and wet, and you're poked and stabbed at by objects were too thin and hard to be a plush bear-

What was that?

You freeze. A pocket forms in the sea of balls to your left, sucking the plastic orbs into themselves like a technicolor sinkhole. You figure its because you had previously just lift that area and swim forward. Something tugs on your pant's leg mid stroke, but your other foot kicks it away as you move. As the lights flicker you get the feeling someone is messing with you.

"Not funny!"

So much for being a team player. You better hurry and find this thing so you can head out early today. About tew feet in front of you, the bear's button eye watches your struggle. Stopping it, you dart towards it, but it sinks into the pit. It then reappears another foot away.

"What the hell.... This really isn't funny.."

You try again. It disappears. This time it teleports behind you. Stagnate in the spherical waters, you watch as the bear disappears and pops back within view in a different location. Sometimes it's at the end of the pit, sometimes it's mere inches away. This definitely isn't right. You need to get out of here. As you swim for the ledge, something drags you below.

You kick and flail, a scream fighting its way up your chest that you shove right back down to save energy. You can't breath. Your body feels weightless like you're swimming in a lake, yet the same air as falling out of the skin. Hands grab at various parts of yoir body. Items flash by as you're dragged further. Ancient photos, priceless watches- name tags.

As a hand wraps around your throat, you scream.

"You..."

Your plunge takes an abrupt stop.

"We did not recognize you at first, but that voice. It is unforgettable."

The hands turn you over. You can't tell if it's onto your back or your stomach. All you really can see is the plastic balls, but if you squint you can make out two white dots in the endless sea.

"So this is your face. We have only seen it in passing from your memories. How peculiar is man that in our eons of evaluation, your cerebrum is the single power that has twine our minds into one? In this "pit" of all things."

The hands stroke at your face; force your eyes to remain open. They carcass your tense form, easing your body but not your spirit. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. The voice is so loud; what feels like millions cramming into your small brain at volume which makes your teeth rattle with each syllable. In the same vein, it is the softest melody you've ever heard - splitting your fragile mind in two and sewing it together again with its gentle hush.

"You are different. You cannot enjoy us. The honor of being your new home would be wasted with your mind lost to the masses. You are to remain in this establishment until we decide what to do with you."

The hands center on your torso and push you upwards. Light pokes through the spaces between the balls as you're forced to the surface of the pit. The teddy bear lays on your chest as you surf atop the balls, staring down as if it's wondering the same thing as you.

What the fuck just happened

#Fast food reader #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #yandere x y/n

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cemeteryspider · 5 months

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Strings of Fate: The Puppet-Master

Luke Castellan x Child of Poseidon!/Blood-Bender! Reader

Summary: The reader finds themself in the throws of a God's war, learning about themself and the world around them. They decide the confide in Luke Castellan about their unique ability to manipulate the water in blood.

~Sorry if Luke is a little OOC I tried my best~

Trigger Warnings: Self-harm *one instance and is healed quickly*, Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Loss of a Loved One *Sally Jackson*, and Emotional Distress

As Sally Jackson’s oldest child, I've always been a little overprotective of my little brother Percy Jackson. This included taking the fall for him at school so his transcript stayed as clean as possible. I became a force to be reckoned with because people beat up on Percy, and after a while, no one wanted to mess with Percy’s psycho older sibling. Or at our latest school when Percy stabbed through his pre-algebra teacher with a gleaming golden sword that was a ballpoint pen the moment before, and I tried my best to mitigate the situation.

After that, life was a blur. Going to the cabin and learning about our dad was a crazy moment because Mom rarely spoke about him. Yet, we were utterly unprepared for the loss of our mother.

“You are my children, brave the storm. I love you.”

Then we were running away from our mom and away from the minotaur. We saw Sally Jackson turn to dust in the minotaur’s grasp, and in a second, Percy was running back and fighting the minotaur. Grover grabbed my arm and shook his head at me, but I ripped away and ran towards the only family I know I have left.

On his back, holding one of the minotaur’s horns in his hands and groaning, I shouted at the thing towering over him ready to strike in a moments notice.

“Hey! Get away from him!”

It turned toward me and huffed at me. For a moment I was scared, then I started throwing rocks. I was angry and used as much force possible. Then it grasped me in its fist like mom and started to squeeze. I began to give up, but then something spoke to me.

“Reach out, Y/n, take control.”

Following the advice literally, I extended my hand toward the minotaur. Closing my eyes, I waited, striving for control. Its hold around me loosened, and I found myself taking a look at what’s happening around me. I got a glimpse of the minotaur’s blood flowing from its nose into the air. Percy jumped into the air and stabbed the back of the minotaur’s skull with its own horn.

~~~

Luke put his arm around my shoulders when I stopped reciting the story and gave me a little squeeze.

“Hey, it's gonna be okay. We’re going to figure this out together.”

I tucked my face in the crook of his neck and kept crying. The night was cool around us in the woods near the cabins.

“I’m so scared, and I just don’t know what’s happening to me. I mean, what am I supposed to do? I’m just trying to keep it together for Percy because he’s already scared and upset, but I’m scared and upset too, Luke.”

He put his hand on my head and threaded his fingers through my hair. Luke let me cry until I calmed down, and I decided I wanted to show him.

“Give me your dagger…”

“What?”

“Please, I need to prove it to myself… I’m not crazy.”

He slid the dagger from his sheath and flipped it to hand me the hilt. I quickly and carefully split the inside of my palm open. Luke took a sharp intake of breath as I squeezed my hand into a fist.

“Y/n, what are you doing?”

I unclenched my fist and focused on the cut. I closed my eyes and let myself be in control.

“How the Hades are you doing that?”

Again, I allowed my eyes to open, and my blood was flowing around my hand and into the air. After a deep breath, my blood hit the floor of the forest.

“Come here.”

He held out his hand, and I took it in my not bloody one as he led me to a small creek not too far away. He submerged my hand into the creek, and it started to heal immediately.

“Thanks, Luke. I just… I’m not crazy.”

“I believed you before, you know.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” I said quietly.

He enveloped me in his arms, and I allowed myself to fall apart completely. After all this time of keeping Percy out of trouble and protecting him, it felt nice to be held and taken care of.

“Come on, let's get you to bed, and we’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

After a minute, he pulled away and led me by the hand to Cabin 3 carefully, avoiding the harpies looking for campers out of bed.

“Could you stay?”

“I can do that, as long as you don’t mind getting up a little early and waking up Hermes Cabin.”

“Yeah, I can do that with you.”

“I’m going to sleep in Percy’s bed so I don’t crowd you, you know.”

“Yeah, just with Percy gone, it’s lonely… I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t sharing a room with someone.”

“I’ll be here. Get to sleep, I’m sure you’re tired.”

I tiredly climbed into my bed as Luke climbed into the bed that Percy slept in not a day ago. As I went to sleep, I heard Luke’s soft breaths fill the cabin.

~~~

I woke up with a start, and Luke had his hand on my arm.

“Hey, Hey, you’re okay. You just had a bad dream Darling. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths.”

I quickly blinked, vaguely remembering the nightmare I had. I saw Mom disintegrating into nothing, and then Percy in the minotaur’s fist, life draining from his eyes and disintegrating into nothing. Particles of ash mingling with Mom’s.

“Breathe with me, Y/n. In and out. In and out.”

I slowly matched my erratic breathing with his, and as the minutes went by, I started to calm down.

“See, you’re okay. I promise everything is okay. You’re safe.”

“T-thank you, Luke… Sorry for waking you up.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I just want to help you, Darling.”

“Still…”

A couple more deep breaths.

“Are you okay now, darling?”

“I’m okay now, thank you.”

“I’m gonna go back to sleep so I can get up in a few hours, okay?”

He took one step, and I reached for his hand.

“Could you… hold me, please?”

He just smiled at me and lifted the covers to get underneath.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #child of poseidon #pjo x reader

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thestarfishinjootsoffice · 10 months

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Slashers x child!reader… except it’s CHILDREN, because they are TWINS

HMMM WOWW THIS IS SOMETHING NEW YAHOO!!

Uhm I made the twins energetic hope you didn't mind it 👉👈

Warnings: mentions of murder and luring. Idkk??? Fluff??

Characters in this : Michael Myers, sinclair brothers and Bubba sawyer SORRY SO SHORT.

Relationship: Platonic! Father/uncle/older sibling figure? Yes?

Slashers x twins! Reader

Michael

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

*immense sigh inserted from Michael*

How he'll take this is a matter of how they act.

Just two quiet timid little munchkadees and he shows a thumbs up.

But two little sly mischievous pranksters are a big no no from him. But let's go with that for the rest of the oneshot.

One was already hard enough for him but two?? He's gonna be breaking them spine and knees a little earlier... You can just imagine him sitting on a chair while two little children run around him and you can see the exhaustion behind his mask.

They can mess with him and ask him who is who and most of the time he gets it right or says idgaf. But if it's peepaw Michael he's a bit more willing to play along. Orr says idgaf too and points to whoever.

He doesn't necessarily hold those two but if they ask reeeeaaaallllyyyyy nicely he might. When he did though he thought it felt weird holding two children in his arms and intended to drop them after 10 seconds but seeing how happy and excited it made them he extended it to a few minutes. (And moved around the house a little since they asked really nicely about that too.)

If they get into an argument and get mad at each other and they turn to him for help he's panicking inside because he doesn't know wtf to do. He just grabs whatever their favorite food or drink is and hopes they make up.

One moment he goes into another room and comes back to find the twins throwing things around and screaming and he glares at them and gave them a little bonk on their heads and made them clean up.

If he finds out the twins had a bully he's ready for bone breaking or stabbing but if he also finds out the twins are tormenting the bully back for revenge and he just- he's so proud. (He came up to them and gave them a thumbs up.)

Overall he doesn't really love it nor does he really hate it. And he wouldn't say he wishes one of them to disappear cause he doesn't. I guess he kinda loves likes the both of you equally.

Sinclair brothers

Bo looks at the both of them together sometimes and smiles because they lowkey remind him of him and Vincent when they were younger. (The children twins get along wayy better) he tries not to mind and lash out when they're acting especially chaotic but you know the romantical relationship between him and anger so he yells at them. But then he later feels super guilty and tries to apologize with ice cream or something. Actually he's pretty lenient on them cause there's two of them and in his sense that means if one is in trouble then the other one will get them out of it. Boy was he wrong. He found them both wailing in a ditch with leaves as bait somewhere that they dug up because they wanted to catch animals for food but they forgot it was there. He also bonked them in the head after lifting them up. You can see him a lot with the twins and lure tourists in like 'heh... Yes come follow these two innocent looking kids...' He would rather die than admit it but he really likes having the twins company. He acts so nasty and detached but yk he would be so hurt if they didn't talk to him more than 10 times a day. Whatever tourist that picks on them or acts extremely suspicious around them would be dead before the sky turns deep blue. I bet he lets them hang on his arms and turns so smug when they comment about how strong their 'uncle' is. Wait did they say uncle? He accidentally dropped them. And crode later. Overall he likes them more than he could ever admit.

Vincent he loves watching them play (not in a weird way ofc) he watches them and sighs because he highkey wishes Bo would be a bit nicer to him sometimes. And for some reason he is a little nicer when the twins are around. When days are getting long and there's nothing to do he's playing with them, whether it be tag or dressing up in tutus he's fine with it. He gets worried a lot when the twins are on their own. Instead of a mindset like bo (and Lester) he thinks what would happen if BOTH of them get in trouble. He doesn't want to find two dead bodies somewhere so he tries to keep a close eye on them. A scenario where the twins are also running around in circles around Vincent sitting in a chair except he doesn't mind it and smiles. Contests where the twins draw Vincent and makes him choose whose art is better but he doesn't have the heart to choose which are inevitable. Anybody who looks at them weird? Gone. Not even wax just gone. Treats them like they're his own (he is their father figure). Since lester isn't always in ambrose Vincent does most of the raising since Bo apparently is always doing something (he tries.). So Vincent is the twins favorite and always comes to him for help unless it's about mechanical or such. Probably holds the twins in his arms a lot and scurries or runs around because it's so cool for them to look at everything from the height of 6'1 - 6'ft. His soul almost leaves him when they play and run around in the house of wax. Vincent thinks it's kinda hard handling twins but he loves it either way.

I said before Vincent was their favorite but boy do they get excited when they see Lester. He doesn't always come but he doesn't always decide to not visit. To be honest because of the twins he visits more frequently oh and they loveee jonesy. And for the record he's the fun-est and also funniest so when he pulls up with them truck the twins will be yelling, "omg look uncle Lester came!!!" Bo will give shit. Not to the twins but to Lester for some reason. The whole day you'll be spending time with Lester and they play stuff like who can hit the most animals with uncle Lester's car. (Sorry they don't actually play that.) But hes convenient because when the twins are refusing to do Or eat something and knowing how competitive chaotic kids are, Lester does the good ol' who can eat/clean the fastest and also does it with them so it'll be more fun. And he's carefree too and then he also finds the twins somewhere in trouble. I'm imagining a scenario where he tells a creepy tourist to get in a car and then he was driving really fast around a cliff and then he opens the tourist's side of the car door and roughly pushes them off the cliff. They were there to witness it all and honestly they were high key rooting for Lester. The kid twins get into mischief with Lester a lot and Bo finds it so annoying and Vincent is just concerned. Them and Lester are literal partners in crime. They work together like legitimately. Also when the twins get mad at each other Lester makes them apologize to each other and then treats them with food or some activity for doing so. Because it's important to apologize <3. Overall, he loves em' and they love him.

Bonus, jonesy!!: did I mention they love jonesy? Everytime the kid twins aren't playing with Lester they're most definitely being playfully chased by jonesy. Ofc she catches them every time and also gives them little kisses on the cheeks :,). 🩷🩷🩷 jonesy is just a natural at everything that's why she got along so well the first time they met with the kid twins, in fact she's the head master and wears the pants in the sinclair family. She's extremely vital. Someone acts mean to one of the twins? The other one and jonesy team up and start beating the person. Somehow they three team up and torment the other Sinclairs and the brothers have no idea how but they allow it. Overall 100/10, she's their second partner in crime.

Bubba sawyer

He loves taking care of them! Just whenever he can he plays with them. Wayy too attached to the twins since they're really the only ones who treat Bubba like an actual human being.

Will get so stressed if they mess up somewhere in a room because Drayton will yell at both the twins and Bubba. (The twins shit talk about Drayton and let Bubba on it too but he gets nervous.)

He also runs around the house holding one twin on his arms and one on his back. The twins love pulling that "guess who is who" Question and watch as Bubba struggles and fidgets as he tries to figure out.

There isn't really a quiet day with twins chasing each other but Bubba loves it. It doesn't make him feel alone. As much as he dislikes it, the twins help and lure victims in and also watch the brutal killings. If they insist it doesn't really bother them that much then he'll be put a little at ease.

He gets the big sad when the twins come crying to him after Drayton yelled at them for acting like the kids that they should act like. Knowing Bubba has a soft heart he can't really do anything other than comfort them physically by stroking their hair/heads.

He tries his best to keep them safe at all times knowing how dangerous this can be if the victims get smart or lucky. Overall he loves them to death and he wouldn't have it any other way.

This is the end. I'm losing my creativity and it took me like 6+ to finish this because I'm so indecisive. Anyways tell me if you want a part two :))

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slvt4lanadelrey · 1 year

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Desire ruled me and destroyed us | Tara Carpenter

Tara Carpenter x Gf!fem!reader

Warnings: death, stabbing, blood, Ghostface Reader, swearing, detailed murder, lowkey suggestive scenes

Halloween was fast approaching the town of woodsborrow. As most of the children hurried home at night, assuring their doors were locked; bolted with atleast three clicks.

Sam was warmly tucked into her home, smiling contentedly. Her fingers flipping through a book, her phone tucked underneath her elbow; the ring turned off by her earlier that day, by design.

Quinn had finally decided to stop bring home random strays and went out on her own; no doubt to stay over their house instead. That meant, no obnoxiously loud moaning and slamming of her bedframe.

Shockingly, your presence was lacking in the warm apartment. You had been a major presence in Tara's life for the majority of Tara's teenage years. Since you were 16 to be exact, the age they began to date. Five years later and you two were still sharing sweet kisses at midnight and holding hands like the mear thought of nothing touching in anyway would burn you.

Sam didn't mind having you around all the time. You was a nice enough girl, your mom being an only problem within their relationship; Gale had a tendancy to be a less than welcoming person.

—————

"God, your such a tease" you groaned down at the persons feared face. Your face was covered with a mask; a ghostface mask. You slammed your knife further into the girl you had decided didn't deserve to breathe anymore. You "tsk'ed" at the way the dyed green haired girl whimpered her black eyeliner dripping into a mess. You laughed, your knuckle now slamming into the girls stomach, the sign your knife was too far in; retreating it back, sighing at how the nice pop and that it left a slapping sound through the room.

"You never told me your name." Just like murderers before you, you laughed; the girl gasping with blood pooling out her mouth. You knew perfectly well who the girl was: Andy Samuel, B student, sort of gothic.

"Why?" The green haired girl gasped, blood spray on the mask that had been cleaned earlier that night. You didn't mind it, revelling in the way your face was painted with your victims blood.

"Because why not." Unlike prior ghostfaces, you didnt have a motive. You was crazy, an absolute wild card that needed to cut shit up. Barbies only went so far, nothing compared to how someone would shake and grasp onto your neck at how hard you was inpaling them with such a force that knocked the wind out of them.

Andy shook, hands gripping onto your neck; they always fought back. She stared at the mask infront of her, her fingers now begging to pry the white mask down until It revealed your face. Andy's face flushed with hurt, immediately remembering you from Chem class. You didn't leave the girl to wollow for too long; sliding the knife through the beautiful sight of the girls neck, slicing it as blood sprayed across your lip.

You tilted your head back, a guttering groan leaving your now bloodied lips. You sighed, eyes rolled back, your body straddling the dead body.

You darted your tongue out, salivating at how the metallic taste invaded your mouth. You looked down at the knife, it so nicely drenched in blood. You placed it to your bottom lip, cutting into the skin slightly before sliding your tongue down. Your tongue slit, blood gushing out. You didn't flinched, far too gone to care.

Your body was thrown to the side, your knife falling onto the floor as someone tackled her. Mindy, her bestfriend was left to stare with a wide gaze, her fingers dipping into the red liquid that stuck to them like a bad sin.

"Another one?" Mindy asked, stared at the glorious sight of someone so lifeless, drounding in their own blood. "This is like the fourth one this week."

You chuckled, pulling yourself up from the floor; grabbing your knife from the ground. You walked over to your friend, smiling so innocently. You grabbed a soft hand onto Mindy's chin, tilting her head up. Then, your grip grew tight, squeezing until the windpipe crushed below her grip.

"Dont ever fucking push me again. Got It?" Your face was covered in blood, your bottom lip being forced down my your thumb. You dribbled some blood into Mindy's mouth; knowing she had the same desires that only were told in books, and shitty movies that never really explained it right.

No words could be able to describe the euphoria state you was left with after killing. Billy, Stu, Nancy, Mickey, Ronan, Jill, Charlie, they were all fucking geniuses. Absolutely gods to Mindy, competitor's for you.

So far you had out done them all. An easy 10 people left gutless and eyes drawn open due to your knife. The police had no leads, nothing. None of them had any rerelevancy to each other, most of all you knew not to fuck with Sydney.

"Y/N." Mindy gasped, her hands prying at your still fingers. They were trapped, tightly nawing at Mindy's tempting throat. You released it, laughing mockingly at how Mindy nearly began to shake like the rest did.

"Get up."

—————

"The question everyone's asked."

Finally, you bit the bullet. Your sweet, beautiful, kind, girlfriend limp, lying on the floor with a blooded head. The knife swayed sideways, taunting everyone in the room with how close it was to jabbing into Tara's stomach.

Tara gritted her teeth, seething out swear words at the person who they still didn't know was trying to kill them.

"Who are you!" Tara wepted, her hands clawing at the brutal hand that pushed down on her shoulder. The masked person, with a Cheshire cat like smile looked down at her. The knife had already been through so many stomachs, sliced so many throats. It held stories most people's stomach's wouldn't be able to handle to hear.

"You wanna see my face?" The masked person asked, so dreadfully pleasured at how obedient Tara was under you; knife flush to Tara's chest, her heart pulsing and thumping into her rib cage.

You was a people pleaser, you tore the mask off your face. Tara's face dropped, her eyes swelling with every emotion a human was possible of having. You had faked your death a few days prior, a stupidly good tactic your favourite killer had used many years before.

"What? Did- did I scare you baby?" You asked, your finger dragging up and down Tara's jaw. Tara flinched at the touch her face bleeding with tears, screaming at every memory she had of the both of you being so hopelessly in love.

"I can't- I can't believe I loved you." Tara screamed, spit slamming into your now unmasked face. You clenched your jaw, your knife tapping into Tara's face, you sighed.

"I'd glady cut you fucking up! Sam won't even be able to identify your fucking face when I'm done with you Tara" you wasn't lying, a few victims weren't identified by their faces; only by their dental records.

"Your just making this so much easier for me, stretch your neck just like that baby" you purred, your eyes wide with excitement at how Tara was thrashing back and forth. Her neck was on display, flashing a view that begged to bleed.

"Y/N!" A hard slam was all it took for you to topple over and howl in pain. Sam standing behind you with a ornament. You held her head, blood flowing from the open gash.

"You fucking bitch" you laughed. Sam's knees buckled, falling onto the floor. Her mouth dropped open, blood gargling out as she held the wound. Mindy was standing behind her, her knife wrapped around her fingers.

You chuckled in pleasure, colliding your knifes together with a clang. Tara kicked your leg, trying to fight back.

Oh, how much you loved with they fought back.

Tara was a sight to be held. Her face swelled wide with anger when her fingers wrapped around your neck. She somehow managed to wrestle you onto the floor, then proceeded to slam your head onto the floor a few times.

"How pleasant." You commented, nothing stopping the lust that consumed you whole. Desire was practically oozing from you, seeping from your eyes and making your mouth fill with saliva at the mear thought and memory of the bad things you did.

"I hate you!"

Nothing. Nothing cared within you, not even the way Tara screamed and protested about not loving you and hating the guts out of you.

"You hate my guts?" You asked, immediately getting a breathless "yes." From Tara. You nodded, your knife carving a line up Tara's stomach through her shirt.

"You hate my guts, I'll remove yours." You explained, your knife cutting peice by peice out of her Tara's belly.

"I'm the last person your going to see alive, Baby. I love that, I love knowing that." You carried on, your fingers now digging into Tara's stomach medically.

Tara cried, wepted, whatever she was doing it was working. The animalistic snarl leaving yiur lips, the brush of hair falling infront of your face as you made sure Tara would never breathe again.

"Last person you ever saw, Tara Carpenter was the person who killed your sister, bestfriend and everyone who had ever cared about you. Funny, huh?" You giggled to yourself, your clothes surely drenched in the sweetness of Tara's blood. There was enough to swim, or maybe bathe.

Never the less, you stumbled to your feet. Deciding to wipe away the fresh layer of skin that was the Carpenters sisters blood. Their reminding legacy amounting to nothing but a sad name on a peice of paper labeled

"Ghostface killers victims."

#jenna ortega #jennaortega #lgbt #scream #tara carpenter #dewey riley #gale weathers #wlw #gxg #tara carpenter x fem #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter x gf!reader

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power-chords · 7 days

Text

A rough translation, which I had to tinker with somewhat, but nevertheless:

The last of this clan, my aunt Martha, who went to Assenheim to fetch bread on the day she left, also perished in Minsk with her husband Moritz Adler and their young son. The names of the whole family are engraved on the memorial wall in Frankfurt's Jewish Museum.

But not Martin. Like his father Max, a front-line fighter in the First World War, captain of the Friedberg soccer team (the Jewish team) in the 1920s, he was a short, stocky, brash “tough guy.” He beat me up often enough, just messing around, when he visited us in Griesheim, but I always enjoyed seeing him and visiting the family in Frankfurt just as much. We did this often, even though Aunt Ida was a real obsessive when it came to cleaning and tidying. She would have been a good Japanese housewife; she always liked to take off our shoes before we stepped onto her polished floors.

One day in 1938, when things were getting worse, there was an unpleasant incident outside her apartment. A group of Hitler Youth attacked Martin's brother Alfred at the front door and beat him up.

The shouting drew Martin, who was just 14 years old at the time, to the window. He grabbed a kitchen knife, jumped out of the window, ran towards the mob and struck at them with his fist and knife. After the HJ punks had run off with a few stab wounds, all hell broke loose. His father just managed to get home to take Martin away before the police arrived. A friend took him by motorcycle to Nathan and Frieda in Kaiserslautern, and from there to a hiding place. I always thought it was my father who managed this, but he later denied it to me, so it was someone else after all.

Max had to go to the Gestapo for a tough interrogation, but apparently he was able to stick to his claim that the boy had simply run away; at least he was released after a while. The family, I think with the involvement of my father, managed to introduce Martin to an American Quaker whose group was organizing a ship transport for Jewish orphans to America. They provided him with forged papers — whose statements later became all too true, of course — and brought him by ship to the USA, where he arrived a few weeks before my father and was entrusted to a Jewish family in Brooklyn.

There he went to “high school,” joined the US Army at 18 in 1942, married Doris Kimmel from Brooklyn at 19, took part in the invasion in June 1944 in Patton's Third Army, Fourth Armored Division (as a Jeep messenger between shot-up tanks on the battlefield — not a pleasant job, as he assured me afterwards), took part in the liberation of Ders, passed through Frankfurt in the final battle in April 1945, and ended his army career as mayor of Pilsen, a post he held for a week thanks to his knowledge of German, before the Americans were withdrawn to the other side of the Elbe. Then the hard years began, until he found good work as a skilled carpenter in New Haven, Connecticut, and settled there, where he died in 1983. His two sons Barry and Michael are splendid fellows, one the head of special education in the state of Connecticut, the other a lawyer in New York; they in turn have four children; they are — unlike the three of us — still practicing Jews, and so this branch of the family continues to exist.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 17 days

Text

Haunted: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Summary: This is Hotch's first case back since being stabbed by Foyet. As much as he says he's fine, he's not and he's letting his emotions affect the case in a negative way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

With a quick search, Penelope finds out that Darrin's state-appointed psychiatrist is Charles Cipolla. If Darrin can't get his medicine at the pharmacy then he's going to pay a visit to the one person who can prescribe him more. You three rush over to his office but you're too late. Rossi and Emily are already here along with the local police because not only is Charles dead, but another one of his patients is.

The same ripped-apart energy is all over the office. Darrin was definitely here and killed both of these men.

"His energy is falling apart faster. Soon, he's going to be killing left and right regardless if they touch him or not."

"Why can't you find him?" Hotch snaps at you.

You open your mouth to snap something back at him when Derek stops you. He knows what you're going to say so he steps in to prevent you from getting in trouble.

"She is. We all are."

Hotch scoffs and stalks off angrily. You decide to give him some time to cool off and address the mess inside instead.

"He cleaned up and changed his clothes," Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell says and holds up the bloody clothes with gloved hands. The psychiatrist's clothes are also missing which means Darrin is wearing them. "He could have dyed his hair for all I know."

"He's suffering from a psychotic break. He's not dodging us on purpose."

"If he was psychotic, why would his doctor take him off the drugs?"

"Call didn't have any history of violent behavior. Cipolla couldn't predict that would happen," Rossi says.

"Look at this place. It's a mess but it looks like Call was looking for something."

"Yeah, the drugs," Kevin scoffs.

"No, the doctor never keeps the drugs in their offices. The scrip pad is still on the desk. My guess is he came here for help."

Derek looks through the files in the cabinets but can't find Darrin's.

"His file is missing." Penelope calls Derek and he puts her on speakerphone. "Yeah, baby girl, what's going on?"

"Where's Hotch? He's not answering."

"He's outside. He's doing alright. What's up?"

"A mystery."

"Come on, not today Garcia."

"I know. Here's the deal. When I missed the antipsychotics--"

"Listen to me. That was not your fault."

"You are ever my champion, sugar, but I believe it was. Anyway, when I did that, I went back to the beginning except there is no beginning."

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"Darrin Call didn't exist like from 1969 to 1975. There's no birth certificate, no social security, and no identity. Nothing until he was six years old."

"Was he abandoned?"

"My least three favorite words strung together... I don't know. My guess is neither does he." Rossi leaves to grab Hotch so he can hear what Penelope has to say. She does more research into Darrin that might tell her what happened to him in his early years. "On May 1, 1975, a six-year-old Darrin Call was found roaming in the middle of nowhere and was picked up. He was in state care for the first few months."

"Did he tell the cops what happened?"

"No, because he didn't talk, not for over a year. Once he started talking, he only knew his life as Darrin Call."

"That's awful," JJ sighs.

"So is this. Little Darrin was never claimed."

"Maybe he wasn't from the area. There wasn't a thriving missing children's network in 1975."

"Call is wearing Cipolla's clothing. I don't know if he's lucid or not, but he is definitely freaked out. Either way, we should update the public," Derek says to JJ.

"What is this?" the Lieutenant asks at the piece of paper JJ has.

"Call's timeline."

"He left Louisville?"

"Three times, but he always came back to the same ten-block radius."

"Why?"

"Victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma. Part of him wanted to escape. The other part probably struggled to find answers."

"Was he hospitalized?" Hotch asks.

"For two years starting in 1885."

"And again in '95 for a few months," Penelope adds. "For both times, he stayed at the state facility in Fayette County."

"You know he doesn't drive. Do you think he'd walk all the way out there?" Kevin asks.

"He's desperate. I think he'll find a way."

"I'll tell the sheriff in Fayette," the Lieutenant says and walks away.

"When did he start the prescriptions, Garcia?"

"In 1977 and it looks like he tried them all. I've got a list. Alphabetically, Alprazolam, Clonazepam, Diazepam--"

"Just send it."

"Yes, sir."

"His doctor weaned him off the prescription for a reason. Now, that's a big risk so the reward must have been greater."

"He needs the truth. Maybe he stopped taking the prescription on his own. He's looking for answers. He's got his file so the answers are in there."

"We need to catch up before he kills someone else."

You continue to do research with the team back at the police station. Penelope is on speakerphone with everyone trying to help.

"I found some records from child services that have him extremely physically abused. No signs of sexual assault, though."

"That's a miracle."

"Either way, the trauma was debilitating. Was he running from an abusive home or an abduction?"

"Wouldn't there be a paper trail if it were a kidnapping?" Lieutenant Mitchell asks.

"Garcia, look for unsolved missing children's cases from the 1970s."

"Okay, there's a case in Hollow Creek. The kids were dead though and were found in pieces."

"When was this?"

"'75. Nobody talks about it because they never found the guy. Do you think Call walked away from there?"

"It's possible. Garcia, send me everything."

"Done."

Can you find the case file?" Hotch asks the Lieutenant.

"I'll do what I can."

The Lieutenant leaves and returns twenty minutes later with two boxes full of stuff on the Hollow Creek case. Spencer reaches into the first box and grabs several files.

"Is there a suspect list?" JJ asks.

"It's in there somewhere."

"He was known as the Hollow Creek killer. Three bodies were found with some being never identified. There's a survivor. It's not Call, it was a 12-year-old boy named Tommy Phillips. His parents said he was missing for two weeks and came back a different kid."

"Of course, he did. Can you blame him?"

"Let's see. The family left Louisville after Tommy told police where to find the bodies. He also said the suspect was a white man in his thirties and drove a red pickup truck."

"We need to find Tommy."

"He'd be forty-six now. His parents probably changed his name and got as far away as possible."

"Garcia can find him," Hotch says with faith. "Garcia, send everything you can find on Tommy Phillips."

"Yes, sir."

"The stock boy's blade is what set him off in the pharmacy. If this is what Call's been running from, it's no wonder he's blocked it out," JJ says as she watches the footage again.

"Since he's clean now, there's no medication to block his memories and he wants answers. Where would he go?"

"To what he knows."

"He doesn't know anything. That's the problem."

"He's beginning to. He became Darrin Call at the Sterner Orphanage. I say we start there," you suggest.

You, Hotch, Emily, and the Lieutenant go over to the orphanage to see the local police already there. Darrin did come here looking for answers but ended up stabbing the woman in charge of the place. He also kidnapped a child which he hadn't done before. Derek talks to a witness who is across the street, Hotch immediately talks to the woman who was stabbed, and you study the energy. It's like it gets more unhinged the more you look at it. This kind of energy compared to the one you found at the pharmacy is way different. Both are falling apart but the one at the pharmacy is more put together than the one you see here.

"He called the boy Tommy," Hotch says after he returns from talking to the woman.

"Is that what set him off?" you ask.

"She thought it was his reflection. Whoever hurt him years ago might have been the same age he is now. He might have seen the similarity."

"What about the boy?" Rossi asks Hotch.

"His real name is Ryan. She said he was quiet and submissive."

"Is Morgan getting anything out of the other witness?"

"Not yet."

"A minivan was stolen one block from here. Call's never driven in his life. Do you think he's still not running from us?" the Lieutenant asks.

"Which way?"

"Eastbound. I got roadblocks set up everywhere. He's not getting out of this county."

"You're wasting your time," Hotch objects.

"He's outnumbered. Do you think he's gonna just disappear?"

"I think he took the boy for a reason."

"I don't care why he took him--"

"You should. Call's memory is no longer suppressed. He's reinventing his past, and unless we understand how, we're not gonna find either of them."

"I agree with Hotch," you back him up.

"I'm not gonna just sit around and speculate."

"I'm not asking you to."

"You don't think we should chase him either?" the Lieutenant asks Rossi.

"We need to get ahead of Call." The Lieutenant scoffs and leaves pissed. Emily and Rossi don't seem confident about Hotch's decision. "Hotch, a kid's missing."

"They don't need the extra manpower."

"Since when?"

"If we'd studied Foyet's initial crimes, we would have known that a survivor didn't make sense."

You sigh when he mentions Foyet. This man is obsessed with him and it won't get any better until he is apprehended. Foyet is the only reason why he can't see his own family.

"What does he have to do with this?" Emily asks carefully.

"All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet's history. We didn't and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I'm not making that mistake again."

Hotch walks off and you address your two coworkers.

"Hotch isn't well. He's not doing okay even if he says he is."

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

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sarasvegliatieprimavera · 4 months

Text

BURY ME FACE DOWN || Kaz Brekker

Words count: 1.5k words

Summary: Who’s the only one capable of putting Kaz Brekker down if not Kaz Brekker himself? The moment he recognises the end.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood and death.

Author’s note: I apologize in advance for any errors but English is not my first language, hope you like it.

///

[...] Thinkin' that they've won

It's only just begun

When I go

Into the ground

I won't go quietly

I'm bringing my crown

And when I go

Into the ground

Oh, they gotta bury me

Bury me face down [...]

What lies behind silence? Messes, truths, lies, secrets, anxieties, fears, or, maybe, nothing important.

Silence can be a weapon, but at the same time a weakness; full of unspoken words and unheard thoughts, so scary.

In that moment Kaz couldn’t decide whether could works on his favour or not; blood dripped from the knife he was holding, one drop after another fell to the ground causing a slight tic, not caring about what was surrounding her at that moment.

The pool was expanding more and more under the boy's indifferent gaze, the red of the blood was reflected in his deep dark eyes. The two colors mixed together as if they had both found their place to be.

Tic, tic, tic.

The only sound that punctuated Kaz's thoughts, the only thing that kept him grounded in reality and reminded him of the situation he found himself in. He eyed the figure in front of him with a slight hint of challenge, his lips curled into a grin. The blood stain on his arm spread like wildfire and he couldn't help but look at it with satisfaction. "Come on, make your move," he wanted to say, but remained silent and waited. The Guy in front of him was holding a dagger in his hands, like him; the hilt was completely hidden by his hand, making the blade seem like an extension of it. Stopping to observe it more carefully he noticed his name engraved in a fine and elegant handwriting.

Kaz Brekker. Dirtyhands. The bastard of the Barrel.

Many names, all correct if it was talking about him.

He was the terror of the people who dared to touch him, the monster who hid under the bed and who tormented people's sleep, the shadow hidden in the most remote parts of the mind. He was the stranger that parents warn their children about. He had been raised by the demons of hell and put on the path to destruction, it was a paradox and a constant question.

He wasn't good, he wasn't bad. He simply was and would continue to be until the day he took his last breath, and probably even after that.

He looked from the person in front of him to the knife he held tightly between his slender, ungloved fingers; his grip was so tight around the handle that his knuckles turned white and his hand trembled slightly. “Restrain yourself,” a distant voice screamed in his mind.

The blade glinted in the dim moonlight and, for some reason, seemed even sharper and more deadly. In the past it had happened that he was stabbed, even if there weren't many people who could tell about it. He remembered the initial sensation of the cold covering his limbs, he remembered the pain that arose from it and that increasingly grew and the sensation of the flesh being sliced, the nerves severed and the screams suffocated in an evil laugh.

He remembered the blood. So much blood staining hands and clothes. Blood that couldn't be cleaned up, that he was forced to wear like the pair of gloves usually glued to his hands like a second skin. Because the blood could not be cleaned up, just as the pain could not be erased, he knew well. He had learned so well to live with it, to court it and cultivate it within himself that he no longer understood where it began and where it ended. He happened to recognize it inside himself as he twisted himself between his limbs and tried to re-emerge, he heard him screaming and pawing his feet in an attempt to make him collapse, to make him collapse on himself, gasping in a desperate attempt to survive.

Living... What a word, yet no one knows what it really means. What does it mean to live? Feel the air in your lungs? The beating heart? He, who had thrown away his heart long ago, didn't know it. He had dedicated his life to creating a name and stories to leave behind, he had cultivated fear in the people who met him and who should never forget him.

After all those years, living had almost become a privilege, something he should be grateful for, even if he never had. It had become a concept that he didn't take for granted, especially after the numerous times he had found himself in plea deals.

Kaz continued to look at the boy with the dagger and the more he watched him, the more he realized how much he looked like him: the raven hair pulled back, the dark eyes, the tattoos clearly visible, but also the look, the hunger, the torment. Now he wondered if it wasn't all a trick his mind had played on him to punish him for his sins, the shadow that Inej spoke of and that had crawled out of the worst part of him.

"Who are you?" The question came spontaneously from Kaz's lips and hung in the air in the few meters that separated him from his other self, from his Copy. He saw it flutter through the air and then fall to the ground along with the pool of blood that slowly continued to expand. “Pick it up,” he thought, “I want to know who you are.”

He tried again, ignoring the fact that if it was really like him then he wouldn't answer. Why do it, after all? Why collapse that enormous sleight of hand when you have other tricks up your sleeve? Why reveal the cards when you can still keep playing?

He saw him grin as he approached the blood-stained question, saw him pick it up and put it in his pocket. He was still smiling as he took a first limping step toward him, the hand holding the knife swinging at his side while the other gripped the crow's-headed stick. Kaz approached him with the same confident step, in his eyes they looked like two hungry wolves about to jump at each other's throats and, if so, who would make the first move?

They were so close that he could feel his breath hitting his face and his heart beating a little faster, "Fear or anger" he muttered to himself.

Without warning a new awareness dawned on him, the thought that he was going to die. He expected to hear some concern, but that didn't happen. He was about to die but it didn't bother him, as if he had always been ready for this moment. He had played with Death for so long, one deception after another and now she had come to ask for his ransom. He had a blood score to settle with her and it was time she paid it.

The Copy placed a hand on his shoulder, his lips curved in a smile he didn't think he'd ever seen on him.

They looked at each other for the last time, then it all ended.

The blade pierced his stomach, he felt the cold and felt the pain.

He suppressed a groan as the blood stain spread across his shirt, but he wasn't the only one to get stained. The Copy was bleeding and pawing, agonized screams filling the silence as he watched him cling to himself. The blade pushed even deeper, breaking his breath as it burned deeper and deeper in his lungs.

He felt it squeeze his shoulder as he continued to push the knife, twist it, pull it out and stab him again. He whispered words in Kaz’ ear as he accompanied him to the ground, they seemed like reassurances, like a brother hugging you after a bad day.

Kaz saw him bleeding and falling to the ground, he was dying with him. He killed him and killed himself.

Slowly he felt his strength fading and his breathing slowly leaving him, he felt his eyelids heavy as he tried to keep his eyes open.

"I want to look at him" he said to himself, "I want to see him as life abandons him".

The Copy crawled ungracefully next to him, staring straight into his, his hand still resting on his shoulder.

"Who are you?" The question left his lips again in a hoarse and weak gasp, even his voice was abandoning him. He continued to fight against the darkness, feeling it clinging to him and trying to take him with them, but he wanted, had to, stay awake.

The Copy smiled at him again, moving his gaze upwards, observing something that Kaz, however, could not see. A solitary tear made its way down his pale cheek, reaching the angular line of his jaw, then reaching his neck, before disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

It was in that moment that he heard what he never thought he would hear, what he hoped he would never hear. "I am you, Kaz. I am what Life sent to redeem your debt to her" They were the last words he heard before he felt his eyelids become too heavy to keep them open.

In the end his death had come by his own hand, because only one person could put an end to his existence and that person was Kaz Brekker.

"I will not go quietly to my grave, I will wear my crown and when I go underground they will have to bury me face down. Just like that I will be able to look the devil straight in the face."

#kaz brekker #six of crows #imagine #oneshot #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone imagine #fanfic #kaz brekker fanfic #grishaverse #kaz dirtyhands brekker #six of crows duology

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pastel0rchid · 8 months

Text

Futuristic Lover (1)

Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Chapter One

Story Summary: It was a chance to have a family, and Miguel wouldn't waste it. No matter the cost.

A/N: I only know basic Spanish and will use an online translator. Please let me know if anything in the translation is off at any time in this chapter or in future ones!

The sound of children giggling could be heard throughout the small classroom, the group of toddlers surround the woman sitting on the carpet. A large smile was on her lips as she occasionally reached out to tickle the toddlers close to her, her laughter mixing with the toddlers'.

It was about an hour before the daycare closed, and keeping the toddlers busy before their parents picked them up was a bit of work.

But to (Y/n), it was all worth it. Seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter was the best part of her day.

One by one the parents came to pick up their child, leaving (y/n) with one last toddler and 30 minutes left before closing. With the little boy sitting on her hip, she begins to clean as best as she can with one hand.

She sings a small tune as she cleans, smiling as the young boy occasionally tunes in with his babbling.

As the clock ticks closer to 6 O'clock, one by one (y/n)'s coworkers peek in to say their goodbyes. The young boy still perched on her hip as she finished cleaning the room, leaving 10 minutes left until closing.

A small sigh leaves her lips as she realizes the little boy would most likely be here till 6. She sets him down to grab both of their things, gently grabbing his much smaller hand before leading them out of the classroom, flicking off the switch as they head towards the front office.

"Come on, George. Let's wait up front for mommy."

(Y/n)'s voice was soft as she slowly walked with the boy, her body bent slightly in half to keep a hold of his hand. They were the last two in this building, she noticed as they passed by the other classrooms.

This schedule was normal for little George, his mom always picked him up right at 6. Yes, it was a little annoying, and a bit hard to clean with a one-year-old, but (y/n) liked having the little one-on-one time with him.

Once the two made it to the front, (y/n) noticed a strange man waiting by the front desk.

His eyes seemed wide, flicking from one side of the room to the next like he was looking for someone. His hands fidgeted in front of him and occasionally reached into his hoodie pocket to mess with whatever was inside.

A frown reaches (y/n)'s lips at the sight, alarm bells ringing in her mind as she bends down to pick up George.

She protects the boy against her chest as she walks behind the desk, keeping her gaze on the suspicious male.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The man’s head snaps in her direction, seeming shocked at her sudden words and presence. (Y/n) watches as the man shakily removes his hand from the pocket of his hoodie, a small device in his hands with a button right under his thumb.

A second was all (y/n) was granted to duck behind the desk, curling her body around George, before a loud explosion went off.

Her body was blown back by the force, slamming against the wall behind her. A choked cry leaves her lips at the pain erupting up her back, her arms stayed secure around the boy in her arms, his cries piercing over the ringing in her ears.

(Y/n) slumps down into a sitting position, George close to her chest. The smoke from the debris clouds around them, a few pieces stuck in her arms and legs.

A small whimper leaves her lips at the pain she felt, both from the stabbing of the debris and the ache of her back. She could feel the warmth of her blood oozing from her cuts and some down her neck from where her head hit the wall.

She slowly checks over George, other than a few scratches, she takes the brunt of the damage. A breath of relief leaves her at the realization.

George continues his crying, gripping tightly onto (y/n)’s shirt. The poor boy was covered in a fine powder from the debris, his tear marks cutting through the powder on his cheeks.

“It’s alright, sweet boy.”

The words were strained as (y/n) tried to comfort the frightened toddler.

(E/c) eyes snap towards a thump nearby, landing on a figure towering over them. Her heart begins to beat harshly against her chest at the fear that washes over her.

Another attacker?

Another villain?

The figure was coated in a blue and red suit, his face covered by a mask of the same colors. He was tall, much taller than anyone she knew, his shoulders and muscles defined underneath the tightness of the suit.

His hand reaches out for the pair, stopping at how (y/n) flinches away from him, shifting her body to cover George as much as she could. Her eyes held fear, exhaustion hidden just behind it.

The man squats beside the two, trying to calm them by getting on their level.

“Ay, Dios. It’s gonna be alright, mi cielito.”

(Y/n) keeps her eyes on the male, unknowing of the words spoken in his native tongue, as he carefully picks her up, leaving George lying against her.

Nothing is spoken between the two as he carries them out of the rubble, heading towards the already large crowd. (Y/n) quickly recognized George’s tear-stricken mother, who pushed past police to run to her now sniffling son.

Everything after was a blur; George was taken by his mother to the ambulance, who couldn’t stop her endless thanks to (y/n), and the man who had found her carried her over to another ambulance.

They bandaged her wounds, and checked her head wound that still oozed blood, before strapping her in to take her to the hospital. Once the ambulance doors had closed, the man was out of her sight.

It was only when she was lying in a hospital bed, bandages all over her, that somebody carried in a small bouquet of red roses. Looking at the card, her eyebrows raise slightly at the message.

‘To Cielito.

From Spider-Man’

#reader insert #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction

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thepartyresponsible · 2 years

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a comment on the playing with puppies fic reminded me that i actually wrote a little more for that universe. so here’s more of post-hydra shield agent bucky barnes, from clint’s pov this time.

there’s some violence in this one.

- - -

Clint doesn’t believe Barnes is human until he sees him scared.

Over the past handful of months, he’s seen him bleed plenty, which, in retrospect, should’ve been enough to prove the man wasn’t running on motor oil and circuits. But he always bled wrong. Like he was bored with it, uninterested, just spilled coffee and raindrops.

Once, after a job, Barnes stood on the sidewalk and wrapped his bloody hand in his shirt before he got into Coulson’s car. He left his face bleeding freely. By the time they got to SHIELD, there was blood halfway down his chest and none on the upholstery.

As far as Clint can track, the mess only matters if someone else will have to clean it up. Otherwise, it’s all autopilot. The bleeding stops when it stops. Barnes doesn’t seem to feel any particular way about it. Doesn’t seem to feel at all.

The fear, though. He feels that so much that Clint can feel it, clear across the street in the stupid jogging outfit SHIELD gave him. One glance at Barnes’ face, at the awkward angle of his body, the frozen way he’s holding himself, and Clint’s pulse kicks up like someone just yelled bomb.

Barnes is standing completely still. There’s a look on his face like someone’s cutting him open, but the guy he’s staring at isn’t doing anything. There’s no weapon in his hand. He’s just talking.

“Something’s weird with Barnes,” Clint says.

Coulson hates the way he talks on comms, and Clint expects a quietly frustrated request for more information. He doesn’t expect the tension in Coulson’s voice when he says: “Do not approach. We’re sending a team.”

There’s a beat of silence. Clint’s pace falters.

“How many of them can you see?” Coulson asks.

But he only sees one.

“It’s just some guy,” Clint says. His feet move themselves. He’s crossing the street at a light jog, flipping off the cars that honk, rightfully, at the pedestrian who just loped out in front of them.

“Barton,” Coulson says, “do not approach.”

But Barnes’ eyes flicker at the sound of the car horns. For one second, he’s looking right at Clint.

Clint’s never seen that kind of fear outside of animals and small children. It’s blind, stupid panic. It’s a mouse stuck to a glue trap, a kid hanging from a third story window of a house on fire. That’s drowning fear, bedrock fear, the kind that can’t get deeper.

It would make Clint sick to see on anybody. But seeing it on Barnes scares the hell out of him.

“Barton,” Coulson’s saying, but Clint can’t hear him over the sound of the blood in his ears.

The other guy hasn’t seen him. He’s still looking at Barnes. He’s smiling, toothy and eager, and, when he speaks, Barnes’ eyes drag back to his face like he’s fighting the pull the whole way.

Clint doesn’t know what kind of words can do that to a person, especially someone like Barnes. He’s got no interest in finding out.

There’s a coffeeshop one storefront up from where Barnes is frozen solid. Little bistro tables set out on the sidewalk, couples on midmorning dates and students hunched over laptops. They’ve got mugs, real coffee mugs, made of heavy glazed ceramic. Clint grabs one – mostly full – as he breaks into a sprint.

The splash of hot coffee across the man’s face turns his words into a garbled yelp. The smash of ceramic to the jaw turns that yelp into a scream.

The mug shatters, but Clint’s still got a jagged shard in his hand. He tackles the guy to the ground, smashes and stabs what’s left of the mug into his mouth and jaw and face until it’s nothing, just powder and the slick arch of the bloody handle.

Around them, people are screaming. The man on the ground is making a wet noise in the back of his throat, choking on a soup of coffee and blood and ceramic and teeth.

He’s not saying anything, couldn’t form words if he tried, but Clint still palms his forehead and smashes his head back against the concrete, just in case, just as insurance. He slumps to the ground, dazed or unconscious.

“Barton,” Coulson’s saying in his ear.

Clint’s fingers are buzzing like he’s been licking electrical sockets. Panic always did make him jittery. He kneels up far enough to roll the man over, props his head on his arm so the blood will run out of his mouth and not down his throat.

He did more damage than he meant to. He doesn’t want to kill him. But he didn’t know Barnes could be that scared. Could be scared at all, really.

“Shit,” Clint says. He holds the guy down for another second, for five more seconds, but he doesn’t move. He climbs to his feet. The crowd has flocked away, most of them grouped across the street, laptops and purses abandoned.

Barnes is standing in the exact same place. He’s staring at Clint. His eyes are empty like a bad painting, like somebody’s photocopied driver’s license photo. It’s eerie, sure, but soothing anyway. Barnes looks like Barnes again.

Clint shakes out his hands. There’s blood everywhere. There’s blood up to his elbows.

“Um,” he says. “Coulson?”

“Status report,” Coulson says. He sounds out of breath. He sounds like he’s been running. Or yelling, maybe.

“I kinda,” Clint says. “I think I broke some guy’s jaw. Maybe a few times.”

“Barton,” Coulson says, “you need to get out of there now.”

“No,” Clint says, “that’s what I’m saying. I think I got---”

The shot takes half the guy’s head off. Overkill. And Clint, who just completed some coffeeshop sidewalk dentistry, feels qualified to pass judgment on what constitutes overkill.

He’s moving before he’s thinking, diving backwards, rolling away. Barnes grabs him by the thin strap of his stupid tank top, hauls him to his feet, and then they’re off and running, zigzagging toward cover.

It’s a recon mission. Clint doesn’t have his bow. Barnes has a sidearm, though, tucked under his sweatshirt. When they’re crouched behind a truck, scanning the rooftops, looking for the shooter, Barnes shifts his body between Clint and the open air, moves like he’s going to block bullets with his ribs.

“Hey, Coulson,” Clint says, “someone’s shooting.”

“Yes,” Coulson says, “I am aware.”

Barnes leans up, takes a shot.

“You good?” Clint says, craning his neck back to check Barnes’ face.

There’s nothing there.

“Hey,” Clint says. And then, “Barnes?”

Barnes doesn’t answer. When he leans up, he takes four shots, aim shifting. Two targets. He keeps one hand on Clint’s shoulder, fingers wrapped in his shirt. Not like he’s trying to choke him, but like he wants to keep ahold of him, just in case he has to drag him somewhere.

“Coulson,” Clint says, staring into Barnes’ face. “Something’s still weird with Barnes.”

“Does he know who you are?” Coulson asks. Immediate and insistent. Which implies that Clint is something Barnes could forget. Like that’s a legitimate risk nobody told Clint to watch for. Like Coulson’s been sending a man who sometimes forgets who his allies are into combat.

“Hey, Barnes,” Clint says. “You know who I am?”

Barnes’ gaze flickers to him. His lips push together and then draw down at the corners. He frowns for a second and then he crowds him, still doing that weird body shielding maneuver. “Stay down,” he tells him.

“Okay,” Clint says. Because, whoever Barnes thinks he is, he’s clearly decided he needs to look after him. And Clint’s seen Barnes in action enough to consider that a blessing. He knows damn well it could’ve gone a lot worse. “Coulson,” he says, “how’s that evac team coming?”

#writing #fic

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beep-beep-sunny · 1 year

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Day 1!! (Fashionably late) Reddie week- mythical creatures!! (Richie is a ghost)

Ghosts in movies are usually ancient beings of untold power or Victorian children in nightgowns with no eyes. Something ominous, right? Something grand and mysterious.

"Are you gonna eat that?" The ghostly white and see through visage of a floating guy with coke bottle glasses and a shit eating grin asked from behind Eddie's back.

Without even cracking a smile, Eddie responded. "You can't even eat, dumbass. You have no stomach."

He somehow snorts with no physical nose. "I'm sure I could find a way to make an exception for something like that. Besides." He flew around Eddie as if he were swimming in air and tapped the side of his "glasses". "I don't have eyes, and yet I still have these babies."

"Yeah, why do you do that to yourself, anyway? Are you even capable of taking them off?"

"That's not the point. The point is, I look devastatingly handsome in my glasses, so I keep them, and the cake would be devastatingly delicious, so why not enjoy it? I'm already dead. I gotta at least try to live a little. What do ya say?" He flared his fingers out as if he thought he really did something.

Eddie stabbed a piece of the dairy-free gluten-free cake. One of the few treats he allowed himself. "No."

"Please." Richie begged, bringing his not-face closer to Eddie's and puppy pouted half inside of his face.

"No." Eddie continued, unfazed, and put the piece in his mouth.

"Please." Richie said again, this time face to face, eye to eye, close enough to kiss if they could even physically touch. Instead, their faces were just partially merged.

Eddie shrieked sharply and bits of cake fell out of his mouth and through Richie's face. "Oh gross, look what you made me do. If you're gonna pull this shit at least have the courtesy to be alive enough to clean up your mess."

"Another perk of being dead, Edwardo. Now about that cake." He said.

"Oh my god." Eddie groaned, throwing his head back as he swept the hard cake crumbs from the floor. "You may be the one that's dead, but you make me lose my will to live."

"I love you too." Richie chirped.

After letting out a long, heavy sigh, Eddie stood up next to his plate and silently cut off a piece.

"Ahhhh," Richie let his jaw unnaturally unhinge, like a snake, with his tongue lolling out like a Looney Toon.

Eddie held the cake on the fork. "Don't get cocky." He held the cake out to him, keeping his hand under the fork to manage crumbs. Richie got close, too close, and put his mouth around the fork. The fork and Eddie's hands were fully visible through Richie's milky white head. Bits of the cake fell from the fork onto Eddie's hand.

Richie kept trying, miming biting and licking, much to Eddie's disgust, but nothing happened. "Awww." He backed away, defeated.

"I told you. We do this multiple times a week. What made you think the result would be any different this time?" He looked at him through his eyelashes, a headache coming in.

"You're making it sound like you don't treasure our 'boy and his ghost' bonding time, Eds."

"Boy? I'm basically middle aged!"

"I hope not. If you're middle aged, I'm middle aged Eds."

"You're dead."Eddie sighed. "Not sure if I should be more worried about your sanity or mine. You know what they say about insanity. Doing the same thing and expecting a different result or whatever. But I'm the one talking to thin fucking air and trying to feed it my dessert."

"I don't know about thin. I've put on a few pounds in my old age. I'm middle aged you know." He smiled, wide and smug.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Eddie instinctively chucked his forkful of cake at him. Richie tried to catch it in his mouth, but of course, it fell to the floor. Richie wouldn't have gotten it anyway. He was a little too left.

"Are you gonna clean that up?" Richie winked. "I'd help, but, ya know, dead."

"I hate you so fucking much. What did I do to deserve this? Is it too late for the clown to just take me?" Eddie begrudgingly got the broom and stomped around, diligently looking for crumbs to sweep into his little pan.

"Then you'd really be stuck with me, Eds. Till death do us not part. Because I'm dead and I haven't parted. So, I'm sure you'd be just as stuck here as I am."

"Oh my goddd," Eddie screamed into his hands.

There once was a boy named Richie Tozier. They grew up together. They met when they were in the first grade. Bill, Stan, Richie, and Eddie were typical best friends that loved each other, and would do anything for each other, but also kinda hated each other sometimes. Mike, Beverly, and Ben joined when they were thirteen. They didn't have time to form a dynamic before they were all haunted by horrors beyond their wildest childhood imaginations. The clown. It was more horror than any kid or anyone for that matter should have to witness in any lifetime. They did what they could, but they were kids.

Eddie had a broken arm. He had no business splashing around in a sewer trying to fight evil itself, but he wasn't going to let his best friends go in without him. Richie was a goofy kid with broken glasses, a smart mouth that wouldn't stop running, and buckets of unearned confidence and bravery. He never was okay with anything happening to Eddie. If a bully hurt Eddie, Richie would open his mouth and end up getting hurt way worse than Eddie was in the first place. If Eddie was tripped, Richie ended up with a black eye and bloody nose. And what was the clown but a big, supernatural bully? So when he came for Eddie, Richie didn't even think before using his mouth to get himself into trouble. The last trouble he'd ever get into. They really were best friends and it turns out, they were inseparable, even in death.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47685511/chapters/120198859

#reddie #reddie week #reddie week 2023 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ghost Richie #sunny writes #reddieweek #day 1 mythical creatures

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hillside-dangler · 2 years

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David & Maureen Smith, 1965 C)(C

Ian Brady had been grooming the younger David Smith, whom he saw as a potential accomplice to assist with bank robberies and murder. Brady and girlfriend Myra Hindley had already killed four children and buried their bodies in the Yorkshire Moors. After Smith married Myra’s younger sister, Maureen, the four became tight.

On the evening of 6 October 1965, Brady brings 17 year old Edward Evans home “for a drink” (translation: To rape and murder him)

Mid-murder, Brady asks Myra to call Dave and get him over. He arrives shortly after with a bottle of red wine. He would soon become the prime witness in the Moors Murders case.

Brady, a depraved psychopath had invited Smith over to watch him kill. He wanted to impress him but also needed help cleaning up the mess. A hatchet to the head was followed by strangulation with electrical cord. The attack was brutal. Brady sprained his own ankle from the physical force it took to kill Evans, who was much older than previous victims. When Brady asks Smith to help dispose the body, Smith agrees, but would later call police from a public telephone booth.

Although Mr and Mrs Smith were fully exonerated, they became the target of much public abuse. They were physically attacked regularly and evicted from their homes. After stabbing another man during a fight, in an attack he claimed was triggered by the abuse he had suffered since the trial, Smith was sentenced to three years in prison in 1969.

In 1990, the couple would be immortalised on the album cover ‘Goo’, by American band Sonic Youth.

Goo and The Moors Murders

#true crime #serial killers #criminal investigations #crime after crime #Moors murders #David smith #Manchester #Maureen Smith #sonic Youth #Goo #album cover #Maureen Hindley #Ian Brady #Myra Hindley

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black-occamy · 8 months

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Remadora Microfics, Day 6: Sticky

Written for @remadoramicrofics October prompts, 883 words

Written as part of my Occamy-verse AU, so: everybody lives, everybody lives HAPPILY, there will be insane amount of fluff and cuteness, there will be mentions of polyamory. Disclaimer: I have no idea how children behave, wtf am I even writing…

“Let’s see,” Remus pulled the list and a set of reading glasses from his pocket. “We have books, a cauldron and a set of ingredients…”

“Wand,” Teddy added helpfully, whirling it between his fingers in a trick move that Sirius has been teaching him for the last three weeks.

“Yes, please don’t stab your sister in the eye…”

“I can’t believe the letter still mentions quills and parchments,” Tonks scoffed, looking over his shoulder.

“Changes take time, my love.”

“Can we go eat ice cream now?” Lenore was holding the edge of Dora’s robe, her golden eyes staring at her parents pleadingly. Tonks crouched down next to her, messing the girl’s hair.

“In a little while, my darling Bug. There’s still some shopping we need to do for your big brother.”

Read further under cut or on AO3 🖤

“We’re almost done,” Remus put the list back in his pocket and straightened up looking around for the sign of Madame Malkin’s clothes’ shop. “Robes are the last one on the list and we only need to get the winter coat.”

“In this case, I think ice cream should come first, Rem,” Dora picked her daughter up in her arms. “Unless we want to get the new clothes sticky, right, golden Bug?”

“Ice cream!”

“Sounds like a plan to me!”

Remus exchanged glances with Teddy. It was his day, after all. The boy made a thoughtful face, considering the choices with a solemnity of an eleven-year-old.

“Mum makes a good point,” he finally decided. “I don’t know any cleaning spells yet, and I don’t want a sticky coat.”

“And what about the pet? We won’t have time to go and pick one, Dora.”

All three of them gave him surprised looks. Apparently there has been some discussion happening earlier that he missed.

“I’m taking Pestie to Hogwarts,” Teddy explained. “Auntie and Uncle said it’s okay if I take her with me.”

“Well, if that one is settled too..”

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!” Lenore chanted, tapping an excited rhythm on Dora’s shoulder. Remus gave up with a sigh.

They navigated slowly through the crowd of excited students and slightly less excited parents. Diagon Alley was packed at this time of the year, caught in the annual pre-school-year frenzy. It was fortunate they managed to get around their shopping during the new moon - otherwise the noises and other stimuli of the crowd would have been too much for him.

“Rem, you and the kids find a table and I’ll get the desserts,” Tonks declared, passing Lenore to him. “It’s lemon sherbet for you, chocolate for the Bug and salted caramel for Teddy, right?”

“Chocolate!”

He sat down at the furthest table he could find, one that was nestled cosily under a huge straw umbrella. The shade offered a welcome respite. Lenore huddled against his chest, staring at her brother pointedly. She seemed to be thinking something over.

“Teddy, will you be gone for long?” she asked finally.

“Just a bit, Nora. And I’ll write you letters!”

“Da, can I go with Teddy?” she turned her golden eyes at him. Remus smiled, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“You will go soon, little Bug.”

“Soon means when?”

“In a couple more years.”

Lenore scoffed, “That’s not soon at all!”

“You won’t even notice, with everything that will happen in pre-school,” Teddy offered and for some reason that logic seemed enough for her. “Dad, were you nervous before your first year at Hogwarts?”

Remus fell silent for a moment. Somewhere buried deep in his memories was the day he received his letter and the look on his parents’ faces - fear mixed with that terrible suspicion that it must have been a mistake. He shrugged that image away.

“Extremely so. Are you nervous, Ted?”

The boy regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

“I don’t know which house I want to be sorted to,” he admitted after a while. “I don’t know if I’m as brave as you or Uncle Sirius. I’m not as caring as Mum or as strong as Auntie Gem. Maybe I could be a Ravenclaw? Am I smart enough to be a Ravenclaw, Dad?”

“You are everything you need to be, I promise you,” Remus reached out, pulling the boy closer in a hug. Lenore squealed, joining in.

“Teddy, you are the best!”

“See, your sister is very right about that. It doesn’t matter which house you’re sorted to. You will make us all proud either way.”

For a few blissful moments he held both of his children, a small part of him trying to figure out how in the world he could be so lucky to have them. He spotted Dora coming in with a handful of ice cones. Her pink hair, long and wavy today, danced around her head like a candy-coloured halo. Remus felt a surge of warmth in his chest, a joy that filled him, head to toes. If he could, he would float in the air.

That is, until Dora happened to trip at this exact moment.

In a split second, the smile froze on her face, her eyes widening. Ice cream soared in the air. Remus stared at it, flying towards him and unsuspecting children, rotating in slow motion.

It was probably a good thing they planned robe shopping after the dessert.

#remadora microfics #remadora #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #fluff and humor #baby lupins #hogwarts #diagon alley #hp fanfic #occamy-verse #Gemma Appleby #the black occamy #occamy writes

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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 1 year

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Regulus Black eats angst for breakfast and oh, how i find symphony in his sadness.

TW/CW: irl parental abuse. irl struggle with mental illness. *life's tough guys*

It's because all my branches were cut so fucking short. All my leaves pruned before they ever got to grow and feel the wind. My soil poured over with boiling water so as to sanitize. Dear sister, they look at the life and fire inside of you and now know exactly what they must kill.

I'm sorry but how could i EVER not feel a deep kinship for this man. Everybody talks about the troubled years of the elder sibling. But who talks about the one child left to pick up the pieces of an already shambled family when their older sibling has made every mistake -- that they're no longer allowed to make theirs?

Honestly, though... what about the children left to pick up the pieces? Left to clean up the mess after? We're here too. I feel like this is a rather unspoken facet to the older sibling-younger sibling dynamic? If not unspoken, then terribly neglected.

The first time I had a panic attack at the backseat of my father's car, my father, with steel in his voice, asked if I was about to turn crazy like my older sister. Ignoring how I struggled to hear him over the sounds of, well, me -- gasping for air I couldn't breathe in. The first time I went home early, missing last period--because I felt cracks in my mind as stabs of anxiety made me feel bloody inside-- i was interrogated. I was asked if I so worshipped my sibling... for being so fucking cruel to my parents and wasting all the hard work that went into paying for my education. Because they felt like they were still paying for my sister's.

My father who paid for my sister's education as she studied in one of my country's most prestigious universities, told me he WASN'T going to give me the same kindness -- just in case. He didn't want to have to waste his money, he said. "So pick a small school and be done with it."

I remember my sister asking me why I wasn't hit as much as she was at my age. It's not like I was never hit, I remember telling her. But there was bitterness clinging to her person, so she asks again -- but why weren't they ever as violent towards me, as they were to her? Why.

I had it so fucking good.

We used to be in the same boat but so good of me to decide I wanted to play the good daughter.

It's because all my branches were cut so fucking short. All my leaves pruned before they ever got to grow and feel the wind. My soil poured over with boiling water so as to sanitize.

They look at the life and fire inside of you and know exactly what they must kill. I was already half dead. There was nothing left of me to hit me for. They made sure of it. THEY. MADE. SURE.

I may hold fewer bruises than you do. I may have fewer scars. But aren't you glad you still want to live? That you actually have people to fight and live for?

I think they got to me way deeper. Sorry, I guess? I'm already dead.

Of course, I never told her that. She got to have enough time in her life that her anger and bitterness fuel her own passion. I grew up holding my own bitterness in silence because there's simply no point. Not for me.

I was only living so that my parents could satiate this cruel greed to prove to themselves, that they could have one child that "wasn't fucked up" that "wasn't a failure". I spent a good chunk of my life trying to erase her mistakes. Like that was all I was here for. Allowed to be here for.

(How it fucking cost them, when I was diagnosed with my own cocktail of mental illnesses -- apparently she already has hers. I was barely allowed to "have" mine. Dad said I should be thankful.)

So maybe I look at this fictional character and feel some sort of affinity for what I can only imagine were his struggles. Rebellious older brother and the sibling left to fend for himself, and thus, overcompensating to please his parents? Younger sibling made heir because his brother ran away? Well, that's sounds terrifyingly familiar.

I wasn't a fucking nazi. Nor will I ever be. So, there's that.

Though, given my field of study, I'm well aware that had my parents been (or something similar), I would've gone to the moral deep end and followed. At least regulus fucking pulled his shit together despite the sheer lack of help he got compared to sirius. I'm really, not sure. if I'd have had enough will to do the same, much more live to die for something -- when I was in a similar household situation as him.

Granted, I'm well aware my sister isn't, in any way, responsible for the abuse I went through, just as it wasn't my words or my hands that hurt her as well. I feel the same way for the black brothers too.

It's just that sometimes the discourse around regulus can tend to get very hurtful and ignorant towards how children respond and try to survive in abusive households. Or how sirius' role as an older brother takes precedent, as if the younger kids in families don't face their own nightmares. or that sometimes THEY'RE THE ONES who get hurt the most in certain situations.

This isn't a call to aggression or the dismissal of what elder siblings go through. I'm just saying that regulus is so painfully relatable and is a powerful medium when it comes to discussing what younger kids go through. YOUR YOUNGER SIBLINGS SUFFER JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO EVEN IF YOUR VERSION OF HELL DOESN'T LOOK THE SAME.

TL;DR: younger siblings are always the last ones left. and when you're the last one left, you're the one who has to deal with everything. there are younger kids also fighting for their fucking lives, okay?

Note: i have three older siblings of which I've experienced all these things with them. Here, they've blurred into this singular presence because it's easier than actively writing out their names. Also, why would i do that? And this was written more for my catharsis. All of what I've written remain just as real. So when i say i get regulus black, i really do. I have three sirius's in my life and two of which i love but will never speak to. Ever again.

#regulus kinnie #regulus black #sirius and regulus #sirius black and regulus black #the black brothers #ancient and most noble house of black #marauders era #younger sibling #sibling trauma #yes - i do think people tend to get ignorant when it comes abuse #people only respect what's easier to swallow #think about the prettier picture. the one who fights cruelty and wins #but cruelty kills. yall. some give under the weight.#does it excuse regulus being a death eater? no. but he was far from a coward. Or to have cowardice as his defining trait. fuck that.#still -- dont be a nazi.#hp marauders #sirius black

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wellthebardsdead · 1 year

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Henwen: *Killed Grelod out of pure anger and hatred that someone could treat children so cruelly, no clue of any contract involving the dark brotherhood, only to wake up confused and lethargic after being drugged by Astrid and waking up in the abandoned shack in the middle of a swamp. Still in his pjs, aware he’s in danger and instinctively putting on the blind snow elf damsel act* m-my head- k-Kaidan- Kaidan my love where are you? I f-fell out of bed again- I can’t- I feel dizzy- where are you?

Astrid: Sleep well?

Henwen: *jumps and snaps his head in her direction but purposefully avoids looking directly at her but rather around her like he’s pretending he can’t see her* H-hello? Whose there? Who are you? Wh-where’s my husband? M-my guards?

Astrid: *falls for it immediately taking in the pitiful fragile bodied and seemingly blind elf before her, thinks Nazir gave her the wrong target* I’m in front of you… I’m here because you took a contract from the brotherhood. You killed Grelod the kind, the old woman who ran the orpha-

Henwen: K-killed?! N-no! My husband and I adopted our daughter Sissel from there! We- what- what’s going on here! Where are you?! *reaches out weakly and fumbles about like he’s one of the few blinded falmer who may or met not have survived only to stagger back in a ‘panic’ upon touching one of the hostages* WH-WHERE AM I?! KAIDAN?! KAIDAAAAAAN!!!

The hostages: *confused panicking*

Astrid: *now fully believing there’s been a horrible mistake and now she needs to clean up the mess* I’m so very sorry for this. This has been a terrible misunderstanding… *draws her dagger and walks to him towards him to cut his throat, fully believing he’s blind* Let me fix th-

Henwen: *suddenly launches forward and grabs her by the throat, filling her with electricity as he grabs her dagger and stabs her In the chest*

Astrid: *gargles and gasps for breath looking at him with terror in her eyes as she realises she was deceived* y-you…

Henwen: *smirks watching her body go limp* That’s payback for drugging me you bi- *pauses hearing Kaidans soft voice in a panic from behind the door*

Kaidan: My love?! Stand back I’m going to break down the door!

Henwen: *drops to his knees and pretends to be scared all over again, shakily holding the knife still in Astrid’s chest as the door is suddenly broken down* K-Kai? Is- is that you?

Kaidan: *disheveled and distressed as he stares at his blood stained husband* Wendy?! My wendy are you okay?! My darling answer me! *drops to his knees and takes the knife from his hands shoving it further into the assassins body only so he can pull his beloved safe into his arms* I’m so sorry, they drugged me! I woke up days ago! I tracked you here, I was so scared I’d lost you!

Henwen: *no longer pretending to be blind but keeping up his helpless little prince act* I- I was so scared- I woke up and everything hurt! I thought- I- and she- she tried to kill me… I- *looks at the blood on his hands and hugs into him as he starts to cry* t-take me home…. Please…

Kaidan: yes… but… *realises all three hostages may be privy to his husbands act of murder, provoked or not* … *picks Henwen up gently and sets him outside* one moment… my love…

#henwen dragonborn #falmer dragonborn #told y’all he was manipulative to get his way 👀 he has good reason to as well #Kaidan skyrim #Skyrim #ocs #astrid skyrim

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