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rottenprincessshura100 · 3 years

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First chapter of Fanfic.

I’m reposting this in case people haven’t read it. This is the first chapter of the fanfic I’ve been working on for years. It started off as just a conversation in my head. What would Mephisto be like in a job interview? If a person met him for the first time, how strange would it be? He’s cunning, manipulative, and of course obviously a demon. Bits and pieces of me are evident in this chapter, i have a background in contemporary arts as does my OC character. (I started off writing what I know.) I thought back to that time when I finished grad school, was completely broke and couch surfing. What time a job would I have done for basic groceries? Pretty much anything.

Anyway...here it is. Feel free to pick apart the writing style. I’m trying to improve and get better at it. ;)

CHAPTER 1

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Well, I hope today's interview will go well.

My student loan papers sat on my kitchen table with ominous foreboding. It was time to pay up.

I won't allow this new job to define my life, and it would be good enough, just for now. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend more time in my studio making art. I just had to impress the academy director during today's interview, and I'd be able to afford some decent groceries in two weeks. That's right, Evie, think positive!

So, what should I wear to this silly thing?

It's a private religious school; that means I should dress as professionally as possible.

I have two suits to my name, so I guess I'll wear a black jacket and a red blouse. Or is the red shirt too much? Yeah, I look like a cocktail waitress.

Back to the closet I go.

Okay, how about the wine-coloured blouse and black jacket? Sensible pants and a pair of heels. Fine.

My hair is a bit harder to work with; it's pinkish-brown. I'm an artist, so I tend to be riskier in my appearance. Today though, I have to clean up—no wild eye-makeup. I need to look like an ordinary boring temp worker that can file paperwork. I pull my hair back into a severe bun, like a schoolmarm or a librarian. Yep, now I look like a vodka aunt in a cheap suit. Effective.

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I drove along the busy narrow streets through True Cross Acadamy town. The school was a place for the well-to-do, and I'm almost embarrassed to park my junky car on the grounds.

Much to my mortification, the car backfired, drawing numerous stares from the crowds of uniform-clad students, practically bursting from every building.

Poor-ass artist alert! Here I am!

I slunk down into the seat, hoping the sun's reflection on the windshield washed out the crimson stain quickly spreading across my pale, freckled face.

After speaking with a guard at the main gate (located at the far end of an ancient drawbridge), he instructed me to drive up a long winding road to the highest point. This so-called town was, in reality, a walled city, consisting of tightly layered buildings in an array of architectural styles, all flawlessly intermixed. It was the oddest urban planning I'd ever seen, either designed by a crazy man or an absolute genius. From my own experience, I find the line between the two decidedly thin in most circumstances.

People from the mainland would often joke that True Cross City would never be completed but renovated in an endless loop. The rumours stated that the school's wealthy director never allowed the construction cranes to cease because it was merely bad luck to stay idle.

I continued my drive through the school campus to the mountain's apex—my job interview scheduled at the golden manor house of Sir Johann Faust on the 5th. The director himself would see me in his private office.

I swallowed back a slight wave of apprehension. I hope this guy isn't some sort of pervert. He most assuredly was eccentric. That I could handle.

I pulled up in front of Faust Palace, and just like the rest of the town, it's unusual. As I parked and exited my car, I'm in the shadow of tall golden spires shining like twin suns. The rest of the building reminds me of a cross between an ancient Greek temple, an art deco apartment and a mythical Arabian kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my black dress pants, my demeanour full of apprehension.

Yeah, I don't belong here. I've got a bad feeling about this.

At that point, I decided to leave. Yet, I watched with foreboding as a pair of security guards materialized from the shadows and closed the elaborate golden gate, trapping me within the compound. Shit!

I made my way over the interlocking marble slabs to the ornately carved wooden front door with a heavy sigh. Before I'm able to raise my hand to knock, it quickly opens. A short older gentleman greeted me with a nod.

"Miss Evelynn Smith?" He inquired.

"Uh...yes. I'm here for the interview?"

"I am Belial, the keeper of the house. Please follow me; Director Faust will meet with you shortly."

The butler escorted me up a seemingly endless hallway. It was odd that an inconsequential temp worker, like myself, was being given the grand tour.

White marble pillars accented the grand structure, with furniture from various periods arranged throughout the abode in mini tableaus. It seemed more like a museum than someone's house. How very strange!

There were many rooms with identical doors; this place was more like a goddamn labyrinth than a manor house! I hope I can find my way out of here after this interview was over!

I tried to get a feel for my potential boss. Being an artist, I, of course, took in the paintings that hung salon-style from every square inch of walls. There seemed to be an abundance of demons and death themes. How morbid.

Stefan Lochner, The Last Judgment, Vincent Van Gogh, Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette. But wait? Aren't these all part of museum collections? I'm confused. Are they copies?

Just as the creepy dark artworks start to grate on my nerves, I round the corner into the next hallway and find myself engrossed within a pop art nightmare; wall-to-wall pink Takashi Murakami paintings hung in tandem with Jeff Koons, Made in Heaven.

Jesus! Who the hell was this guy? He's adorned his house in pink flowers and porn stars! Surely the students didn't walk into this hall?

As if on cue, the butler regarded me sheepishly. "Pupils are not permitted in Director Faust's residence. He only grants top members of the Vatican access to his private quarters."

I attempted to hold back my laughter. "So, this is a private religious school ran by the Vatican no-less, and we have trashy kink splashed all over the walls. I gotta say, I'm intrigued."

"The master has a dark sense of humour."

"Understatement of the century."

"This is the master's office," The butler ushered me quickly into a large room. "Please, take a seat. He is running a bit late from a previous meeting."

I turned back toward Belial, but he's long gone. I'm all alone in an empty room.

The office is quite different from the hall and decorated in deep mahogany wood, decidedly masculine. The desk is large and ominous; that is, it would have been if it weren't for the strange little collection of toys and knick-knacks carefully arranged next to the computer. I picked up a pink porcelain rabbit in the palm of my hand and raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'd ask that you do not touch the things on my desk."

Crap!

I hastily placed the toy back on the wooden tabletop and jumped to my feet. A tall, impossibly slender man strolled confidently into the room to greet me. He wore a crisp white suit and a long heavy cape. I shook his purple-gloved hand firmly. As I stared up into his face, I furrowed my brows in confusion.

What the actual fuck?

"Please, take a seat, Ms. Evelynn Smith." He bit his lip and snickered. "Or do you prefer...Eve..."

"Uh...Eve's fine." I replied with hesitation as I slowly eased into the yellow and blue jacquard chair.

I should look away, but I can't. Mr. Faust's hair is an impossible shade of violet purple with platinum highlights that shimmer just at the crown, he has pointed ears, and his teeth are small sharp fangs. He's dressed up like he just got back from Comicon.

Also, what's with that curly plume at the top of his head? Is it some sort of fascinator? Is it a feathered hair ornament? I don't get it.

"Okay, Eve, spill it. What's on your mind?" He rested his chin on his gloved hand and smiled knowingly. "Do I have horns growing out of my head or something?"

"It's just....uh...a great costume." I stammered. " Those ears look so real."

He seemed taken aback for a brief second. "Oh, yes! I'm an Otaku. I've had quite a few physical modifications, and it will all make sense in time."

I nodded slowly. What the hell does that even mean?

"Getting back to your resume...Eve." He finally pulled out my paperwork from a nearby folder. "So, you possess a minor in classics, a minor in philosophy and a master's degree in contemporary art. How intriguing."

"Pardon?"

"This job is for an assistant to the Vatican. Your degree is all about a personal quest for knowledge, not exactly chock-full of practical skills." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair. "Your parents must have been completely disappointed, wasting all of that money. An arts degree instead of a doctor? If there was a wizard school, would you have signed up for that?"

"I paid for my education through scholarships."

He smiled smugly and read a few more pages. "So contemporary art, hmmm? Tell me how you make your artwork. What's the methodology behind it?"

"Well...I tend to work under the idea that the world is in a state of flux. Time isn't static, and we live in a non-linear narrative. I open my mind to thoughts of the impossible, the idea that they might indeed be probable under different subjective conditions. I try to allow play, chance, and chaos into the things that I build. Often by allowing more variables into a composition, we can get closer to the truth of our existence and find a deeper meaning."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desktop.

"I will be candid with you, Eve. I saw some of your work in a gallery in Northern Cross a few months ago. I greatly enjoyed it. You have a very open mind, which is the biggest necessity for this particular position."

"I just noticed your art collection." I countered. "It's not every day that one walks into a room of wall to wall vintage Cicconlina."

"You know your porn stars, I see?" He laughed with a merry twinkle.

"I know my art history."

"Oh...." He razzed. "Distinction made!"

"Director Faust, about this job....."

"Please. Call me, Mephisto." He gushed. "Faust is an old legal family name."

"Mephisto? Really?" I stare at him in confusion. "Your last name is Faust, and you call yourself Mephisto? Am I...?" I stammered. "... Am I walking into Dante's Inferno here?"

"You dare mock my name." He challenged. "Yet, your parents named you after Eve. The woman who was the downfall of man."

Who the hell does he think he is; Literally, devil's advocate?

"Eve decided that knowledge was more important than a paradise of ignorance. I firmly believe that a woman needs to know what she's getting herself into, Mephisto."

"I wholeheartedly agree." His large green eyes narrowed. Mephisto's attention now seemed quite dangerous, almost transfixed to my face. "Knowledge is so critical. It's the most important thing to you. Isn't it?"

"I would say so," I answer slowly. "Without knowledge, life is a waste."

"Eve, do you believe in the paranormal?" He changed the subject abruptly.

"I honestly haven't got the answer to that question."

"Oh, I think you do." He pressed. "You can see quite a few unexplainable things. Am I correct?"

How did he know?

It was like he could see right through me. I've seen weird shit my entire life, but you just don't talk about that sort of awkward nonsense. People would think I was crazy. My experiences had been terrifying, and I suffered alone in silence.

"Eve, what if I told you this job would answer all of your deepest questions? Questions that you cannot answer through traditional science and reason."

"I'd say you were full of shit."

"So says the artist!"

"Touche."

"Getting back to the idea of wizard school, I wasn't ribbing you entirely for fun. This academy is a training facility for exorcists. We use very non-traditional methods for ridding the world of darkness. If you choose to take this job, you will need to suspend your current notions of reality for a modified one."

"You mean I will believe in ghosts, goblins and demonic possession?"

"That's a fundamental understanding, yes. This job will explain the workings of the universe to you. Give you access to the vast knowledge that no other humans are privy to. There is one caveat; however, once you sign a very aggressive contract. You cannot tell anyone about the true nature of our work. Not family or friends, the Vatican takes security extremely seriously."

I started to get cold feet; this is a lot to consider. Am I cut out for the responsibility? This entire meeting was getting stranger by the minute. The job sounded downright ludicrous; the premise piqued my interest, but how could I believe in such nonsense? Plus, the more time I spent with Mephisto, the less human he appeared. Did his pupils just dilate like a cat!?

"You know what's funny?" He stated coyly, his fingers toying with an ornament on his desk. "You voyage into my office and instantly take note of my strange appearance. Most people don't possess the ability to see me for what I truly am. I tell you my legal name is Faust, and my current name is Mephisto. I have artwork depicting demons throughout my lavish abode. Eve, you're intelligent enough to connect all of these dots, and your mind has already solved the puzzle. Yet, your human conditioning tells you to disbelieve the apparent truth sitting directly in front of you."

"The truth?" I stammered.

"I'm a demon, my dear."

I take in his admission with a shocked and irritated face. This guy is a bonafide nutjob.

"I think I've heard just about enough of this Mephisto; this degree of wackiness is far beyond me. I think I'm the wrong person for this position." I stood and prepared to take my leave; only I can't. I'm unable to move a muscle. What the hell is happening? My eyes grow wide with panic.

Mephisto slowly removes his gloves and rests his chin on a black-clawed hand.

"I see. I'll have to prove it to you then. Fair enough, let's give you a little taste, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a hoard of disgusting gremlins, clawing at my ankles with oozing toothy gullets. I saw the same terrifying creatures as a child, invading my daydreams, hiding in the dark shadows when I was alone. I'm so frightened; I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was my worst nightmare brought back to life, these creatures as real and substantial as the floor under my feet. As the horror of the reality became almost too much to bear, suddenly, he was there. Mephisto expelled the creatures one by one into poofs of purple smoke with a simple flick of a finger. I fall back, no longer able to stand, and he catches me quickly. I'm still shaking from the shock as he carefully sits me back into my chair.

"Those creatures have followed you your entire life. As you have gotten older, you've noticed them less, but they were still slowly feeding off your energy. They are quite volatile." He sat demurely on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs playfully. "They won't bother you now though, I've exorcized them from your presence. You see, this is what we do here. We help humans battle the unsavoury monsters from Gehenna."

I sit dumbfounded, rendered speechless with bewilderment. Mephisto continues with our one-sided conversation, unconcerned like this was completely normal. "...The pay for this position is quite handsome for an artist. It's also part-time, which will allow you to continue to work in your studio. You will report here five days a week, from 9 am-2 pm. You will receive correspondence from the Vatican, and you will keep me informed of all inbound information. You will also book and coordinate exorcists for special ops and daily assignments. My butler Belial will train you appropriately."

"Mephisto...I'm..."

"Terrified and disconcerted?" He grinned. "Happens every time I make a new hire."

"I don't think I can't handle all of this."

"Do you think I pick my employees out of thin air? You wouldn't be here if I didn't find you entirely capable. I've researched you extensively. You long for knowledge, and I will provide all of the deepest desires in your quest. All you simply need to do now is agree." He presented me with a contract.

"I don't know," I whispered nervously. "Can I think it over?"

"I haven't the time." He responded with a hint of a smile. "I am a very busy person, you see. It's now or never, my dear."

My rational mind screams for me to jump out of that chair and run from the building. Yet, my desires kept me staring in a trance at the contract. Mephisto presented me with an old-fashioned quill pen. I grasped it with my shaking hand and stared at the bottom line.

"Oh...we need some ink to seal the deal. How silly of me to forget something so important." He took out a silver hatpin from a glass decanter and poked the end of his finger. A river of blood ran along his impossibly pale skin and dripped from the end of his glistening black claw. As it flowed freely into a bronze dish on his desk, I stared in dismay. I can't believe what I'm seeing! Mephisto then gently took my hand and poked the end of my finger. A tiny drop of my blood intermixes with his.

"What the fuck," I whispered hoarsely. "No...I'm not signing this. No way!"

"You will sign." His eyes bore into mine, and I'm once again drawn physically to the contract. I dipped the quill as if hypnotized and slowly write my name.

"Excellent!" He seemed pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I'm totally in a daze and fall back into my chair, suffering from strange exhaustion. Did I just sign a contract in blood?

I stood shakily, preparing to leave.

"Eve, I will see you back here tomorrow morning, bright and early." Mephisto rambled on with a sing-song voice. "Here is some research about me. It will teach you the basics of demons and how to work with them."

Belial is now instantly at the office door, he handed me a stack of books, and I find myself escorted from the building.

I jumped into my car and locked the doors. As I put the car into drive, the transmission lurches forward. The books flutter open on the car seat; the top hardcover was a book about Ancient Demon Classification, followed by a copy of Faust and Dr. Seus, Green Eggs and Ham.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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Here’s the link to the rest. ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/711456559-the-interview-a-blue-exorcist-fanfic-the-interview

#fanfic #mephisto pheles #blue exorcist #posting my own content because there is none and I'm sad.

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chuckie101123 · 3 years

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The Cult of Carnage

“I figured they were all insane, like the cops did. The marks they left behind, the carvings, it all pointed to a satanistic murder cult. The bodies they left behind were all mutilated to the point that we needed dna testing to find out what kind of animal it was from. We couldn't use size because when they started a mutilation fest, everyone joined in. And from the bodily fluids they left behind, it seemed they enjoyed an orgy along with it. None of us even considered the possibility...

The cops couldn’t get close to them, ever. They were all too loyal to their cause. They couldn’t find a snitch, and they couldn’t plant one of their own. Eventually, one of them came up with the bright idea to call me up. I was a cop, once. Had retired six years before I got the call, saying they needed help with one last case. I was bored, figured why the hell not, and drove in the next morning. When I entered, I entered into a madhouse that was nothing like the station I had left. It seemed like everyone and their brother was there, everyone shouting and running around at once. Then they caught a glimpse of me, and all of a sudden, it was silent. The chief poked his head out of his office to see what caused the sudden change, and paled when he saw me.

I suppose I should explain. Before I left and retired, I had a reputation around the station. Put simply, I was violent and unorthodox. I didn’t care about social niceties much, always thought of them as too frustrating to deal with. As such, I came across more often than not as a dick. Pissed a lot of people off with my carefree attitude too, a lot of powerful people. Eventually some of them tried to get me fired on accounts of illegal activities. No one could get the charges to stick. See I was a well-known asshole, but I was good at my job. I was violent, but never more violent than was legal. I wasn’t racist, wasn’t greedy, and was always ready to help out someone in need. (Hey, I told you, I didn’t care about social niceties, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t help out a kid who’s car broke down on the side of the road.)

Anyway, when the brass up top couldn’t bring me down the legal way, a few of the more immoral ones tried to take me down the hard way. I sent every one of their men to the hospital with varying injuries, six of whom are still in a coma and twelve more who have to be fed with a straw. Again, the brass tried to get me fired for excessive violent behavior, but as it was in self-defense, the charges wouldn’t stick. Over the next three years, I personally put twenty six of those corrupt bastards behind bars. I doubt I got all of them, but no one has messed with me since.

Anyway, back to the station. So the chief sees me, pales like he just shit out all his blood, and rushes to greet me. Turns out, I recognize the dude. The guy was just a deputy when I left, must’ve done well for himself to have gotten his title. I already didn’t like him, but I did my best to keep myself in check, as he already looked terrified enough. After greetings, he took me to his office and explained the situation.

Forty-two occurrences in the last two months, all involving what looked like violent blood-baths and massive orgies between around thirty or so members. No member had been caught, no DNA matches, nothing. Nothing, except, a symbol, always placed in the very center of the presumably very exciting events. The symbol was that of a crescent moon lying point side down on top of a sun with a half circle taken out of the side closest to the moon, and there was a four-point star lying in the gap between the two, almost like it was being sheltered or protected somehow.

No evidence, no witnesses, and no leads would make for a difficult case, and I told him as such. In response, he placed a picture on the desk in front of me, and explained that the woman shown was believed to have something to do with it. I recognized her, Alicia Cortez. She was a nice girl, late twenties, who worked in a grocery store in the downtown area. I had caught her out late one night in the pouring rain and offered a ride. On the way to her home, I got to know her a little better.

She grew up in New Jersey with an abusive father and a junkie mother. She told me that at first, she seemed like she was on a path that would lead her to follow in her mother’s footsteps, using dangerous and powerful substances to fill the ache inside her. Thankfully, a kid helped her see just how far she had fallen, and she packed up and moved to our town that same week. I wanted to ask her more, but by the time I figured out how to phrase the question and opened my mouth, we had already arrived at her house. She thanked me quickly, and ran inside to escape the rain. It seemed strange, but I shrugged it off and drove home. That was eighteen months ago, two months before I got the call.

Once I saw the picture, I started to wonder if I shouldn’t have pressed further. Deputy O’Ryan, or now, Chief O’Ryan, told me that the incidents had started soon after she arrived in town. They said her neighbors had reported strange sounds coming from her apartment, but every time police arrived, the sounds had stopped and no evidence to anything resembling what the neighbors heard could be found. I told the chief I’d look into it, and went home.

Few weeks later, I “ran into” her at the grocery store where she worked at and asked her if she’d like to join me for lunch. As we talked, I noticed she was very pleasant. Not “uninterested in the conversation”, but more mischievous “What do you think you know” pleasant. Eventually, our conversation moved onto her past again. I tried to press gently on what made her change her life around. She smiled in triumph, and even though the damage was already done, I tried to back peddle. It didn’t work. Still though, she answered my questions.

She explained that the child that changed her life introduced her to his religion, an unorthodox and still recently established Carnagism. She went on further to vaguely explain how the god they worshiped, Carnage, was not quite how the name suggested. She was not evil, or violent, nor did she encourage such traits in her followers. Instead, she encouraged freedom in its truest form. No prejudice, no discrimination, no worries. “Does that include no laws?” I remember asking. Her only answer was a smirk. It was clear to me that I wouldn’t get an answer to that question, so I tried to change topic, asking instead what her religion had done to help her life? After all, if it was appealing enough to get her to pack up and move so quickly, surely the benefits must be amazing? Rather than answer, she instead invited me to her next worshiping session to find out for myself.

And so began my dilemma, do I agree and join her for what might be my own murder, mutilation, and possibly corpse-rape, or refuse and give up the case? For my stubborn, dumb ass self, their was only one option. I accepted.

Fast forward two days, and I find myself in the woods, hand in hand with over seventy other people as we skip around a massive bonfire in a clearing in the woods I swear wasn’t there the day before. All of us are buck-ass naked, covered in paint, mud, and blood from the desecrated corpses of hundreds of birds, squirrels, rabbits, foxes, and field rats. I realized why the bodies were so hard to identify: because these cultists used nearly every part of the corpse, beyond what a normal hunter would. The feathers, each indivual hair, each bone, brain, musclefiber, and organ, all used in their rituals. We fed on the meat and organs, and dressed ourselves in the rest, excluding the pelvic bones of all the females. Those were tossed into the fire we all skipped around, shrieking, laughing, and chanting as we summoned what I had assumed to be another made up god.

I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

As we shrieked and sang and chanted in a strange language I could never quite catch, the fire suddenly exploded outward, the flames rushing across our bodies, touching but never burning. A few of the more recent recruits like myself shrieked and tried to recoil in fear, but we were stopped by the tight grips of the members on either side of us. We tried fighting back until we realized we weren’t hurt by the flames, and we looked to the flames first in wonder and curiosity before our expressions turned to those of fear and wonder. For there, before our very eyes stood figures in the flames of every hue and color. Beings of pure fire, beautiful and proud, took their steps across the edge of the fire towards the cultists.

I stared in wonder at the sight before me, these beautiful and terrifying beings, as one by one they stood in front of a cultist. For simplicity's sake, let’s call them elementals. No two elementals were the same, some didn’t even look human, despite their flaming appearance. Some had what looked like animal heads, others had appendages added and subtracted in weird ways (one had feet for arms and arms for legs and a tail attached to the back of their neck), a few just seemed like floating flames with no features of any kind, and others still just were. They were like the air above hot tarmac, you could see the shimmer and could feel the heat but could see no definite features.

It took me a moment before I realized one of the elementals had stopped before me. Whereas the other elementals were larger, almost adult sized or even bigger, mine was tiny like a fairy might be. She floated in the air before my face, gazing intently at me until I looked at her, and then she smiled. Not the forced smile I was used to seeing, nor the pity smile a mother might show a child who brandishes a mud pie in his hands, nor even the full grin you’d see on that very child’s face. No, the elemental before me smiled a gentle smile, full of only kindness and love, as if she were a mother smiling at a child who returned home after losing their way. Her smile made me feel safe, and warm, like everything was going to be okay.

I couldn’t help it, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I cried. I wanted so badly to apologize to her and thank her and welcome her to this hellish world. So many emotions and needs arose within me at the sight of her gentle smile that I just collapsed in joy and grief and anger. Every suppressed memory, every lost moment I’ve ever had came rushing to my mind. I relived my horrible childhood life, suffering every beating my father gave me, breaking as my mother screamed that I was worthless and would never amount to anything. I relived all those painstaking study sessions, trying to do meet their expectations, but also trying to meet my own. I relived my old friendships, all my romantic relationships, every argument, every peaceful or proud moment. I relived my fistfight with my father and my last argument with my mother before they both died. I remembered every day I’ve ever had, and relived each as if they were occurring at that very moment all at once. And then I relived more recent days. Peaceful walks in the park after retiring, kind conversations I had with people around my neighborhood, excited grins from kids waving to me as I passed. I relived my conversations with Alicia about the goddess she worshipped, Carnage was not a god of violence and destruction, but of chaos and freedom.

And I understood. Carnage was not a goddess of lawlessness. She did not encourage the mutilations of animals for fun, but to teach the value of each individual piece. Carnage represented a peaceful freedom, without corruption to spoil it. Hatred, fear, joy, worry, her followers were free to experience all without judgement. They were not condemned for who they loved, nor were they discouraged from loving as much as they could as often as they could. With Carnage, the strange or different weren’t just permitted as they were everywhere else. They were accepted. There weren’t any personal definitions or social cliques, They just were, free to be as passionate and loving as they desired to be.

With that realization, the memories slowed to a trickle, the last few days before the ritual playing softly and slowly until I caught up with the present. When I did, I noticed three things. One, I was kneeling on the floor with my head in my hands, tears still flowing gently down my cheeks as my nose ran. Two, the small elemental was beside me, her tiny hand rest gently on my cheek, flames licking at the stubble from my beard. Three, she wasn’t alone.

In front of me kneeled another elemental, adult size this time, though still female. She faced me with her hands on my shoulders, holding me as I sobbed. When I had finally stopped crying enough to see her clearly, I saw her face. She was even more beautiful than all the rest, and while the others looked like they were made from the flames, she looked like the flames were made from her. Every feature was more defined, from her angled, kind eyes to her soft, supple lips to her delicate, nimble fingers and toes. She was just as nude as the rest of us, but it was not her body that held my attention, but her eyes. For in them I saw the history of mankind, all the fury and bloodlust but also the love and compassion. And those kind yet terrible eyes looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“You remember,” she said, not a question but as a statement. Even so, I nodded in answer. “Do you know who I am?” I shook my head. “I am the goddess you have worshiped this night. I am Carnage.”

“Hi...” I said in a small voice, making her smile.

“You have a way with words, child,” she teased.

“Sorry,” I apologized, looking down in shame.

“Do not apologize, young one,” she whispered, lifting my head. “It is a part of who you are, what makes you unique.”

She started to rise, lifting me up with her. She smiled at me once more before turning to see the other cultists. She held herself up tall as she made her way back to the bonfire, no longer roaring as it had been. Those she passed bowed, but did not kneel. When she reached the edge of the fire, she stopped and turned to once again face me.

“Tonight, my children, we celebrate! For we have helped your new brother remember!” she exclaimed to the crowd, as a roar of joy rose up from the other cultists. “Tomorrow, we celebrate once again, for I have returned to this beautiful and terrible world! Tomorrow, we will right was has been wronged, and rebirth the ugliness of the Allmother with her former beauty!”

“TILL THE DAWN!!!” a roar rose from the cultists, as if a battle cry had sung.

That night, I danced with my brothers and sisters, loved them as only I could, ate as I wished, and celebrated the return of Carnage.

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somekindoftuber · 5 years

Text

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 7)

hey so who’s up for some a n g s t

(content warning for this chapter: vomit)

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Cool, mine’s blue. Um, favorite subject in school?”

“....Math?”

“Ew.”

“Lance,” Keith laughs over the mic. “You said no judgment. I was good at math.”

Leaning back, Lance pops his back. “Yeah, okay, fine. Mine was history.”

“Ew.”

They’d been sitting in the Overwatch menu screen for at least a half-hour, Keith indulging Lance in a question swap. “You know,” Keith says after taking a drink of his soda. “When I said we should get to know each other, I sort of expected something more.... Organic than 20 questions.”

“What, my methods aren’t free-range enough for you?” Lance joked, and Keith laughed loud at that one. “Well, you should know, Keith, that I have this tendency to focus on things that I want, and I don’t give up easily.”

Keith went silent for a second. “Things you want, huh?” His voice was low.

Lance felt the heat rush to his face. “U-um.”

“Sorry,” Keith said. “Too much?”

Lance chewed his lip. “Is it too much for you?”

Keith’s tongue clicked through the headphones over Lance’s ears, and when he spoke, his voice was almost sultry. “Nah. Besides, I can be pretty driven when I want something, too.”

Dear lord, this man was going to be the death of him. Now that they’d gotten their feelings out in the open, Lance was discovering a side of Keith he never knew existed - a bold, fearless, self-assured side. And holy shit, was it hot, if a little terrifying. Whatever reservations Keith had about flirting before now were long gone, and it would still throw lance for a serious loop to hear Keith directing low key innuendo at him.

“Here’s one for you,” Keith said. “When did you first play guitar?”

“Oh!” Lance grinned. “I was nine. I had already been playing the piano for two years, but it sort of bored me. I couldn’t get it to make the kind of sound I wanted, if that makes sense? Then my dad got his old acoustic guitar out of storage and got it repaired and restrung. When he played it, I knew it was the sound I’d been trying to find.” His eyes went misty as he remembered the first time he plucked one of the steel strings. “It sounded like heaven.”

“Wow,” Keith said after a minute.

“Your turn. How’d you know you wanted to be a pilot?”

Keith hummed. “I was always sort of an adrenaline junkie as a kid. Raced go-karts, ran track, got in trouble, did some free running. I… spent a lot of time in and out of foster care, which was a pretty numbing experience, so I think maybe I was looking for something to make me feel alive.”

Lance had no idea what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

“I went on a field trip to an air force museum with my school when I was thirteen,” Keith continued. “There was a reconstructed Grumman F-14 Tomcat on display, and when I looked at it, I just thought, I need to be in one of those.” He let out a little laugh. “That’s also where I met Shiro. Or, well, he met me. When I stole his car.”

Lance choked, beating his fist on his chest to get air back into his lungs. “Excuse me?”

Then Keith laughed long and loud. “Told you. Adrenaline junkie. I was a brat with something to prove.”

Lance stared at his computer screen. This was intense, and he had a feeling that he was only scratching the surface of who Keith really was.

-----

October began, and Lance was officially panicking. Because Keith’s birthday was at the end of this month and he really wanted to do something special for it. Now that they were hovering in some bizarre “not boyfriends yet” zone, Lance figured it wouldn’t be too much to maybe go a little further than he would for a friend.

He got out his guitar, a notebook, blank music sheets, and a pencil.

——-

Lance’s channel was gaining followers rapidly. He was no stranger to having an online following, but he had to change his notification settings on twitter to keep his phone from blowing up constantly. He pondered making a separate, locked account for himself, something his friends could follow where he could drop the YouTube persona.

He was sort of envious of Keith’s anonymity online.

And speaking of Keith, there was also the issue of a potential move to Springdale. Lance had looked up schools in the area, and the local community college had a music education program that he could afford. He’d closed his browser and walked away from his laptop after he had that confirmation and spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around the living room, running his hands through his hair until it was sticking up all over the place. It hadn’t felt real until that moment; before that, the idea of going back to school and pursuing an actual career had been just that -- and idea. But now? Now he couldn’t really make excuses anymore. It was all very much within his reach. He just had to muster up the courage to go for it.

Easier said than done.

Lance ended up stress eating half a carton of butter pecan ice cream by the time Pidge came home from class.

Lance posted more Overwatch videos in the meantime, held some more streams. His content was slowing down because he’d taken an extra shift every week at the cafe to save up money. He had no idea what his living situation was going to be come January, but it was safer to assume he’d be on his own and have the money to support himself.

He talked to Keith almost every day. They’d started using facetime, and that did a number on poor Lance’s heart, to get to see Keith’s face while talking to him. Keith was still unfarily, stupidly, irrevocably attractive, even when he was flushed and sweaty from working out or covered in grime from the garage. One time Keith had called when Lance was wearing a face mask, and Lance would have been embarrassed, if it wasn’t for the absolutely hilarious confusion that crossed Keith’s face at the sight.

“I’m kind of big on skin care, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Uh.” Keith’s thick eyebrows pinched together. “I hadn’t?”

Lance smiled as much as he could with the mask drying on his face. “Well, get used to it. It’s a packaged deal with me.”

Keith gave him a little grin then, and Lance nearly swooned.

Another night, as they were messing around in Overwatch, the topic of tattoos came up. “Do you have more than one? Tattoo, I mean,” Lance asked while they scrolled through servers.

“Just the one,” Keith answered. “I kinda want more, but I’m not sure what I’d get. You?”

“None.” Lance hummed. “How big is that lion, anyway? I could only see the top bit at the beach.”

“Not that big,” Keith answered. Then there was some shuffling from his end of the voice chat, and he went quiet for a second. Lance thought he heard a click.

“You okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just - gimme a sec - there.”

Lance’s phone buzzed at his side. He picked it up, the motion completely automatic, to see a new text. He used his thumb print to open it, and the entire universe ground to a screeching halt.

Because on the screen was Keith’s lion tattoo, in its entirety, the dark red ink carved neatly into Keith’s exposed hip. At the bottom of the frame, a thumb was hooked into the hem of a pair of sweatpants, pulling them down and away, and at the top, a dark gray shirt was rucked up to reveal a toned stomach. Lance’s heart might have stopped. There was so much skin, all smooth and milky, stretched over a sharp hipbone, the sweatpants pulled down just enough to reveal the tiny beginnings of dark hair below. Lance’s mouth watered.

“You still there?” Keith was asking, a smile in his voice, but Lance.exe had stopped working.

“Jesus Christo,” Lance breathed. “You -- you gotta warn me before you do that.”

He heard Keith huff a little laugh. “Sorry.”

Lance had the distinct impression that Keith wasn’t sorry at all.

-----

Lance might have pulled a few all-nighters in the course of the month. But he was running out of time, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was perfect. This was for Keith, for his birthday, and Lance absolutely did not half ass things like that.

Pidge just rolled her eyes at him and went back to her thesis, heedless of Lance’s internal crisis as she tapped away at her laptop.

He was finally, finally ready to record on the 18th. It took at least four tries to get one good take, and then he had to record backup vocals, additional guitar, piano. It took three days to get the song right, and he didn’t even have a video. A blank screen would have to do.

He set the video to post at 8:00am the next morning, October 23. He really, really hoped Keith would see it, and Lance listened to the song one last time before he went to bed.

I was wondering through, I’d never heard your voice You were just an idea on a screen I was belly up, dried up, a fish out of water Pretending that I could breathe air

But then I met you, and my world burst into color Where was I going before you came my way I don’t know, I don’t care, and I don’t think it matters I’m just so glad that I met you

I had no direction, you handed me a map And it’s pointing me your way I hope that’s alright, ‘cause I sort of can’t help it, You’re drawing me to you, and I don’t want to stop

Because my world is all color now that you’re in it So bright and beautiful, just like your smile And no matter what happens, I want you to know Darling I am so glad that I met you.

In the description, Lance wrote “happy birthday” with a heart emoji, then clicked “schedule video” and let the fates have it. He went to bed with a nervous jitter in his veins.

The next morning, Lance was still anxious as hell, so he went for a long run through the brisk autumn air. After five miles he came home and made some coffee, as it was brewing, his phone rang.

Keith’s number was on the screen.

Lance cleared his throat and picked up. “Hey Keith!” he started, happy that the words only shook a little bit. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Keith answered. His voice sounded strange. “I, um. I saw the video you posted.”

Lance felt his whole body flash hot as he bit his lip. “Happy Birthday, Keith.”

There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “That was for me?”

“Yeah.”

Keith was quiet for a long time. Then a sudden wet sniffle came through, and Lance felt himself panic. “Keith?”

“Sorry,” Keith’s voice cracked. “Sorry, I just--” he broke off with another sniffle, louder this time. “I’m not used to that. To people doing nice things for me.”

Oh god. Lance had made him cry. And the sound was so sad that Lance felt his own eyes sting. “You okay?”

Keith laughed, the sound wet and strained. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just. Wow, Lance.”

“Get used to it,” Lance said softly. “I’m definitely the type for grand gestures.”

Another small laugh, then some more sniffling. “What did I do,” Keith whispered, “to deserve someone like you?”

Lance leaned against the counter top behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. “I ask myself that all the time.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Keith groaned, but Lance could hear a smile in his voice. “I have to go to work in an hour. How am I supposed to concentrate now?”

“You’re working on your birthday?”

Lance heard a grunt and the scrape of a chair. “I always do. My birthday’s never been a big deal to me. I think Shiro wants to barbeque tonight, though.”

The coffee maker beeped, and Lance poured himself a cup. “Would it be alright if I made it a big deal?”

Keith hummed. “If that’s what a big deal is to you, then I guess I’ll just have to get used to it, won’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

-----

Pidge forwarded an email to Lance the next week. A science conference was being held in Charlotte at the end of the month, and she was going.

“I’ll probably be gone the whole weekend. I’m driving with some classmates, so you can have the apartment to yourself.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe have someone over.”

“Pidge,” Lance chided, rolling his eyes as she laughed into her coffee.

She was right, though. Lance could have someone over. Of course, there was only one ‘someone’ in mind - but would that be too fast? To ask Keith to come stay the weekend here? Alone with Lance?

His face went hot at the thought. A whole weekend alone with Keith.

They’d only been apart from each other for a little over a month, and facetime was nice and all, but Lance missed him. In person, Keith exuded this… energy that didn’t come through a phone line or internet connection. It was sort of intoxicating, making Lance want to get closer and closer. But would that be too much?

Lance mentally beat himself up for an hour before messaging Keith on discord about it.

LanceyLance Hey so Pidge is going out of town for a conference thing just after Thanksgiving. Would you want to come down here to chill? We can livestream or smth

Keith uh yeah I think that would be okay. what days

LanceyLance nov 28-30

Keith okay cool let me check some things and I’ll get back to you

Lance wondered if “almost throwing up from sheer nerves because I might get to spend a weekend alone with a hot boy” was a good reason to call into work. He went in for his shift anyway and was only slightly distracted. On his break, Lance checked his phone and found a new message from Keith on Discord.

Keith so that weekend looks okay, I put in for time off

LanceyLance cool!

Lance ruined the next three drinks, his heart in his throat.

Later that night, he got on a voice chat with Keith, his heart pounding despite him telling it over and over to calm the hell down.

“I was thinking we could do a livestream, maybe some Overwatch?” Lance said as he picked at a cuticle. “You could be my special guest.”

Keith did that little airy chuckle that made Lance shiver. “As long as you don’t ask me to sing.”

“No promises.” Biting his lip, Lance took a breath. He might as well ask. “You sure you’re okay with this? It’s not, like, moving too fast?”

Keith hummed. “No? I mean, I figured we were just gonna hang out… Why?” his voice dropped. “Did you have other plans?”

“No,” Lance squawked, cursing how his voice cracked. “No, I mean, you said you wanted to go slow, so I was just thinking we could just play some games, maybe watch a movie or go to the marina. That’s okay, right…?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, and Lance could hear the smile. “Yeah, that’s cool.”

A hot wash of embarrassment hit Lance, and he covered his face and groaned. Keith laughed a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Yeah. I just -- jeeze. I must sound desperate or something.”

“It’s not just you,” Keith said softly. “I mean, same, I guess? I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but honestly, it’s turning out to be harder than I expected.”

The admission was unexpected and sent Lance’s blood pressure through the roof. He could already tell it was going to be a struggle to keep his hands to himself.

-----

One week until Keith’s visit. Pidge was packing her bag early and giving Lance absolute hell about it.

“Use protection,” she said, stuffing a shirt into a suitcase. Lance sputtered.

“Oh knock it off!” He shrieked. “He’s coming to hang out. That’s it!”

Pidge shot him a skeptical look as she folded a pair of jeans over her arm. “Sure, sure. Just do me a favor and disinfect any surfaces you decided to ‘hang out’ on.”

Lance threw up his arms in defeat, then went to his computer. He and Keith had already planned out their livestream, and decided it was close enough to make an announcement.

Lance! @lanceylance Hey everyone! Next Friday (11/28) I’ll be holding a livestream with special guest @k_redlion! Stream begins at 4pm eastern. Be there!!

Pidge left early Friday morning, and in the four hours until Keith was supposed to arrive, Lance did one of the most thorough cleanings of the apartment he’d ever done. He dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed and mopped, did laundry and the dishes, changed the sheets on his bed, washed the spare set of sheets for the pull out sofa.

Satisfied, he jumped in the shower and gave himself and equally thorough scrub down. He was all nerves as he dried off and dressed. He was admiring his handiwork in the living room when his phone buzzed.

Keith made it into town, be there in 10

Lance bounced on his heels and went outside to wait. After a few minutes, a dark blue sedan with Virginia plates pulled up and into a parking spot. The engine shut off, and the door opened to reveal Keith, in his leather jacket with his hair pulled up high.

“Nice car,” was the first thing that came out of Lance’s mouth. He internally groaned.

“Rental,” Keith said, closing the driver’s door and going for the back seat. “I love my bike, but five hours on it is a bit much, especially when it’s cold.”

Lance took Keith’s duffel bag for him and led him up to the apartment. He’d set up their streaming area in the living room where they’d be closest to the router.

“The stream isn’t for another three hours,” Lance said, setting Keith’s bag on the chair. “Wanna relax until then?”

Keith slipped out of his jacket, revealing a dark gray sweater that stretched nicely across his chest. “Sounds good. That drive is a little tiring.”

Once Lance had gotten them both glasses of water from the kitchen, they decided on YouTube fail videos, sitting next to each other on the couch, close, but not too close. Keith’s laugh was such a nice sound, and Lance couldn’t help but lean a little in his direction. After an hour’s worth of cats and people slipping and falling, Keith grunted, grimacing.

“You okay?” Lance asked.

Keith gave him a smile. “Yeah, my stomach’s kind of upset. That gas station poptart might not have been a good idea.”

Standing, Lance moved towards the kitchen. “I’ve got some pickled ginger in the fridge, would that help?”

Keith followed him. “Yeah, probably.”

As soon as Lance opened his fridge, horror dawned upon him. “I didn’t get us any stream snacks!”

“It’s not a big deal?” Keith said slowly. Lance handed him the jar of sushi ginger and shook his head.

“It totally is! We need proper junk food for streaming.” He pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “Are you okay if I hit the store? It won’t take long.”

Keith shrugged with the jar in his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just hang out and rest.”

He showed Keith where the forks were, taking a little delight in seeing how Keith ate the ginger straight out of the jar just like he did, then grabbed his shopping bags. “I’ve got my phone, text me if you want anything!”

The drive to the store was short, and Lance sped through the aisles with a basket on his arm. Gourmet sodas, the nice veggie chips, lemon cream cookies, a package of fresh strawberries. He’d take Keith out for dinner, maybe Vinnie’s again. This weekend was going to be awesome.

On the way home, however, Lance got stuck in stand-still traffic - he could see just far enough ahead to tell there had been an accident. And there was nowhere for him to turn off to for another few hundred feet, so he was stuck. Frowning, he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Keith.

stuck in traffic, might be a little late

He put Pandora on his phone and turned up the volume, shifting his car into park.

By the time Lance made it back to the apartment, he’d been gone for more than an hour and a half. The living room was empty, but Lance went straight for the kitchen. The stream was set to start in 45 minutes, so they needed to start setting up. “Keith?” Lance called as he stashed the groceries in the fridge. “You good, man? We should get started soon.”

There was no answer.

“Keith?” Lance poked his head out of the kitchen. “You here?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed a text as he went towards the back of the apartment. Rounding a corner, Lance stopped. His phone clattered to the floor.

Just outside the bathroom, face down in the hallway, was Keith.

Lance slid on his knees towards him. “Keith!” Reaching for him, he turned Keith over, and gasped. His face was bright red, his eyes screwed shut. He was sweating profusely and burning up with a fever. “Keith!” Lance called again. “Hey, man, answer me!”

Keith’s eyes flickered. “L-lance?” he grunted, his voice weak. “It hurts, oh god Lance, it hurts so bad--”

Adrenaline was dumping into Lance’s bloodstream as he went into full panic mode. “What hurts? What’s wrong? Keith!” But Keith stopped responding, his breathing sounding wheezy and shallow.

“Shit,” Lance muttered, clutching Keith close to his chest. “Shit shit shit!”

His phone was five feet away. He should call 911. But who knows how long an ambulance would take and the hospital was five minutes away, he could get there faster on his own--

Lance had grabbed his phone and hoisted Keith into his arms before he realized it. And shit, Keith was heavy, making Lance stumble and lean against a wall more than once as he made it out of his apartment and to his car, where he dropped Keith on the back seat.

He’d never driven so aggressively in his life.

Lance screeched to a halt outside the ER doors, and barely managed to put his car in park. He opened the back door and pulled Keith out, hooking one of Keiths’ arms around his neck and half-carrying him inside.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, I need some help here--”

At his side, Keith made a choking sound, then curled in on himself and vomited.

The whole world became too fast and too slow. Several nurses ran up to them, pulling Keith away. A clattering gurney was brought out. As Keith’s limp body was hoisted on to it, Lance barely registered someone talking to him, asking him what happened.

“I don’t know,” Lance’s throat was closing. “I don’t know, he was fine two hours ago--”

More questions, but Lance couldn’t hear them. All he could focus on was Keith, unconscious on a hospital stretcher, disappearing down a hallway as nurses ran beside him.

TO BE CONTINUED!!

(don’t worry guys, Keith is gonna be fine!! But Lance doesn’t know that OvO)

#klance #youtuber AU

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finding-the-path-to-your-heart · 4 years

Text

Humanity

So remember when I said I wanted to fuck around and write that RevFinder Fic? Well, Uh. I kinda did and didn’t? I sorta just ended up writing about how the two would feel about the other human legends as a whole!The movie thing was inspired by @zimtdraws so go check them out!

Words : 3k Characters : ...Pretty much all the Legends but mainly Revenant/Pathfinder Summary : Revenant, the Newest legend of the group, is asked to go find Pathfinder for movie night - in the process, he ends up finding a lot more than just where he’s hiding.

The Apex Complex was a mystery at the best of times. Seemingly springing up out of nowhere, it soon had a reputation as housing some of the most dangerous criminals, skilled soldiers and smartest engineers in the outlands. Nobody was allowed in, or out without the right clearance, and even then, the only way to get inside was via a huge dropship that would land and depart at regular intervals. Rumours were plentiful; was it secretly a huge testing facility to create the ultimate legend? A prison to keep the legends away from the population while they weren't trying to kill each other? Some kind of secret government coverup to hide the truth behind the entirety of the Apex games? There were even speculations that it was some kind of joint operation with Aliens. In reality though, unless you were one of the legends, you'd never find out about the dark activities that took place behind the high walls of the sprawling Complex...

WHAM

The head of the axe buried itself millimetres from the head of the speed-junkie, arms full of knives, ranging from intricately carved to plain and ordinary, a sharp yelp of surprise escaping Octavio Silva's - better known as Octane - mouth followed by a bubbling laugh as he took off into a sprint, followed by the deep, grating breathing of Bloodhound, eyes flared and glowing as they round the corner and pull their axe out of the wall, only to point it towards the fleeing thief "You will bring those back, Octavio! My weapons exist for the hunt, not your insane stunts!" They let out a low growl, sprinting after the laughing figure and disappearing from view. In another room, 4 different images of the same figure, all wearing the same baggy jeans and loose jacket, pose together in front of a trio sitting on the couch; Ajay Chey, Makoa Gibraltar and Natalie Paquette, all trying to figure out what exactly they were looking at. Makoa was the first one to speak, shrugging after a moment of looking at the other two "Uh... Friday the 13th?"

"Friday the?!-" 3 of the copies vanish after one of them turns to look at the trio, arms crossed as Elliott Witt stands to look at the three on the couch "C’mon! Les Misera-Misre-Mis- That French musical! Really you guys?" Ajay rolls her eyes, pointing one of the drumsticks she'd been idly tapping on the couch towards the now-pouting figure "T'be fair, NONE of those poses looked like you were singing. Dying, maybe, but not singing" laughter spills from the other two soon after, echoing throughout the living room and bringing a smile back onto the face of the engineer who falls back onto the couch, jabbing a finger towards the medic "Alright, let's see you do better!"

"Alright, I will!"

As she's getting up to start, a loud crash sounds out in the complex - followed immediately after by a loud, thundering "SILVA!" In the unmistakable voice of the complex's resident 'Mad Scientist'. Ajay sighs, rubbing her temples and giving the others an apologetic look "Sorry guys. Guess I'm on Octavio duty until Caustic stops threatening to use him as a lab rat" she turns, jogging out of the room with a yell of "OCTAVIO YOU DUMBASS! GET'CHA ASS OVER HERE!", her footsteps soon fading away.

A door swings open elsewhere in the house with a group of four walking back inside; Tae Joon Park, better known as Crypto, Anita Williams, Renee Blasey and, most curiously, Revenant, the newest member of the legends. Between them, they carry about a dozen bags, with 2 of them supported on Crypto's drone, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. Anita groans, rolling her shoulders and making her way toward the communal kitchen, the others following behind "I swear, if Witt tells me I've got the wrong type of cereal again, I'm gonna pour him an entire box and make him eat the whole thing. There's like 80 different types!" This draws a chuckle from the shorter figure beside her, Renee brushing some of the hair out of her face and setting two bags down on the counter "Oh, please. It's not like he's the only one with a particular quirk - you're the one who snacks on one type of ration bars and nothing else." She smirks, before Crypto navigates the drone over and sets the bags down "Frankly, I'm just surprised at how lax the security was in a store that big. I feel like we probably could have walked out with most of this and nobody would have raised an eyebrow." Anita shoots him a look and he raises both hands out of his pockets in protest "Just because we could didn't mean I did. Besides, if anyone is shifty, it's our newest addition over here" he glances toward the towering figure, as Revenant sets down his bags on the table, glaring across at the other 3 "Alright. I've done what you asked, now are you going to tell me why I bothered entertaining the thought?" A glance between the three ends with Renee leaning on the counter "Easy. It's movie night, and the new guy always picks the movie their first time. We just didn't tell you because we figured you'd say it was pointless" she smirks, the Simulacrum narrowing his eyes. "You'd be right. I have no interest in indulging this pointless activity. Unless there's anything else you want to bother me with, I'll be leaving." He turns, only for Anita to tap him in the shoulder "Yeah, actually. There's something else you can do. Crypto said he saw Pathfinder up on the roof and none of us really have a good way of getting up there besides Octane's bounce pads - and we banned those after the last incident. If you can grab him for movie night, we'll refrain from bothering you for as long as you want."

The figure grumbles for a moment before turning and walking away, muttering "Fine" under his breath as the doors to the complex slide open once more, allowing him access to the outside. The others, having watched him go, soon begin to move food into the numerous fridges and cupboards, avoiding the fridge with a padlock and a biohazard symbol on it. One cupboard opens to reveal over a dozen boxes of cereal, Renee slotting in another one and putting a post-it note to designate it as the newest one. Energy drinks, quick meals, ingredients of all shapes and sizes, all put in their respective places in companionable silence, besides the occasional correction from Anita. When it was done, the three look at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Crypto raises a hand "I'll see you all later tonight. Till then." Before quickly heading off, leaving Anita and Renee face to face - there's a pause as the two both try and figure out what to say, before Anita nods, and the two head their separate ways, with the latter yelling out "Movie night, tonight! I better see all your asses in the main room at twenty-one hundred or you're not getting to pick your own snacks!"

A slow, steady clanking echoes across the outside of the complex as the Simulacra makes their way up to the top of the main building, clawed hands finding enough purchase in the various nooks and crannies to support themselves until they were able to pull themselves up to the roof, where the blue robot was sitting, looking down through a skylight - one that looked into the main room of the building. From there, it was easy to see the trio still playing charades, Ajay sitting down a smoldering, injured Octavio and patching up several gashes and burn marks. Caustic and Bloodhound stand off to the side, glaring at the grinning daredevil - one, similarly smoking, holding the remains of a gas barrel with a large gash along the side, a smashed breaker in his other hand, the other holding the numerous knives that had been taken, several of which were melted. It was even easy enough to see the more independent legends - Renee leaning against the wall and watching the interaction with a smirk, Crypto sitting in another chair in the room and fiddling with his datapad, Anita flipping over a number pad in the corner which read 'Days since last Stunt' back to 0. Soon enough, Octavio is handed a broom, and trash bag and escorted out of the room by Caustic, head hung low dramatically as he trudges out. Bloodhound examines their ruined knives before shaking their head, walking out of the room as well. All the while, Pathfinder and Revenant watch quietly, the former of the two seemingly only noticing the latter once the room settled down once more, perking up as his face shifts to that bright yellow smile

"Oh! Revenant! What're you doing up here, friend?"

"I'm not your friend. I just came here because the others told me to get you."

"Oh, really? I'm sorry to have caused them trouble! Thanks for letting me know, friend!"

Either the robot hadn't heard him the first time, or simply hadn't acknowledged it, being called 'Friend' by this walking toaster grated on Revenant's nerves.

"I'm not your friend." He takes a moment, pausing before looking down at the skylight "What're you even doing up here, anyway?"

The robot takes a moment, looking down at the skylight again with a question mark on his chest, before looking back up "I'm trying to figure out what it means to be a human"

The Simulacrum was taken aback by the response. So taken aback, in fact, that all he can utter is "Why?"

The robot continues on "Well, it all started with Dr Caustic wanted my help with some experiments because I didn't have 'Useless Human Morality'. Then Octane wanted me to try out a new stunt, because he said he needed someone without ‘Human Limitations’…and then Bangalore told me that she liked having me on the team because I didn’t crack under pressure like a human would…and, well, it got me thinking; what is a human?”

A brief silence passes over the roof before the Simulacra sits down on the same jutting out piece of roof that Pathfinder was, lifting a hand up in front of him and examining the cruel metallic talons that made up his hand before looking off to the side as the massive city that surrounded the complex. So many humans. So many useless wastes of time. “I can tell you what a human is. A human is a waste of space. They’re annoying. Pitiful. Emotional. They brag and boast and fight, all to prove among themselves who’s superior in these useless competitions – and for what? So that they can live more of their frivolous lives killing and plaguing the world with their existence, so they can spend credits on pointless trinkets and useless objects that will end up as little more than scrap metal and forgotten junk within a few decades. But most of all, they’re weak – their body are fragile so they cover themselves in armour, their ability to kill is lacklustre at best, so they invent weapons to do the killing for them, and they claim that their intelligence is what puts them at the top of a food chain when most of them aren’t even smart enough to know how pathetic they really are!” all the while, Revenant has been leaning steadily further and further forwards, looking down towards the skylight and the group playing charades below – a group that’s now expanded out to include most of the legends, with Caustic in the centre holding what looks like a remarkable realistic skull out and monologuing silently to it. “I mean, look at them! Even now, when they could be training, refining themselves, getting even MARGINALLY more useful, they’re doing THIS!” they snarl, gripping the piece of the roof so hard that it splinters and cracks under his grip, before slamming his feet onto the ground and standing up, forcefully enough that Mirage looks up at the sight above him, eyes widening and face going pale at the sight of the two robots looking down at the group from above. He seems to make some kind of excuse, quickly leaving the room and disappearing from view.

Revenant stands, back to the skylight, staring down at his hand, twitching and trembling with barely contained rage after working himself into a state. His hand turns, looking at the symbol of Hammond robotics on the back, eyes flaring up for a moment before a voice cuts through the miasma of rage that’d be clouding his head. “Are you okay, Friend?”

Revenant turns, eyes flaring up again, turning towards Pathfinder looking towards him with a question mark on his chest, before he runs a hand back over his head and takes a moment, letting out a deep sigh “I’m done with this conversation.” He turns, making to leave before Pathfinder speaks once again. “I don’t agree with you, friend.” Revenant pauses. The robot was so usually accepting of what other people said and believed, that it was actually rather uncommon for him to disagree with anyone – and this had caught his attention. He crosses his arms, walking back over and looking down at Pathfinder without sitting down, disdain in his gaze. “And why’s that?” Pathfinder’s eye turns back towards the people below, all laughing as Octane has removed both of his legs, crawling dramatically across the ground towards Bloodhound, who’s holding a long pole in one of their hands. The face on Pathfinder’s chest shifts to a smile as he turns to look back towards Revenant “I think Humans are much more than all of that. I don’t think you’re wrong – humans are weak and pathetic sometimes, but they can be strong in ways that I can’t! Gibraltar makes everyone around him feel happy and safe, Octane makes people laugh all the time, and Lifeline understands how to make people feel better when they’re sad – I can’t do any of that, and I think that’s a kind of strength!” Revenant makes to interrupt, but he continues “I train a lot of the time with shooting and grappling, but I don’t think I’d be anywhere near as strong if I didn’t have the others as my friends! They make me want to be better, and I want to be better for them right back! If they help me, it’s only fair I help them too. Sure, Humans aren’t strong, they’re fragile and weak, but…they don’t make fun of me for being cold and tough…and they don’t make fun of you, either! Neither of us are humans, but…most of the time, they act like we are, even though they don’t have to!” He turns, looking back towards the humans down below, swinging his legs slowly as he does so “I might not know who my creator is, but…if they want to treat me as a human, then I know who my family is, and they’re all the people who make me want to keep fighting!” his screen lights up in an exclamation mark and he turns towards revenant excitedly, grabbing his hands as he stands up “That’s it! Being human isn’t about having skin or organs or making silly decisions. It’s about caring about people, what they think, how they feel! Human isn’t a thing, it’s a way you think, and I think I can be just as human as the rest of them…with enough practice, at least. Maybe you could teach me, friend?”

A moment of silence hangs in the air, confusion written across Revenant’s face as he looks at the robot quizzically “Why on earth would you want me to try and teach you how to be human? Look at me, do I look any more human than you are?” “No, but that doesn’t matter! Human is caring about people, and with how much you spoke about them needing to be stronger, smarter and more useful, it sounds like you care about the people down there a whole lot!”

A moment of realisation flickers across the face of the Simulacrum, as he turns his gaze down towards the group once more. This…Pathfinder was right, for once. Why did he care so much about these meatbags? They were weak. Pitiful. Pathetic…and yet, they were honest, brutally so. From ritualistic hunting to mad science, none of them had made any attempt to hide who they were, and none of them had treated him any differently than the others around them. To them, he wasn’t some twisted abomination of steel and plastic, pretending to be a person, he was just…another Legend. Looking down, the light of the setting sun casts his reflection in the skylight, showing – for the first time in a long time – a human face, looking so, so very tired, wrapped in his shemagh, smiling weakly.

“I’m going to be going back down now. Are you coming, friend?” He’s snapped out of his staring by Pathfinder once more, currently in the process of dropping down off the side of the building, before nodding and dropping down with him, making his way back inside of the building alongside the azure robot, right as there’s a call of “Mamma Mia!” a laugh, and subsequent cheer that fills the room as the two performing in the middle collapse down. Bangalore turns, hearing the two walking back inside and smiling, turning towards Revenant and nodding her head “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, but you did, so…as promised, we’ll all leave you alone for the rest of the night. We’ll be in here, so you won’t have to worry about us disturbing you as long as you don’t come in” She turns around, heading back to the group before she’s stopped by his voice

“Wait. Would it…be alright if I joined you all for Movie Night?” Revenant asks, looking away, uncertainty written across his face before Bangalore laughs, grinning and patting his back, shoving him forwards until he’s standing in front of the group, confusion written across most of their faces – and fear across one – before she turns to the group “Our newest Legend here wants to be part of Movie Night – but I figure, if he wants to prove that he’s seriously interested, he should show us how good he is at acting, first!” what started as confusion soon turns into laughter, before a cheer of approval rings out, the tall, lanky figure standing in the middle of the room, confused for a moment before a faint smile crosses that skeletal face, dropping into a pose in the middle of the room and listening to the others starting to guess.

And were anyone to look into the room, they would see not a simulacra, but a human, a smile across his face as he rebuffs the various attempts made by the other people in the room, trying to guess what his gangly limbs and hard-to-read expression were trying to represent – they’d see something that looked less like a collection of killers, criminals and monsters, and something more closely resembling a family. An odd family, of course, but a family nonetheless.

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nightwingvixen23 · 4 years

Text

JayRoy short fanfic I whipped up inspired by this god damned song right here lol👇

youtube

@aceofenderdark i was in a legit mood lol

💘💘💘

Roy speaks in the way that Siren’s sing, flooding venom in to my mouth and watching it drip like a ruptured peach to the sting of front teeth. Ripping such fragile skin into nasty pieces of flesh, letting lay bare the very salacious core hidden in the seam.

His flaming hair has grown out (frequently used to twisting or tying it up into a knot) tonight it remains loose. Untamed. And my fingers play through that somehow flawless shit storm, tangling each lock into madness; they overall might dangle into his glaring eyes but that does nothing to befog the fire smoking from within. He looks wild above me. Never have I asked to be such a blooded piece of meat at the ready to be gutted; staring into the yawning mouth of the lion, of whom, is fucking starved.

Right now, I know that he knows that it’s not his nails nor teeth that I fear will gift me new damage, but his eyes. They inspire, burn, destroy. I’m left suspended in the company of a gore leaking orifice that bellows ‘look at me’ should my mind toe outside the line of our depraved Love Nest; this being no more then the feral charge then skirmish to the floor of a Gotham City safehouse.

We sure are givin’ some poor son of a bitch a show, I think, spotting the newfangled surveillance camera I hadn’t noticed sooner, newly installed high left. My mind darts to Tim making my hands sweat, however, Roy’s fingers bruising my chin pull me back down into the waters of our fucked up little fantasy.

The holsters loyal to each my thighs are disengaged, followed by the faint skidding rattle of two M1911 pistols being launched across a cement floor. This all titters a secret to me that I am now in the hands of no mercy.

It’s during a moment like this (offering myself over to be caught in the line of fire) that I swear by the unholy mess in me that Roy Harper is some sort of Saintly Deity of Insanity that which no god can put a name to. Why else would I worship this fucker’s dick like i do ? Call me crude, vulgar, whatever...doesn’t change the fact that the shitty ass truth, is in fact, the shitty ass truth. That truth being that I demand his unsympathetic grip akin to an infant demanding it’s very first breath of life. The affliction of every scar mapping my body is something that I didn’t fuckin’ ask to be met with, nevertheless, something about the power that comes with directing an overdose of a serpentine thirst such as this one that makes me feel more in control then when my hands are gripping lead.

Our lips meet with vigor. I’ve never known it to be smooth. Never known us to take our time, yanno ? It’s always fierce. Hot. A clash of potent teeth seeking to grip and rip apart tender skin. To taste blood. And what’s a good fuck without the taste of blood ? C’mon. We’re deep. We’re thorough: two adrenaline filled junkies having gotten our first real swallow of the golden necator that has seduced us, dripping from uncut fruit laying bare in our wake while with instructions to never have one bite; we’re obsessed.

The tinkering jangle of an unhooked belt. The lick of Roy’s tongue into my mouth still tasting of shitty liquor from the corner store. A sinners Paradise. I tilt my head back for him and let teeth ascend onto my neck. I’m the lamb, sticking it’s neck out for the butcher. I want this. I want him to brand me intensely then cool it with a kiss because that is something that this world has done too many fucking times to me, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.

Yeah, only because the world never did leave a kiss of apology.

Chewed mint gum, stale tobacco, and secrets kept out in the rain for far too long, left to tarnish with the coming of nightfall; this is his eternal flavour.

Isn’t there some goddamn way for us to endure this way ? Twined together ? Just like this. Simply him ritualizing my abdomen that rose and fell with shaky gasps, his tongue marveling the carved indent of muscle there, tracing every groove proving personal fortitude. Proving that my ass didn’t get dropped down onto this fuckin waste land of a planet just to roll over like a creature without fight.

A trifling jungle, Life is.

“God. What a million mother fuckers would trade to see the Red Hood in this wrecked state. You wanna beg for me, doll ? That’s right. Beg for me then,” Roy’s voice is an instrument. His words, musical of filth. I’m being serenaded by the devil and it’s mother fuckin’ magical. Even so, I aim to punch him in the throat. I wasn’t gonna do much damage, was just gonna let him know what toes the line, but his hand wraps around my curled wrist and my bicep tenses. I’m straining to reach him. Straining to infect him, however somewhere in the tangle of that violence dance I strained also for his mouth like an addict for a needle. A taboo puppet. A homicidal angel, like he once called me before I spit in his eye earning my face into the wall.

What even are we doing, Roy Harper ? Why do we do this ? And why does it feel so right to scream your name into the hush of a blacked out room while you turn me inside out ? I’d ring God on the manner, but fuck—I just start pissing myself with laughter each time I start.

Gotta love this shade of grey I’ve established my life in the thick of. Grey is the blueprint of a soul caught in limbo. It’s a nice color. The ambiance is sedated, disrupted here and there by the tortured hollar of a condemned conscience—but life ain’t no fucking picnic.

Then again, even a tongue tied fool knows that.

…...

I can feel the frayed corners of ultimate reality beginning to shimmer. Roy watches me rising high even while knowing that soon I’ll crash, we will, together. And it’s so gorgeous for just a second that I could die like this. I know that it gets old hearing others romanticize death, yet I serious in the face of it. Serious and deeply, deeply in enamoured. Swept upon sandy beaches as to evade the lusting leviathan of the sea again and again. But I just wade back into the waters, deluded at times. Something like a drunk falling around town with an empty bottle of gin; everyone stares but no one will give directions to the nearest pub.

The vast gulf of the abyss beckons nearer with breath peppered by wanderlust and saliva spiked in moonshine. I can only take so much, however I’m forced, and so gorge on this easy feast.

Has a human ever been so unsteady and yet resistant ? So crippled and yet defiant ? I have many bones to pick with myself. I’ve splintered the masterpiece of my life into something ugly.

But I am a beast, aren’t I? And a Beast has always been one to see the Beauty in crude things. There is peace in the bloodstains, there is marvelous enrichment in the grimace of the faces. Cut me deeper Roy, squeeze red from my flesh so to let me continue my artistry. Open up the brushes of my fingers with your fangs and allow this woeful composer to create something for us both to laugh at.

Each finger in my mouth taste like pure sin. They scrape my gums until lips go down onto mine; then the fingers are put back into place. I choke. He chuckles. Fucking bastard.

Through these eyes of mine white with carnal tears, I look up and into the face of the man I didn’t mean to fall in love with wearing my blood upon his lips like a god damned badge of honor.

There’ll be no victor at the end of this unchaste warfare and I feel the cannon fires terminal blow. Yup. that’s my fucked up heart. What a tool.

But it’s been this way for centuries, hasn’t it ?

Sensuality is the baddest of bitches with hips that carve into yours tastefully. She’s the perfect fusion of warm and wanton that leaves you so powerfully drugged, that when you turn over to sleep soundly for having seen Nirvana it’s self, she’s able to hijack your shit with ease. Now your ass is left high and dry. But hey, you gotta relish her; notably on the day you find Sensuality knocking at your door again for having conceived with you a child named Regret, something that she drops off for you to raise alone. Now you’re in solitary as Regret clings to you tightly, sucking the life from your chest, but yet, still you nourish it. You love it because shit, it’s half of Sensuality isn’t it ? And had she not once been your reason worth living ?

I twist my fingers around Roy’s cross necklace still finding a way to glint silver in the dark, and pull him down into me with a grunt. For once, it’s his eyes that are glossed with hysterical fever, swimming and asphyxiated by all 7 of the Deadly Sins.

Yeah. That’s right fucker. At least for tonight, “You’re mine.”

Was that his whine that I heard ? Unquestionable was his moan. I think I hear him praying, but that doesn’t change the fact that come sunrise

We’ll both be waking up alone;

the bruises I left on his neck the only souvenirs of my Love.

#My fanfiction #Jayroy #jason todd #red hood #roy harper #arsenal #dramatic as fuck #lmao

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nightwingvixen22 · 4 years

Text

Shaded In Grey

Summary : Jason loves Roy just as much as he loves the bruises that he paints into his skin; but to hell if he’ll ever let him know that and change the interplay of their lusting dance amongst the grey

💘💘💘

It’s during a moment like this (offering myself over to be caught in the line of fire) that I swear by the unholy mess in me that Roy Harper is some sort of Saintly Deity of Insanity that which no god can put a name to. Why else would I worship this fucker’s dick like i do ? Call me crude, vulgar, whatever…doesn’t change the fact that the shitty ass truth, is in fact, the shitty ass truth. That truth being that I demand his unsympathetic grip akin to an infant demanding it’s very first breath of life. The affliction of every scar mapping my body is something that I didn’t fuckin’ ask to be met with, nevertheless, something about the power that comes with directing an overdose of a serpentine thirst such as this one that makes me feel more in control then when my hands are gripping lead.

Yeah, only because the world never did leave a kiss of apology.

Chewed mint gum, stale tobacco, and secrets kept out in the rain for far too long, left to tarnish with the coming of nightfall; this is his eternal flavour.

A trifling jungle, Life is.

Then again, even a tongue tied fool knows that.

……

The vast gulf of the abyss beckons nearer with breath peppered by wanderlust and saliva spiked in moonshine. I can only take so much, however I’m forced, and so gorge on this easy feast.

Has a human ever been so unsteady and yet resistant ? So crippled and yet defiant ? I have many bones to pick with myself. I’ve splintered the masterpiece of my life into something ugly.

Each finger in my mouth taste like pure sin. They scrape my gums until lips go down onto mine; then the fingers are put back into place. I choke. He chuckles. Fucking bastard.

Through these eyes of mine white with carnal tears, I look up and into the face of the man I didn’t mean to fall in love with wearing my blood upon his lips like a god damned badge of honor.

There’ll be no victor at the end of this unchaste warfare and I feel the cannon fires terminal blow. Yup. that’s my fucked up heart. What a tool.

But it’s been this way for centuries, hasn’t it ?

Yeah. That’s right fucker. At least for tonight, “You’re mine.”

Was that his whine that I heard ? Unquestionable was his moan. I think I hear him praying, but that doesn’t change the fact that come sunrise

We’ll both be waking up alone;

the bruises I left on his neck the only souvenirs of my Love.

#my fanfiction #jayroy #jason todd #red hood #roy harper #arsenal #Based on the song Fifty Shades by Boy Epic

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wykart · 5 years

Text

Fifty-one years (and one day) later

Part 2/3

Read Part 1 or read on (ao3)

Summary: Dave doesn’t die in the war and Klaus has no reason to leave the past. Fifty-one years on and he finds himself back at the time he left the world he knew, now eighty years old. He decides to pay his siblings a visit.

“Klaus!” He heard Diego calling after him, but he kept his eyes on the pavement in front, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He was sober the vast majority of the time, thank-you-very-much, but times like these, he needed something to take his mind off things. A knife sailed past his ear, whistling as the blade loped off a lock of hair.

He dropped his cigarette in shock, bringing his hand up to his ear. “What the fuck, Diego!”

“You d–d–don’t get to fucking walk away from this!” He turned to see his brother storming down the street, still sporting that ridiculous black leather vigilante get-up. His voice was cracked with threatening sobs as he carved a path through the crowd. People were staring, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Hey, woah there, calm down,” Klaus said, holding his hands out in a stopping motion, “you’re making a scene.”

“Oh yeah, what about the scene you made b–back there, walking in here after w–what – fifty years!” He pushed Klaus’ hands aside.

Klaus chuckled, much to Diego’s despair. “That was pretty good though, you have to admit.” Diego snarled. “Oh ok, fine. But if you do come to my funeral, I want you and Luther to fight just like you did at Dad’s – and no holding back this time. I want blood!” Diego grabbed him by the shoulders. Klaus thought he heard his bones crack. “You wouldn’t choke-slam a poor, frail old man now would you?” He cried, feigning distress. He couldn’t stop laughing, and every bought made Diego all the more furious.

“Stop fucking laughing, you hear me! S–stop!” There were tears in his eyes. Klaus had done it again, he’d gone too far.

“Aww come on Diego, I’m sorry, hey –“ he gave his brother a pat on the shoulder as he crumbled, laying his head on Klaus’ shoulder. “Hey, stop crying bro.” People were definitely staring now. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private,” he said, eyeing the onlookers. Diego nodded and straightened up, trying to hide his tears. Klaus led him away, back along the street to the alley that ran along the side of the academy building. “Hey,” he cried at the amassing crowd, “nothing to see here, move along.”

…

“You feeling better Diego,” Klaus asked, patting his brother on the back. They were leaning against the wall, far from prying eyes. Diego seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of it all, his breathing was deepening, tears drying. He was better, but far from okay. Klaus lit another cigarette, was wasn’t about to do this unaided.

“I should have looked for you, after I busted the motel, I should’ve helped you.”

“Wouldn’t have made any difference, I was long gone by then, there was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Well maybe we could’ve given you a reason to come back.” He looked at Klaus – down now, instead of up, he’d shrunken in on himself in his old age – searching for the remnants of the person he knew from just days prior. The image of the man he’d always seen as his little brother, the one he always had to protect and keep out of trouble, was fading fast. “Would it really have been as easy to come back as Five said?”

“Yeah,” Klaus sighed, not meeting his brother’s eyes, “yeah it would have.”

Diego scoffed, shaking his head. “Then why the hell didn’t you, man?”

“You really wanna know?” He asked, tilting his head up towards the blue strip of sky running above the alleyway. “Okay then,” he sighed, breathing out a puff of smoke. “I fell in love.” Diego chuckled to himself. “No, dude, I’m serious,” he insisted.

“And that was enough –“

“To stop me from coming back to this hell-hole? Sure it was. There was nothing here for me, Diego, I was a junkie, I’d been pouring my life down the gutter since I was thirteen, and I was running on empty.”

“And what about us?” What about me, his eyes said. “Five says the world is ending, do you even care?”

“Oh come on Diego,” he cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you’ve really gotta make this hard for me don’t you. For your information, I didn’t know the world was ending for real, I thought Five was just trying to get me to pretend to be his dad–“

“You did what?”

Klaus shushed him and continued. “– I just came by to give Five his little time machine, maybe tell you what I’d been up to, then let you all get on with your lives in peace.”

“But now –“

“But now apparently the world is ending in three days, which is fine by me I’ve got nothing left to live for, but you…” he trailed off, looking at his brother with sorrow in his eyes.

“You know, to be fair, I don’t have a whole lot going for me either,” Diego shrugged.

“You’ve got a future. Allison’s got her daughter, Vanya has a regular life ahead of her, Luther’s got… well he’s got nothing but we love him anyway. Even Five has some sort of weird old-man-child life of crime on the horizon – and that’s forgetting everyone else on the planet.”

“But you’re not going to help,” Diego finished for him, looking defeated.

“Look, even if I wasn’t eighty and not able to walk ten yards without putting my back out, I’m still useless to you. My power’s only gotten weaker over the years – that’s years of unabided recreational drug use, mind – and even if they hadn’t, how could I possibly help avert some sort of world–crushing cataclysm anyway?”

“I don’t know man, Five seems to think we need everyone together to fight this thing.”

“Well, tell him I’m out. If we only have three days left, I’m going to get high at the graveyard and talk to him one last time.”

“Him?”

“Diego, Diego,” he sighed, “are you seriously that fucking clueless.”

“So you loved him then, for your whole life… I can’t even imagine.” He thought of Eudora, gone now, but never really his. She was right, they never would have lasted even if they had given things another shot.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and Diego watched as his old eyes looked back into his memories, happier days, simpler days. A deep, yearning nostalgia one could only acquire after living through the greatest experiences, and the worst hardships, that life had to offer. “It was wonderful. After the war I moved back to Kansas with him, old country house on a farm and everything. We went out to the city for a while once every year or two, experienced the high-life, but I liked the quiet… less ghosts lurking around.”

“Wait, the war?”

“Yeah, bro, Vietnam.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible, I guess all of dad’s combat training paid off after all.”

Klaus chuckled “yeah, and speaking of, back in ’71 I punched dad in the face so hard he blacked out right there on the street.”

“What, seriously?’ He said, incredulous.

Klaus nodded with pride, “Yeah, man. I just saw him one day walking around outside the academy – before it was even called an academy – and I just thought, you fucking bastard and then – wham!” Klaus mimed punching through the air.

“What did he say?”

“Ow,” he laughed, “he didn’t have time to say much else.”

“What if you’d, like, changed time or something, by punching him in the face?”

“You know, I did think about that after, like what if getting punched in the faced rocked his brains so bad he forgot about his need to purchase seven children and abuse them all their lives.”

“Or it rocked his brains so hard he decided he wanted to do that in the first place.”

“Eesh,” he cringed, "that’s a disturbing thought. My thinking was, he’d probably just lay awake at night wondering who that gangly hippie bastard was that absolutely pounded his ass.”

“Serves him right – god he was a piece of work.” And here they were, complaining about Dad as if they were fifteen again, smoking out the back of the house, finally coming to realise what an asshole Sir Reginald really was after years of dancing to his tune. They were laughing, as if this were just another ordinary day.

“Did you ever see us – as kids I mean?” Diego asked.

“Well, I was curious, it’s not exactly something you get to see everyday, but I tried my best to stay clear of this city. I wanted to leave that part of me behind for good.”

“Well I can understand that, wanting to forget everything and start fresh. I wanted to do that, back after Ben died and you left, but the past always catches up – and here I am.”

“I tried to run, my whole life I tried, but it all caught up to me too, and here I am,” he sighed, “same as you.” Klaus looked down at the floor. Ever since Dave had died, he’d had a lot of time to reflect, time to question his decision to leave his family behind. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of coming back to this place, facing them all one last time, he thought maybe it would be better for them to think he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth. “Should I have come back at all?” He thought of Diego’s tears, his anger, Allison’s horrified disbelief, even Five had seemed upset - though for him or the fate of the world he wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean,” Diego replied, as if Klaus had just said something unbearably stupid. “Of course you did the right thing, it would have been torture, living every day not knowing if you were dead or in pain somewhere.”

“Well, it’s not like you seemed to care before.” He knew how immature he sounded, like some whiny kid instead of the wise old wizard vibe he was pulling off nowadays. “I didn’t see you for thirteen years before dad’s funereal, I didn’t see any of you, and when I came back you’d all moved on with your lives, but I was still the same stunted little asshole you all know and tolerate.”

“You don’t think I cared?” Diego levelled his gaze, looking at him with an earnest sort of sadness. Despite his tough-guy front, he was probably the best out of all of them at understanding how others were feeling. “I had that stupid police radio on all through my time at the academy and every day since, because I knew you were out there somewhere on the streets almost every night, about to OD on all that crap you were taking. If anything had ever happened to you I just know I would’ve blamed myself for not being there for you.” His sadness was building itself into rage again. He screwed up his face, turning away. “I was supposed to protect you.”

“What difference does it make, Diego, I lived a way better life than I ever could have back here. Isn’t that enough?”

“I suppose,” he seemed unconvinced, “but we were all meant to grow up together, we’ve been together since before we can remember, I guess I thought that meant something.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say, of course it meant something, but it was something that every single one of the Hargreeves children had been running from their whole lives. It had never occurred to Klaus that it could be something to be embraced. “This is really messing you up, huh?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Somehow Klaus had pictured the whole thing as more of a comedic affair. He’d walk in, old and decrepit, his sibling would be shocked and he’d laugh it off, and he would go back to living in his own little world of pretending not to care. He’d kept secrets for so long, from Dave - who’d ask about that briefcase he kept duct-taped shut and padlocked under the floorboards where no one could find it, who always asked about his past and was met only by vague answers and the occasional name. He’d also kept secrets from himself, as he’d spent so long trying to remember his siblings in a way that justified him leaving and never turning back – he didn’t regret his decision, but that didn’t stop the guilt he felt as he watched Diego now.

“Yeah,” was all he said. Klaus couldn’t stand much more of this.

“Well,” he clapped Diego on the shoulder, but he didn’t look up from the ground, staring intently at nothing. “Sounds like you have world to save, best of luck – and I’m being serious this time.”

“Thanks,” he replied, shoving Klaus’ hand away and straightening up. He still seemed angry, subdued. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll see you again, brother,” his voice was stony. Klaus’ heart sank.

Klaus flashed him a sad smile, “I wouldn’t count on it.” Diego glared at him and turned away, walking but out onto the street.

When he was sure the he was gone, Klaus turned around to face the figure that had been standing behind him, watching, silent in contemplation. Ben. He would usually butt into Klaus’ conversations, a sarcastic comment or scolding remark. These past few minutes, however, he’d been silent. “I’m surprised, Ben, I would’ve thought you’d have something to say by now.”

“Oh, I have plenty to say, but it’s hard enough just getting close to you – what the hell did you do to yourself?” And there he was, back on his case even after all this time.

“In between the drugs and the debilitating old age, I’m not quite the seance that I used to be.”

“Clearly.”

Klaus scoffed, “rude.” He couldn’t tell how Ben was feeling, he was just standing there, hands in his pockets, staring. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling. You disappeared, Klaus, I spend a day in purgatory or wherever it is souls go when you aren’t around to host the party, and then suddenly I feel your presence again, faintly, and I find you like this, I mean, what the hell Klaus?”

“You know, I’m hearing just a teensie bit of angry,” he teased.

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you.”

“You still going to hang around – it’s not like I have a whole lot of time left, and apparently the apocalypse is coming so there’s that too.”

“Well it’s either this or nothingness, so I think I’ll stick around your sorry ass a while longer.” He smiled, and Klaus returned the gesture. “And, Klaus,” he added, “I’m happy for you. All this time I was afraid you were never going to actually start living your life, but you actually got your shit together for once. I mean, who would’ve thought you’d make it past forty, let alone eighty.”

“Aww, Ben, you’re so supportive.” He was only a little sarcastic. He put out his cigarette, quenching the flame against the old brick of the academy, just like he used to as a kid. “Do you think you could help me out with something?” he asked as he walked out from between the two buildings, Ben stalking behind, a persistent shadow. “I need to contact someone I’ve lost.”

…

Five was waiting impatiently in the entrance hall when Diego finally let himself back into the academy. “Diego,” he said, “did you talk to him?”

He sighed, collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

“And?”

“And what? He won’t help us Five, what did you expect? Besides, I don’t know what sort of help we’d need from him anyway.” His lip was quivering, and he struggled to get the words out. “He’s j–just a stupid old man now anyway.”

“Did he tell you why he stayed?”

Diego chuckled to himself, “he fell in love, if you can believe it. Some guy he soldiered with in Vietnam. It’s crazy…”

“I see,” Five said, simply. He’d already stopped listening. He looked down towards the briefcase still lying on the floor where Klaus had left it. “Very disappointing,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t proud of what he was thinking, but there was only one way to stop the apocalypse. They needed the full force of the academy, Klaus included, and there was only one reason he had abandoned them.

After all, what was one life against seven billion?

#tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #ua #umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeeves #ben hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves #the seance #klave #klaus/dave #klaus/diego #dave katz

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

Text

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 19

You can read it on AO3, or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

“Breathe, kiddo,” Dad says. “Just breathe.”

And Stiles gives Dad an unsteady nod and does his best to obey even while a weight presses down on his lungs, and he watches as Lydia leads Derek away through the headstones.

There’s a plan, Stiles guesses—either a clean-up or a cover-up, but he’s too tired and too shaky to listen to what Dad’s saying right now, let alone puzzle it out. He’s going into shock, probably, blood flooding into his core and leaving his extremities numb and trembling. Leaving his brain struggling to make connections and his synapses struggling to fire. Combined with his adrenaline dump, Stiles is twitching like a junkie desperate for his next fix.

He crouches down in front of a headstone—the letters too weathered to read—and drags his fingers against the shape of the cross carved into the marble.

“Stiles?” Stella crouches down beside him, a tiny girl in an over-sized plaid shirt.

Stiles lets his relief carrying him to the ground. The grass is damp with dew, but Stiles doesn’t care about his wet ass. He opens his arms and Stella climbs into his lap. Her tear-stained face is hot against his neck. He curls his shaking fingers in her already-tangled hair.

Just breathe.

He watches as a black SUV drives through the cemetery. Chris’s SUV. Jackson climbs out of the driver’s seat. As far as Stiles can tell, Lydia and Derek aren’t with him.

Jackson hauls a tarp out the back of the SUV, and Stiles turns his face away. When he looks up again, Jackson and Chris are loading Peter’s wrapped corpse into the back of Jackson’s Porsche.

“Breathe,” Stiles whispers to himself.

Jackson drives the Porsche out, leaving Chris and Dad standing by the Hale memorial.

Stiles hears the wail of sirens in the distance on the cold night air.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember to breathe.

When he opens them again, the cemetery is full of red and blue flashing lights, and Dad is leaning over him.

“No such thing as werewolves,” Dad tells them both.

“Got it,” Stiles mumbles, blinking away the black spots in front of his vision.

Just breathe.

***

It’s hours before Stiles gets home. It’s almost dawn, and the darkness is starting to soften into gray. Stiles and Stella have been to the hospital, been to the station, and finally they’re home again. Stiles was half-afraid he and Stella would have been interrogated, but they hadn’t been. It’d take a brave deputy to get between Sheriff Stilinski and his clearly-traumatized kids.

When he gets home, Stiles wants nothing more than to turn around and head out again, to try to find Derek, to see if he’s okay—but how can he be okay? He’s the only Hale left now—but he doesn’t know where Derek is, and Derek doesn’t have a phone.

“Lucky it’s Saturday,” Dad says, “because no way would either of you be going to school today.”

He pulls the comforter down on his bed and nods toward it.

Stella clambers into bed and buries her face in Dad’s pillow.

Stiles wants to do the same. So what if it’d make him feel like a little kid, needing the comfort of Dad’s bed after a scary dream? Because it turns out Stiles isn’t as grown-up as he thinks, and that nightmares can absolutely be real.

Dad sits down on the edge of the bed and rubs Stella’s back gently. Then he lifts his free arm in invitation, and Stiles sits down beside him and leans against him. He’s too wired to lie down and sleep, but it’s nice to sit here with Dad while Stella, exhausted, dozes off.

“So, werewolves,” Dad says quietly. “Shit.”

“Swear jar,” Stella says into Dad’s pillow, her voice hoarse from all the crying she’s done tonight.

Dad’s wry smile is faint in the gloom. “You remind me in the morning, kiddo, and I’ll put a quarter in.”

“Dad, if it’s not werewolves, than what?” Stiles asks, his heartbeat ratcheting higher. “You said, no such thing as werewolves, and okay, that’s good, but if there are no werewolves then what’s the story? There has to be a story, right? And we’re gonna need to know it too, me and Stella. Is someone from the station going to want to question us, because—”

“Slow it down, Stiles,” Dad says, hugging Stiles closer for a moment. “You have to remember to breathe, kiddo.”

Stiles swallows and nods.

Dad rubs his back. “The story is that Kate Argent and her crew were sovereign citizens, of the domestic terrorist rather than plain weirdo variety. You know what sovereign citizens are?”

“Uh, yeah. I have ADHD and Wikipedia. I know what everythingis, Dad.”

“Smartass,” Dad says fondly.

“Swear jar,” Stella mumbles indistinctly.

Dad snorts. “Anyway, they were out in the Preserve for who knows what reason, they saw a police cruiser, and that’s all the justification they needed. And Chris Argent, who is going to testify to his sister’s radicalization by the way, had followed her out there to check up on her, and caught up with us at the cemetery in time to lend a hand.”

Stiles frowns into the softening gloom. “And… and they way they died though? Is that going to hold up under an autopsy? Not the burns, I guess, because grenades or whatever, but claw marks?”

“A dog,” Dad says. “They had an attack dog. A wolf dog, probably. It turned on them and ran away.”

Stiles’s dubiousness must show in his expression. It’s not like he has a poker face.

Dad raises his eyebrows. “But you don’t need to worry about that, son. You and Stella were in the back of Kate’s SUV the whole time, okay? You never saw anything at the cemetery until Chris and I got you out again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

No werewolves, no Lydia and Jackson, no confrontation at the Hale house after all. It’s like the supernatural has been entirely excised from the night’s events. Stiles still isn’t sure how it will hold up to scrutiny. It all depends on Dad, he supposes, and on how much his reputation is worth. People don’t go looking to dig holes in the stories of honest men, do they?

“I’m sorry,” he says, his throat aching. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to, and then…”

And then Kate’s SUV rammed them right off the road.

“Kiddo,” Dad says, and he sounds rueful, “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. When she took me and Stella, Stella spilled the whole story. And even then I didn’t believe it. And when Kate was ranting about werewolves, I thought she was delusional, that somehow you kids had found out what she believed, and Stella thought it was real. It took until I saw it, and even then I think I was mostly still in denial. It’s gonna take a while to process everything.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees softly. “It does.”

“You want to sleep in here tonight?” Dad asks. “I think I’d feel better if both of you are where I can see you.”

Stiles makes a small sound of agreement, even though he doubts he’ll be able to sleep. Not after tonight.

Not when all he can think about is Derek’s lonely howl, and the way it echoed in the places inside Stiles that have also been carved out by loss.

***

Stiles somehow slips into an uneasy sleep, and dreams of lights and runes and shifting waves of magic rolling back and forth through the Preserve. He dreams of Derek’s howl, and Peter’s scream, and of a fire that won’t ever stop burning.

He jolts awake, staring up at the patterns of light on his Dad’s ceiling from the streetlight on the corner. Dad is snoring softly and Stella, wedged up against him like a barnacle, doesn’t look like an earthquake would wake her. Stiles doesn’t realize what pulled him from sleep until he hears it again: that creaky floorboard that’s exactly three paces from his desk. Stiles has been avoiding it for years.

He slides out of bed and pads down the hallway to his room.

There’s a werewolf wearing a glower and a leather jacket waiting for him, framed by the early morning light. It feels like a lifetime since Derek last climbed into his window, and Stella caught him.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.” Derek’s eyes flash red, and he averts his gaze. He hunches over a little, as though he’s trying to disappear into the space between his shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t know where else to come.”

He’s apologizing for his vulnerability, Stiles thinks. Apologizing for not wanting to be alone right now, when he’s just lost the last member of his pack. And Stiles can’t know exactly what pack means, probably, but he knows what family means.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. He steps into the room and opens his arms awkwardly. “I’m glad you came. So, yeah, I’m just gonna…”

At first Derek just lets himself be hugged, and it’s as awkward and uncomfortable as Derek always is, but then his hands come to rest on Stiles’s back, and he’s not just being hugged, he’s hugging back. Stiles feels the tension bleed out of him, and exhales slowly.

“I’m sorry about Peter,” he says.

Derek’s breath is warm on the side of his neck. “I thought he was gone. For years. And for a second it felt like I had him back, and now…”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. There isn’t really anything to say.

Derek’s throat clicks as he swallows.

“We buried him at the house,” Derek continues. “Lydia and Jackson helped.” His tone softens into something almost teasing. “She’s a force of nature, isn’t she? I can see why you have a crush on her.”

“Lydia’s awesome,” Stiles agrees. “But I don’t have a crush on her anymore.”

And that’s Derek’s opening, if he wants it, but Stiles isn’t surprised he doesn’t take it. It’s been a hell of a night, after all, and this thing they have—this weird, new, unspoken thing—isn’t going anywhere. It’s okay. It’ll still be there, Stiles thinks, when the dust settles.

And he thinks that Derek gets that, because he runs a hand up Stiles’s spine, and curls his fingers around the nape of his neck, and just holds him.

This isn’t a bro hug.

It probably never was, honestly.

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes.

***

He has no idea how long they stand like that. It feels like it could be an eternity. He only looks up again, face burning, when he hears Dad pointedly clearing his throat. He and Derek extricate themselves awkwardly.

“Breakfast in fifteen, boys,” Dad says. He steps out of the doorway, and Stiles hears an oof as he runs into something—or someone.

A second later Stella is rushing into Stiles’s room. “Derek! Derek!”

She hits him like a ton of bricks, but Derek doesn’t even flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Stella might be an unstoppable force, but Derek’s an unmovable object.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he tells her, his voice soft, his arms coming around her.

“I’m glad youare!” she exclaims fiercely, and then buries her face in his chest and sobs.

They’re not exactly okay, Stiles knows, but words are paltry. They fall short at times like these. So they’re not okay, but they’re standing, and it’s a start.

It’s a start.

He breathes.

#sterek #Stella and the Wolf #discontentedwinter #my fics

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deputyrhysiepieces · 6 years

Text

Sinners and Junkies

A/N: Just a random story with my Deputy after she gets kidnapped by John. She’s heavily inspired by Negan, so warnings for language. Thanks for reading!

Rhys should've known it was too easy sneaking into John Seed’s infamous ranch. Now due to her recklessness she's trapped in said man's bunker, tied to chair that is now immovable. At least he learns.

She tenses as the door slams open, the man of the hour strutting in. By the look of it he's already in a bad mood, slamming the box of supposed torture tools with his jaw clenched.

When he turns his aggression is even more apparent by the way his hands grip the table behind him.

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline when she fails to comment. There's no smug smile this time around.

“So.” He starts, clenching the word out around clenched teeth. “What'd you do with it?”

“Oh, you mean the cocaine I found in the baggie lodged in the back of your toilet? The one I’d bet my left tit on that Joseph doesn't know about? ” His eyes narrow. “Haven't seen it.”

To her credit she doesn't flinch when he slams his hands against the desk, pushing off of it to slowly walk towards her.

“Where is it, sinner?”

“I don't know, junkie.”

With that he grabbed her throat with a frustrated yell, squeezing until her eyes teared up.

“I'll force it out of you.”

She gasped for breath as he went back to his tools, noisily shuffling through them. The longer he stood there searching the more nervous she got, so naturally she started rambling.

“Well, this is goddamn embarrassing. To be entirely honest this is not how I imagined my evening turning out. I sort of expected you’d be there, thought maybe I’d find you balls deep in some woman… or man. I don’t know. Whatever you’re into, I’m not judging. Do you guys even fuck? You’d think with how much you like to play ‘my dick is bigger than yours’ you’d actually put it to use.”

He pulled out a small knife from the selection.

“That's a good size. I like that one.”

He didn't spare her a glance before placing the small knife down and grabbing a bigger one.

“Yeah, I-um, I don't like that one as much.”

She breathes a sigh of relief when he sets the big one down before once again picking up the smaller one.

“Do you know what this is called?”

“A knife?” She relishes in his obvious display of annoyance as his eyes flutter closed, a frustrated sigh escaping him.

“This is called an oyster shucker “

His lips twitch up for the first time when he watches her eyes flick to the knife.

“Once you start to shuck an oyster you always want to keep the hinge end pointed towards you, straight up, so you don’t lose those wonderful juices inside.” He smiled when her face scrunched up. Funny for someone as crude as her.

“So then you take your oyster knife-”

“I said it was a knife.”

“Shut. Up. You work the blade into the hinge, rocking the blade side to side until it pops! Then you slide your knife along the inside surface of the top shell until you find the muscle where it is attached to the top shell, and sever it. You do the same thing to the bottom, letting that small knife tear and scrape little pieces of muscle inside, carving them out until it’s sitting free in the shell.” He takes a long look at her crotch, a sickly sweet smile spreading across his face.

“I've… I've never tried oysters” Her voice is small, something that happens when she's nervous. And since she's pretty sure he's insinuating oyster shucking her vagina, she figures she has every right to be.

“Oh no? You've never tried oysters?” His voice matches hers in tone, surely mocking her.

“Nope.” She sucks her lip in before she can say anything else. His hands are on his knees as he bends down to get on eye level with her, but she refuses to look at him.

The door bangs open and a nervous looking peggie addresses John, holding out a high tech walkie talkie towards him.

“Sir? The Father is asking for you.” Rhys thanks whatever deity is looking out for her as John's eyes flash with fear.

“I'll be right there.” He goes to turn before stopping as if he forgot something. “Oh, hold this for me please.”

“But my hands are- fuck!” He slams the blade directly through the palm of her hand.

“Thanks.”

“Fuck, fuck! Fuck- fuck you, you fucking fuck!” She whimpers as the door slams closed.

“Ugh ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.” She had to get out of there. She gave a hysterical little laugh when she realized he literally put a weapon in the palm of her hand. She leaned down and closed her mouth around the hilt of the knife. It muffled her scream as she tried to pull it up, the shitty little handle slipping from her teeth many times. She was sure she had to have cracked a couple of her teeth by the time she got the thing out. Although she knew she had limited time she took a moment to catch her breath, sweat rolling down her forehead.

Okay, hard part done. With a sharp inhale she went back to work.

She angled the knife-oyster shucker- so that she could pull it up and wear at the rope. It took what seemed like minutes to wear it down enough to where she could yank her non-injured hand out. That was when she heard footsteps quickly approaching the door.

“No. No, damn it...fuck!” Rhys knew she had to act quick. She closed her eyes in dread when she realized it had to look as if nothing had happened. She cut through the rope restricting her injured hand until it was hanging on by a thread. Then, uttering a soft ‘'fuck” she stabbed the knife back through her hand, only to rip it back out again.

“Fuck!” panicking when she heard the door knob turn, she once again stabbed her palm, this time leaving it there.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

“Still going, are you?”

“Suck my ass you pretentious little shi- Joey!” Her eyes widened when he wheeled Joey Hudson in, mascara running making her look like a fucking racoon.

“Thought you’d like a friend, Deputy.” John was clearly enjoying the shock on their faces as they tried to figure out how to react to each other.

“Oh God, Rook, what the fuck happened- how’d you get here?” Hudson gasped when she saw the knife through her hand. Rhys, emotionally drained for the day, gave a weak little laugh.

“You say here like this shitty little bunker is something fucking special. I ended up here trying to get to there. And do I know where there is? No, no fucking clue. Just trying to keep up with our boy over there.” John raises an eyebrow when she angles her head towards him.

“Damn, do you got a mouth on you.”

“Who are you to talk, dipshit. You probably jerk off to your voice on your shitty fucking commercials-” Hudson flinched when he grabbed another knife from the table.

“Deputy Reeze-” “Rhys. For fucks sake-”

“-Have you ever wondered how many layers of a person's skin can be removed until it is deemed ‘unhealthy’?”

“None should be removed you prick-”

“The top layer of the epidermis is actually just dead skin cells. You shed thousands of them in a day.”

“Thanks for that anatomy lesson. Now can you-”

“Let’s help Hudson by getting rid of those useless cells corrupted by sin. They probably go pretty deep so it is going to be a painful process. Unless you remember where you put my belongings, Deputy?”

There was a beat of silence before she looked at Joey.

“He’s talking about his coke-”

John- barely concealing his anger- slices down Hudson’s forearm. He works on slowly peeling layers away.

“Agh! Rhys shut up!” Hudson sobs.

“Oh my God, Oh God I’m so sorry. John! You fuck!” His only response was to continue cutting deeper.

“Remember yet, Deputy?”

“I… okay stop! Stop. I poured it in your pump thingy.”

“My what?”

“That thing on your car. Where your gas goes.”

“My fuel tank.” He states matter of factly.

“Yeah-whatever- Look, I know fuck all about cars. But um, yeah that’s where it is.” The pain from her throbbing hand was starting to seep into her voice.

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“...I told Hudson.” John lets out a frustrated shout.

“I fucking know you told Hudson! Did you tell anyone else?”

“You took me like right after I snatched it, I barely had time to pour it into the fuel pump-” John pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus Christ.”

“- so how would I have been able to tell anyone-”

“Yes or No, Deputy” His voice breaks, much to his mortification as she stops in the middle of her tangent to make a smart ass comment.

“I just said- still going through puberty by the way, damn- anyway, I just said how would I have been able to tell anyone-” His hands once again wrap around her throat, squeezing his words out through clenched teeth.

“Did you tell Joseph?”

“No!” She gasps as his hands slacken considerably. “But you won’t need to worry about that for long.”

His eyebrow twitches in confusion. Before he can answer her hand comes off of the armrest to grab the knife, yanking it from her palm with a yell before slicing his throat with it. It couldn’t have been very deep, but the peggies would certainly be more focused on keeping him alive than stopping her from leaving.

“Damn I should have thought of something more clever to say.”

“Rook!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Rhys hurries over to Hudson, who’s already struggling against her binds. Rhys grabs the tape to hold it steady before releasing it with a hiss, switching hands. “Could’ve said something like ‘want some sauce with those oysters?’ Damn, that was a good one.” Hudson gave her a look that let her know she thought she was damn crazy. “You weren’t here for that, right.”

“You… you couldn’t have done that earlier?” She panted.

“I really tried to look for an opening, and I feel really shitty about it so don’t-” Rhys rambled before stifling a sob. “I’m sorry, Joey.”

“Just-just get me out of here. Do not leave me here.”

“I won’t, I promise I won’t-” She’s suddenly pulled back, a beard tickling her cheek and warm blood seeping through her shirt fabric.

“Deputy.” In panic she blindly stabs at John behind her with the knife. She feels it hit home the same time he yells in her ear. He pulls it out, probably planning to plunge it into her neck before her arm grabs his. They struggle for what seems like minutes before John gets the upper hand. As the knife gets closer and closer to her throat Joey kicks a foot out, hitting Rhys in the abdomen but managing to knock them both back. She lands on top of John, pushing the air out of him with a oof!

She searches with frantic eyes for the knife, that was thrown across the room, just on the outside of the vault door. With an energy she didn’t know she had, she crawled to it, picking it up just as she heard the sound of the vault door closing behind her.

“No, no, no!” It shuts just as she reaches it, and she bangs on it even though it won’t do a damn thing. She isn’t able to hear, but she sees Joey screaming, the same words over and over at her. John’s lips twitch up in a smile as he pants, sauntering over to his walkie. He’s bleeding from a wound in his thigh, where she must have stabbed him earlier.

“Well, Deputy, you’re in a tight spot.” Now she can hear the dreaded words Joey was saying.

“Don’t leave me! Rook, don’t leave me, you can’t leave me! Please!”

“What’s it gonna be, Rook? Stay, and die fighting while trying to save the princess? Or fleeing like the coward you are back to your little resistance?”

“Rhys! You promised!” Her heart breaks at the desperation and absolute fear behind those words.

“I’m sorry, Joey, I’ll-I’ll come back for you!” She can hear the distant sounds of footsteps approaching her. She doesn’t have the time to think about her decision.

So she ran.

#John Seed #John Seed x reader #John Seed imagine #Far cry 5 imagine

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rhapsody-under-pressure · 6 years

Text

Losing What We’ve Learned pt 2

“C’mon, tell him you’re just gonna study with me. He’ll eat that up.”

“Yeah, yeah I know but still…”

“Oh, please?”

“Alright, fine.”

Brian hung up the phone, Roger’s voice still ringing through his ears while he still tightly held onto the phone. His nerves sent another attack, yet his words helped on so many levels. Maybe this time his father wouldn’t berate him this time if he just gave the excuse that he would just be studying with Roger…He usually did. It wasn’t like he was going to be with Freddie, that would earn him a ten-hour speech about how Freddie would ruin him.

Before anyone could come inside, Brian rushed over to his closet and grabbed his guitar. He headed out, making sure to lock the door behind him. Thankfully, Roger was just around the corner. A quick walk down the street wouldn’t take long and he’d be inside his house in just a few-he’d be inside his house…His heart clogged up his throat as it began racing. He’d done this only a few times before and each and every time felt like he was standing in the middle of Hyde Park without any clothes on. Anything he said, anything he did, anything in general felt so embarrassing and awkward that he was surprised Roger would still talk to him!

He swallowed thickly and headed out, holding his guitar close to him. After rounding the corner, the aforementioned building loomed to his right, Brian’s nerves going berserk with every step he took. It’s just Roger…That’s it…He told himself, knowing full well that it wouldn’t do him any good.

Those thoughts were quickly dispersed once he saw Roger waiting outside his building. His eyes instantly brightened once he saw him, only making him feel even more sick to his stomach than beforehand.

“Didn’t take you long this time, did it?” Roger asked. “What were you waiting around the corner?”

“HA!” He exclaimed, his face going red a second later. “Ah-uh-well no I just eh…”

“It’s fine. C’mon.” Roger told him, grabbing his wrist and leading him up to his flat, Brian’s body nearly fainting at the touch.

“Where’d you get that guitar again?” Roger asked as they approached his flat.

“B-built it. Took ages.” He admitted. “But hey! It looks good.”

“Hopefully it sounds good; should be fine if you ask me.”

Once inside, Brian’s eyes were immediately drawn to the opposite side of the living room. An ornate fireplace with various carvings of miscellaneous designs, a few black and white pictures sitting atop the mantle next to a vase full of flowers, though Brian couldn’t tell if they were fake or real. One could feel the warmth emitting from the fireplace, even when it wasn’t lit. Amber walls surrounded a single honey one, the outside scent of autumn seeming to seep in through the outside even though the windows were shut.

“Mum likes autumn. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t just drag the leaves inside herself.” Roger told him.

“Don’t give her ideas. She might just grow pumpkins inside.”

“God would she! Ah…I just like it still. Clare goes nuts over autumn too. She loves helping mum cook.”

“Gotta admit, her pumpkin pie is amazing.” Brian replied, running his hand over the worn, couch that looked as if you poured chocolate over it.

“Take a seat dude. You’ve been here enough. Hell it’s your second home if you ask me.” Roger said as he went into his fridge.

“Okay…”

He sat. Brian ran his hand across the fabric of the couch he was situated in, the dark brown fabric smoothly running across his skin. It was far more comfortable than the leather ones he had at home and knew these must’ve been better to sit in during the summer, his legs hurting at the thought of pushing himself up, only to realize he was basically fused to that seat.

“Get somethin’ to eat before we try that thing out. Bet it’ll sound great on that little amp I got. Kinda sucks if you ask me but hey, it’s an amp.” Roger told him while he scoffed down a few saltines.

Brian didn’t even say anything. To think that after all the time he had spent here he would be more at home. And yet, he just wasn’t used to this. His parents always had Roger act so proper and rigid around them; just hearing Roger say ‘sir’ sounded so unnatural he should’ve stuck to speaking Russian instead. It was night and day and Brian had to admit he slightly preferred the night, even if it was so strange and foreign to him. At least then no one could hover over him to make sure he was doing as they wanted.

Despite his current hunger, he politely denied any food for the moment. Why couldn’t he accept the offer? Was he being rude? Maybe later on he’d get something, he knew Roger would have something in his fridge or cupboards for him to eat. Once Roger had finished up his snack, he collapsed on the couch, adding a quick glance his way before composing himself again.

“So, when you wanna try that out? Or do you wanna put on a show for everyone when they get home?” Roger asked.

“I…Uh maybe we could just do it…now?” He tried, nearly shaking in his seat.

“Finally! C’mon, drums are in the back for now.” Roger told him, leaping up from his seat and rushing down the hall, Brian startled by how he was acting so sudden and quick. He hurried after Roger, turning around to grab his guitar that was still sat atop Roger’s couch. Metal scrapped against the hard floor from the back of the apartment, a sudden crash of a cymbal scaring him even more so as he rushed to compose himself before heading back there.

“Lousy ass thing-” Roger started as he picked the cymbal up from the ground, readjusting the piece in its necessary place while Brian watched from the doorway. It felt rude to put another foot into the room; Roger’s room seemed to be this place he needed to have a pass from the prime minister in order to enter and God know that he just wanted to be in there with him without any chance of intrusion. Just being in a room like this was already so much more inviting than his own abode, although he was currently fighting the urge to tidy up the few clothes on the ground or the tossed papers, he assumed they came from school, or even the way his bed wasn’t perfectly made: nothing tucked in, no folded-up pajamas for the night, not even his pillow being fluffed up for a comfortable night’s rest. He could barely feel the rug beneath his feet through the socks he had on, but even with the barrier between them, he knew it hadn’t been vacuumed in at least a week, not like it was a problem, he just wasn’t used to such a lax lifestyle.

His eyes fell upon the simple drum set Roger had setup on the left side of his room. As he said, it wasn’t the best piece of equipment, nor was the little amp that sat in the corner. A few dents sat along the barrels, dingy, dull cymbals, and drumsticks that looked like they’d been taped up with duct tape. Yet it was still amazing Roger had been able to afford even this; in all honesty, he was surprised he didn’t just build it. Maybe his parents had just lent him a bit of money, even though they said he was responsible for paying for it himself.

“I-it’s kinda shitty…but it works.” Roger admitted, seeming a bit ashamed for having a cheap drumkit.

“Hey, you got a pretty good one. A few imperfections but maybe someday you’ll get the perfect one.”

“Yeah, someday. That’d be pretty fun if you ask me. Part-time job as a drummer…” Roger trailed off, that fire returning to his eyes. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to duct tape sticks together anymore! It’d be fantastic to actually get a gig, or a band in the first place. Imagine that, our names plastered on posters and girls upon girls begging for you to sign them or to get a picture with you.”

“Our?” Brian asked.

“Well, yeah! Dude, I know you can play. You used that old acoustic one over here until it finally gave out and it sounded great! C’mon, imagine us on stage, playing to our heart’s content.”

“I doubt my dad would let me…Probably steal the guitar from me.” Brian muttered.

“Once you’re at university, he can’t say shit to you. You could go right ahead and do as much music as you want.”

“It’s a nice thought, but I doubt it’d work.” Brian continued, still not able to see as clear of a picture that Roger was.

“Prove it wrong then. Plug your guitar in and let’s see where it goes.” Roger told him, already sat at his junky drums.

Unable to say no, Brian knelt down with his instrument, plugging in the wires into the necessary outlets while occasionally moving his eyes off his work to stare at Roger, who too was watching him with interest.

“Well. Go on.” Roger said, Brian obeying as he got back up, tightly holding his guitar before trying out what it was he’d known.

Magic. That was the simplest way to describe it. The sound that slipped out of the amp beside him sounded as if it had descended from the heavens. Every chord and note that filled the room was so unlike any other guitar he’d ever heard, acoustic and electric alike. Warm and energetic…Like the fire that could burn out in Roger’s living room. Even Roger was staring at it in awe. To think that this is what it sounded like from an old amp like this; Brian could barely imagine what his guitar would sound like in a proper space.

As if on cue, Roger began trying out his own drums. They too, like his guitar, didn’t seem to be playing at their best. But Roger didn’t seem to care, he just kept going, keeping up his steady beats and throwing in combos that almost perfectly matched the chords he was playing. It was an amazing synchronicity between them, like they’d been at this for decades.

Neither wanted to stop. They continued this makeshift session, each never ceasing their smiles through it all. It didn’t have to sound like anything, but lord was it just fun. Every kick of Roger’s drum, crash of a symbol, or guitar chord striking against the wall. How he loved finally getting to hear the guitar in its proper habitat. He could’ve sworn it sounded happy here, as if its tune was channeling his own emotions right into the strings.

Due to the noise, none of them had heard the door up front. The only door they did hear was the one to this room opening, Roger’s mother staring at them in awe, clapping both her hands.

“Encore! Encore!” She cheered once they stopped.

“Mu-” Roger started.

“Oh you two sound absolutely lovely! Is that your new guitar Brian?”

“Yes miss. My dad and I made it ourselves.”

“What a wonderful little thing. Come on out here, the neighbors probably aren’t in the mood for a concert.” She told them, Roger groaning for a second before obliging.

“See! I told you it sounds great! Imagine what it’d sound like with some actual structure!” Roger exclaimed as they headed down back to his living room.

“I mean I actually do have a few things I’ve tried to write.” Brian admitted, his face going dark under Roger’s gaze.

“Bring ‘em over! We could make an actual song out of it! One of us could probably try and sing it.” Roger said, his eyes glowing with excitement. He turned to face him, grabbing both his arms and shaking him ever so slightly. “Can you imagine that!? Maybe we could play at a local pub or café.”

Brian could only stare at him for a few seconds, Roger looking embarrassed at the end of those moments. He released him, looking slightly discouraged at his reaction.

“I bet it would be fun.” Brian finally said. “Bet they would let us play too. Gotta find the right place though.”

At this response, Roger perked back up. Hours ticked by, both of them unable to shut up about where they’d see themselves. As expected, it ended up being on stage with others, playing in front of thousands who were chanting their names, Roger of course mentioning the broads who would love to get a piece of him, to which Brian could only sheepishly smile in response, a reaction that prompted teasing from Roger about his “prudeness”.

“Ya know Bri…It really would be great…Just to get out there and see the world. Break out of this routine we’ve got ourselves in and see what’ll happen with each coming day.” Roger continued, his eyes lighting up with a beautiful hope that was almost contagious. “We’d get out there and see so much.” Something darkened for a moment. “You’d get to see the stars and I’ll get to do whatever it is I’ll end up doing. Heh, guess you’re lucky for getting your life figured out so early.”

“Got dad to thank for that.” Brian responded, a sour look spreading across Roger’s face.

“Right. The guy who treats you like his little play project. Why the hell do you let him do that anyway?” Roger finally asked, Brian knowing that he should’ve expected this question again.

“I don’t let him. I just don’t mind it. He’s got more experience than me and he’s got to know better than me.”

“But you’re not his ball of clay. He can go build a robot if he wants that. Bri, you shouldn’t be forced into lying to him so you can go play on your guitar with your friend. He’s not a God.” Roger explained. “If he really cared, he’d let you do what you wanted.”

“Ah…well, I mean he still gives me help when I need it and it’s because of him that I’m where I am right now.” Brian retorted.

“No, it’s because you’re a smart kid. You’d study without him hounding over you and hell you help all of us out while still maintaining high marks in all your classes. It’s not ‘cause of him Bri, it’s you. And you need to remember that.”

Pep talk after pep talk. Almost every visit to Roger’s house would end in it and it would end with Brian feeling invincible. Maybe then he could be honest with his father or at least try and stand up for himself instead of bending to his will. Perhaps today was that day that he would be honest. What would his father even do? Tell him not to go outside? Take away his “precious” books that were constantly gifted to him every holiday?

“Keep him away from that Frederick!” The words echoed in his mind. How he dreaded the day that he’d act on those words or replace Freddie’s name with Roger’s. He wouldn’t…he couldn’t do that to him.

Brian didn’t expect any other reaction from himself other than silence. Roger backed off, just like every other time they started to reach the line that shouldn’t ever be crossed; for that he was thankful for, Brian couldn’t ever imagine the day that he’d have to confront what the others constantly planted into his head: his father being wrong.

…

Friday was there in an instant and Brian’s dread had easily reached the breaking point. A terrible mixture of Freddie’s badgering and Roger’s simple presence was enough to drive anyone mad, especially someone like him. The end of the school day came and the walk home was even more treacherous than usual now that Roger was at his side and his mind was once again at war with his heart. Every beat felt like a punch against his chest while his brain fought to fix the crack his heart had put into its prison. Despite this battle, the civil war within his mind continued on; one half desperately wanted to sit down and talk with Roger, knowing that it would be the most logical one if he wanted to cool this heated conflict, while the other section acted on its more primal aspect of wanting to remain safe within its circle of friends as to not isolate himself from those whom he was close to.

“You going with anyone to that dance tonight?” Roger asked.

“I think I would’ve told you guys if I did. I’m not Deacon ya know.” He replied.

“Bah, you better show up at least! Fred’s coming without anyone and Deacon’ll be there with or without his broad. Get yourself out of the house for a bit.”

Brian only nodded, hoping that it would extinguish this conversation so he wouldn’t have to bear it for another second. Roger must’ve sensed the awkwardness surrounding the discussion and allowed it to die, neither of them saying another word until they said goodbye in another minute. Odd…He thought at the sight of his mother’s small car. He rushed upstairs, hastily finding his key within his pocket only to find that the door was unlocked. His mind instantly imagined the stereotypical hostage situation with his mother at the center while two robbers rummaged through their belongings.

“There you are Brian.” His mother’s soft voice said.

The house was the same as when he’d left, besides the hum of the TV and his mother sitting in her usual spot on the couch while she worked on her sewing. Her kind eyes bore into him, Brian instantly expecting them to darken like his father’s had done so many times before. But they never did. Instead, she laid her work down, the sun perfectly hitting every pink and red stich she had made, and walked over. Her warm hand clasped the side of his face as she gently rubbed his cheek. The warmth made him feel like a child again; when he got a cut on his hand from playing outside and she’d kiss it to make it feel better and the touch on his face would always follow.

“Ignore your father, please? Go out tonight, alright?”

“But what about-” He began.

“Over indulgence of anything isn’t good and that includes studying. It’ll be easier to focus once you have a nice break. If your father asks, well, Roger’s a good study friend.” She told him. A small smile formed on his face. “Now, get ready. And leave your curls in, they suit you.”

“Ma-”

Her kind but stern look silenced him. Brian couldn’t thank her enough for the time being and instead took her advice and got ready. It took just an hour, although he ignored her suggestion to leave his curls in and crushed them out once his hair was dried. He wore his favorite tie, a soft, crimson one, atop a freshly ironed white shirt.

Before he left, his mother laid her hand on his face and kissed his cheek, handing him his black coat, claiming that he’d catch a cold if he didn’t wear it, but he knew that she loved seeing him look so “dapper”. He said goodbye, his mother repaying the sentiment as he rushed out, not wanting to risk the chance that his father would be home early, though he doubted he would since Friday’s were his late day.

A beautiful sunset hung above him, reds intertwining with various golds, oranges, and pinks, resembling a painting by a very passionate four-year-old who had gotten brand new colors to work with. The cold around him contrasted that warmth, but that black jacket kept him warm, like his mother had claimed. Every jostling nerve might’ve also been a factor in keeping him warm, the jacket and shirt growing tighter every few seconds he spent walking towards the school.

It was terrible: every step he took towards the school. Both his nerves about his father’s future reaction and the very idea of going out in public were giant cinderblocks tied around his ankles. He dragged his feet across the pavement, wishing desperately that he could hack them off and walk normally. Maybe he should just turn back, he was only halfway there anyway. Going back would save him some time before his father got home and there wouldn’t be any further consequences. His parents-his parents…His mother desperately wanted him to go out and the idea that he’d have to see the broken look on her face almost severed the tie that latched him to the public fear’s block.

The school loomed ahead, a group of his peers hanging around outside in the courtyard while many were still heading inside. He took in a deep breath and walked across the crossing, ignoring just how damp his outfit was at this point. He should’ve expected the following reaction from his peers. None of them paid him any attention, if anything he got a quick stare before they returned to their conversation. His nerves began to settle ever so slightly, that was until his name exploded from behind him in a loud shout.

He nearly fell over by the force of the source of the shout, soon seeing Roger beaming from his side and giving his arm a hard punch once again.

“Your parent finally let you go outside! C’mon, Fred and Deacon’re inside.” He said, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside.

“Roger! I can-Hey!” Brian exclaimed as he was tugged through the school, now gaining attention from the surrounding crowds, their laughter at his misfortune not making this any easier.

Upon entering the gymnasium, multiple crowds of people were dancing around the speakers that blasted out an Elvis track, that of which he found an odd choice but nonetheless enjoyed. Near the bleachers sat Freddie, who was gladly singing along like a particularly loud parrot, and Deacon who was just staring longingly into the group in front.

“Oh c’mon Deak!” Roger shouted as he got over to them. “Go over there! God you look like a sad puppy right now!”

“I can’t just walk up there!” He retorted. “She’s with all her friends and probably wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”

“If she didn’t then she wouldn’t have been snogging you like that.” Freddie commented, now stopping his singing. “Come over there before I do.” He taunted, seeing John’s face go pale.

“Freddie don’t-” He pleaded, leaping up from his seat as Freddie dashed into the crowd shouting “Verooonicaa!”

“He’s gonna kill him, ain’t he?” Roger asked, Brian still left in shock, now trying to absorb what had just happened.

“I think John might just faint before that.” He replied, earning a snicker from Roger.

He collapsed onto the bleachers, he legs now forced up to his chin while his arms laid slack by his sides. Why did he come here? He didn’t want to deal with any of this drama, or any of Freddie’s antics for that matter. With an impending hospital visit in the future, he really just wanted to get out of there before any ambulances showed up to haul John off to help with shock.

Only when Roger’s voice came out did he feel a new set of ties forming around him. Those previous ones were slashed right off the moment he looked over at him, barely able to hear him now that the music switched to a much louder track. But it was just the expressions that formed on his face, ranging from curiosity to pure jubilation, and that pure light that shone in his eyes that kept him staring right at him. As if God had crafted him from the best things imaginable: hair from the sun, eyes with the same color of the bluest oceans…God he sounded like some Victorian poet or just about every mushy love soliloquy that existed within literature. And yet it was all true…everything he thought and wanted to say to him.

“Well, that worked better than I expected.” Freddie said, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts and wishing he could smack him upside the head.

Without even having to point out what happened, Brian’s eyes focused on the new pair dancing in the middle of the crowd. Of course they got a few stares, but no one really seemed to care about them, aside from those two and Freddie, who was still beaming from a job well done. Both Veronica and Deacon were smiling, her arms wrapped around his waist while he seemed to put every bit of focus into his movements.

“Such adorable little sweethearts! Aren’t they Bri?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah, real sweet.” His chest grew heavier while the noises around him grew louder.

“Oh imagine their first real date! I should help him find some flowers for her. Daffodils maybe? Or some lilies?” Freddie continued, now tapping his jaw.

“Hm? Oh yeah, that last one…” He commented, his head starting to spin. Why was he here again? Nothing good was going to come out of it; he should head home before his father found out where he was, or should he just find a phone somewhere and call the house, maybe he should just leave anyway, at least then there wouldn’t be any suspicion about his whereabouts.

Once again his collar grew tight around his neck, the little beads of sweat around the edges of his face making those few strands of hair curl. He shot up, ignoring Freddie’s questions and rushed out of the gym. The hallway was packed with groups of friends, all babbling away in their conversations and not bothering to move so he could leave. Out of pure instinct, he turned down a nearby hallway and went into the restroom, locking the door behind him to ensure no one would follow.

What a brilliant idea that was; Brian only felt more claustrophobic in this confined space. Just dash into the single restroom-brilliant idea! Now the walls felt small and the heat seemed to intensify now that it had nowhere to escape. He hastily undid his tie, trying to alleviate some of the tightness around his neck.

The sudden knock on the door made his skeleton tremble, Brian now tightly gripping his shirt as he tried to shake all thoughts of his father out of his mind. He couldn’t know-how could he? His mother promised to cover for him-surely she’d keep her word! She had to…

“Bri? You in there?”

Luck didn’t seem to be on his side at the moment. Hearing Roger’s voice on the opposite side of the door was the last thing he needed at the moment. Every second he spent in silence was only going to confirm Roger’s suspicions but he couldn’t find any possible way to speak; English was lost to him and he found it easier in that moment to spew out French or German than even begin to say the word ‘yes’ to the one person in the world that did this to him.

His heart pounded against his throat, the sound of the door coming unlocked doing absolutely nothing to ease his nerves. Instinctively, his eyes flashed over, only barely able to catch a glimpse of Roger sliding a thin item into his pocket. For some reason, Roger only sat down next to him, leaning over to lock the door once more, this time sliding the tin trash bin over in front of the door, as if that were going to prevent anyone else from coming in.

“I shouldn’t be here. My father told me not to and I left.” He confessed, Roger still keeping his composure as he continued. “M-m-mum said it was fine, so I listened. But he still said not to and yet here I am! Stuck in a bloody bathroom instead of walking out of this joint and getting back to my house so I don’t have to deal with him complaining or yelling at both of us for leaving! I should just be home, at least then I could find some kind of solitude.” Roger’s silence was only making his nerves more jumpy, yet it felt oddly nice to let everything out, though he didn’t dare say all that he wanted.

“You came here for a reason, Bri.” Roger responded, now turning his attention towards him. “It wasn’t because your mom said yes, that was just the extra push. I know you. You would’ve snuck out anyway to get out because even you know that you need to relax for a bit-let loose and all that shit. You’re frustrated, tired of being pent up in that house every single day and that’s why you snuck out.”

Well that’s half of it. “Should I go back?” He asked, adding a pleading glance towards Roger.

“If you want to. I know you don’t want to, you just feel like you have to. Look, Bri, as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re sick of your father’s rules. At least that’s how I see it. He’s a controlling bastard who’s restricting you and I know you know that. If you don’t, then you’re blind. Not a bad thing to be blind, but in this situation, it can hurt. If you want things to get better, you gotta rebel, go against him and all that. Just be you.”

Silence fell. Each of them stared at the opposing wall, Brian’s heart still racing as the red tie seemed to swell against his neck, making breathing even more difficult. He glanced over at Roger, wondering how the hell something like that came out of a teenager. But Roger was wrong in the sense that he was sick of his father’s rules; he wasn’t and he had good reasons. It was why he felt safe and sound, especially when it came to his future.

Something stuck though and as the silence continued, Brian could only focus on that. The red tie continued to grow tighter as he kept fiddling with it until it was almost completely undone. His white shirt was growing dirtier by the second from the dust on the wall to the sweat that made it stick to his skin. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, every passing second brought the walls closer and closer to him to the point that he felt like he was confined to a small box, a small box that was on fire nonetheless. His eyes started seeing little wisps of steam around the edge of his vision as the temperature soared around him, growing and growing and eventually started to undo all the hard work he’d put into straightening out his hair and making it go back into its wild and untamed state.

Sixty seconds. Sixty seconds of rebelling. By the time his hands had landed on Roger’s outfit, he could already see the red tie being thrown across the room. Once those sixty seconds had finished, the two laid against the door of the bathroom, their shirts loosely hanging off their bodies and trousers still undone. All they could hear was their heavy breathing, the realization just barely starting to form in their heads but was left incomprehensible to their exhausted minds.

He couldn’t say anything; not a word left his mouth as he turned towards the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest and hunching over into a little ball, wishing he could just vanish into thin air to avoid any possible conversation; his embarrassment left him tense, everything within him wishing and praying that he’d wake up in his bed or that he’d see something so bizarre and random that he would know it was a dream, that this all was just a figment of his imagination, an especially cruel trick played by his daydreams. God how he wished that he’d feel someone shaking his shoulder to snap him out of this terrible trance he must be in; he had to be just staring at a wall while in the gym and Freddie was still just rambling on and on about some kind of nonsense again instead of him lying on a filthy floor next to the one person in the world that made him lose focus.

Brian didn’t dare venture a look towards Roger, his silence was enough proof of how he was feeling too. The realization was now setting in and all the accompanying worries about what might happen. Why couldn’t he have thought of them sooner before acting? The one time he didn’t think and look where it got him: completely unprepared for the future.

#Losing What We've Learned #Fanfiction

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queen-of-deans-booty · 6 years

Text

Born Under a Bad Sign- Part 6

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,809

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. If you’re a junkie for this sort of thing, then a tag list is the right thing for you! If you want to be a Queen, I’ll add you to that list too! Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

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“Feel like talking now?” Dean asked.

“Sam's still my meat puppet. I'll make him bite off his tongue.” Meg threatened, glaring at Dean.

“No, you won’t be in him long enough. Hit it, Bobby.” Dean, standing up straight. Bobby immediately started to read from a book, the exorcism for a demon.

“See, whatever bitch-boy master plan you demons are cooking up? You're not getting Sam. You understand me? 'Cause I'm gonna kill every one of you first.” Dean said, talking over Bobby. Sam started to struggle, the effect of the exorcism taking place but it wasn’t as you would hope. It was like Meg was resisting the chant.

Suddenly, Sam stopped struggling and laughed manically, mocking the three hunters in the room. Bobby stopped talking in surprise. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“You really think that's what this is about? The master plan? I don't give a rat's ass about the master plan, ask Y/N here. If I wanted her dead, she would be and I wouldn’t be in Sam right now.” Bobby glared at Sam and continued the chant but Meg cut him off again.

“Oops. Doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks,” Sam said with a sadistic grin, chanting some words in Latin. The fire behind Sam in the fireplace flared and the room started to shake as he continued chanting.

“This isn't going like I pictured! What's going on, Bobby?” Dean asked, going to you and grabbing your hand. You looked over and saw the mark on Sam’s arm. Of course, this is what Meg did before she got into Sam.

“Dean, Bobby, there is a binding link burned onto Sam’s arm! She can’t escape unless it’s off. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together earlier.” You said, looking at Dean.

“What the hell do we do?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know!” Bobby said. Shit, if Bobby didn’t know what to do, then you wouldn’t know but you had to think.

“Burn it off!” You said right before Sam threw his head back and screamed, the shaking of the walls and the ceiling began to crack, breaking the seal of the protective circle. As Sam lowered his head, his eyes were pitch black.

“There. That's better.” Sam said with a smirk, ripping free from his restraints. Sam jerked his head to the left, sending Bobby flying into the wall.

“No!!” You said but before you could go to Bobby, the same thing happened to Dean and he flew right into the wall quite heavily. “Dean!”

Sam raised his hand and you flew to the wall with a thud, Sam walking right over to Dean.

“You know the word people use to describe the worst possible thing? They say it’s like hell but they don’t really know the meaning of it.” Sam said, kneeling in front of Dean.

“Don’t touch him!” You yelled.

“This one is for you, Y/N. You’re going to watch me beat the shit out of your boyfriend.” Sam said, with a smirk, grabbing Dean’s collar and clocking him in the jaw hard. You screamed out, feeling that bubble rise up fairly quickly.

Sam kept hitting Dean, making sure blood was coming out of his nose and mouth.

“You know, hell is just a word but it’s actually a prison made of bone and flesh and blood and fear,” Sam said, hitting Dean again. You couldn’t get off the wall and you were crying, hating what was happening to Dean. “And you sent me back there. How is that fair?”

“That’s where you belong, bitch.” Dean said, spitting his blood on the floor.

“By the way, Johnny-boy says hi. He’s having real fun, carving up your mother.” Sam said, turning his head to look at you. You were crying and you just needed a few more power to let loose on this one.

“Go back to hell, bitch.” You said, glaring at him. Sam turned back to Dean with a grin and punched him again. You gasped and looked over at Bobby to see him already up and moving around quietly.

“All that I had to hold onto, was that I would climb out one day, and that I was going to torture you. Nice and slow. Like pulling the wings off an insect. But whatever I do to you, it's nothing compared to what you do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're worthless. You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down, you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you.”

Bobby came rearing up behind Sam and he grabbed his arm, pressing a hot poker into the mark on his arm. Sam screamed in pain as black smoke poured out of him out to the chimney, leaving his body for good. Sam fell to the ground as did you.

You grunted as you fell to the ground and you rushed over to Dean, not caring about yourself. You pulled him up and you looked at Bobby with a slight smile. Sam groaned and came to, sitting up, grabbing his arm in pain.

“Sam!” You said.

“Did I miss anything?” Sam said, still groggy from anything that happened to him. Dean glared at Sam and reared his fist back, hitting the real Sam in the jaw before groaning as he clutched his bad arm, leaning on your body.

Sam groaned, holding his cheek in confusion.

Tension was piled high in this room with Sam behind Bobby’s desk with an icepack on his arm, Dean on the other side of the desk, holding an icepack on his face, you were sitting on the edge of the desk, making sure the wound on Dean’s arm was not worse than it already is.

“So, I think I’ve discovered a new “ability”, I guess you could say, about myself.” You said, fixing the gauze on Dean’s arm.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Well, back at Steve’s house, when I handed my lock pick over to Sam and my hand touched his, I got a vision of Sam hurting Jo and a few hours later, that is what happened. That is why I was able to warn Jo first. I’ve never had this happen to me before so I don’t know what it meant but I don’t know what to do.” You said, looking at Dean.

“Wait, I hurt Jo?” Sam asked. Oh yeah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Yeah, I would call and apologize to her soon. Don’t worry, she doesn’t have any wounds on her besides maybe a rope burn on her wrists.” You said, sighing.

“We’ll figure this out.” Dean said, putting a hand on your thigh.

“It also happened when we found Sam in the first place but when I touched him, I saw what he had already done so I don’t know if I’m seeing visions or premonitions.”

“Hey, I’m right here, you know.” Sam said. You looked over at him and gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, you are. You’re you and that’s all that matters right now.” You said with a smile.

“By the way, you really look like crap, Dean.” Sam said cautiously.

“Yeah, right back at you.” Dean said. Bobby suddenly walked into the room slowly, very concerned about one thing.

“What is it, Bobby?” You asked.

“You three ever heard of a hunter named Steve Wandell?” You gulped and looked at Dean for help but he acted casual.

“Why do you ask?”

“I just heard from a friend that Wandell's dead. He was murdered in his own house. You wouldn't know anything about that?” Bobby asked. You told Sam about this and he looked down, already blaming himself.

“No sir, we’ve never heard of the guy.” Dean said, acting like everything was okay.

“Good. Keep it that way. Wandell's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up, and they're not going to slow down to listen to reason. You understand what I'm saying?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, we better hit the road. If, uh, you can remember where you parked the car.” Dean said, looking at his brother.

“Before you leave, take these,” Bobby said, handing you, Dean and Sam a necklace with a small metal charm on the end of it.

“What are they?” You asked, inspecting it.

“Charms. They'll fend off possession. That demon's still out there. This'll stop it from getting back up in you.” Bobby said.

“That sounds vaguely dirty, but uh, thanks.” Dean said. You slapped his arm playfully and got up, smiling at Bobby.

“You're welcome. Please be careful now.”

“You too.” Sam said, smiling at Bobby but Bobby didn’t return it.

“You guys go find the car, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” You said, looking at the brothers. They nodded and left the house, leaving you and Bobby alone.

“You okay?” Bobby asked.

“I just wanted to say, thank you. Not only for this hunt today but for everything you’ve ever done for me from the moment I was born.” You said, fingering the charm in your hands.

“I would do it all over again if I had the chance.”

“You do have the chance; you have it now. I’m not getting any younger and neither are you. Yes, I’m still sad that you weren’t there as I would have liked you to be but you’re here now and that’s all that matters. I want us to be father and daughter. I want to make up for lost time.” You said, looking into his eyes.

“I would love that more than you know.” Bobby said with a smile. You leaned up and kissed his cheek, smiling when you pulled away.

“If you don’t mind, I’m still going to call you Bobby for right now. I have to work up to ‘dad’. You understand, right?” You asked shyly.

“Of course.” He said with a smile. You nodded and held up the charm awkwardly, backing up.

“Thanks for this.” You nodded and turned around, walking outside to see the Impala waiting. You got in the backseat and smiled to yourself, putting the necklace on.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, not talking about your wounds.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You said with a smile. Dean took off down the road and you looked back to see Bobby watching. You looked back at the brothers, sliding in between them. “You know what we should do?”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Get tattoos of this symbol. Necklaces are easy to pull off and break but tattoos stay on forever. Plus, I think the two of you would look hot with a tattoo.” You said with a grin, leaning back.

“That means you have to get one too.” Dean said, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, I know.” You said with a wink.

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus @nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265 @starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in--place @dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822 @alexandriajanae4 @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth @newtospnfandom @mizzezm @goldenolaf25

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @carribear31 @tacklesackles @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl @missselinakitty @iam-a-cutiepie @kristendansmith @milo-winchester-4ever @jensenackesl @codyshany316 @pheonyxstorm @helllonearth @juniorhuntersam @pouterpufftrain @ruprecht0420 @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @carriemichelle2012 @aubreystilinski

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @hadleymcallister2177 @destielsangels @spnhybrid @oreosatmidnight @valerieshubin @seninjakitey @flyonlittlewinchester @aubreystilinski

#Supernatural series rewrite #born under a bad sign #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #spn series rewrite

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tellerford13 · 3 years

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MO ASTOR CHAPTER 43

Disclaimer We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.”

The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC

We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us.

A/N: The closer we get to show events, the more excited we are to show you our vision for how things went down. Because of the growth and changes our boys have undergone in Mo Astor, things are very different, and it’s going to show. So buckle up and join us for another ride in Charming with a different view.

Mo Astor Chapter 43

Jax

“Some day’s you’re the Beamer. Some days, you’re the goddam deer.” I announce, chuckling at the sight that greets me as I walk onto the garage’s lot.

“Some yuppie creamed her up at the streams.” Chibs informs me, clearly just as amused at the rather unique picture.

“He run into it or hit a tree while it was giving him head?” I ask, shaking my head at the deer carcass sticking ass out from the windshield.

“How the hell you want me to get it out of there?” Half Sack asks staring in horror at the deer that decided to commit suicide via Beamer windshield.

Walking over to the tow truck, I come back with a chain saw.

“Come on. Jesus, man.” Half Sack’s face pales. I smile around my joint.

I love fucking with Prospects. It’s a good way to blow off steam and test their commitment. You can’t just trust anyone with the shit we got going on behind the scenes, and after letting that coward Kyle slip into our ranks, we’re all more vicious in the weeding out process.

“Just pretend it’s carve-your-own-steak night at Sizzler,” I call as I walk over to Chibs

“I don’t eat meat, man,” Half Sack says. I shake my head. Who the hell willingly gives up meat?

“Figure out, grunt.” I have no sympathy for him when I think of all the vile shit I had to handle when I did my time.

Tig rode me harder than most, trying to make sure I’d be worthy of my father’s legacy. I love and hate him for that.

“What the hell happened,” Chibs asks about the meeting I’d been pulled into this afternoon.

“It was the Mayans who torched the warehouse. Stole the Niner’s M4s.”

“Holy shit.” Worry deepens the lines on his face.

“Clay’s gone to sit down with Laroy. Try to buy us some time.”

“Niners already paid for that hardware.”

“That’s the tricky part.” I agree. My cell phone goes off in my pocket. I pull it out and fight the urge to shake my head. She’s probably watching from somewhere.

“Hey, Ma. It’s not like I just saw you this morning or something.”

“Did you go to storage?” she asks, ignoring me. Ma and the girls have been riding me hard to get the room set up for Abel in me and Lee’s house.

Not that they haven’t done most the work on it already.

“Not yet.”

“Be a nice surprise if you had some things for the girls to work with after they visit your crazy ass ex for you.”

“I hear you loud and clear. Thanks—Grandma.” I get the dig in.

“Asshole.” She hangs up, and I laugh. I tack the trip on my to-do list. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to make the girls happy, and I know right now, living at the clubhouse and being escorted everywhere is trying. Hell, they have to be accompanied just to visit Wendy. I wonder if I should’ve grabbed her and brought her in for lockdown. With her not answering my calls, she was the last thing on my mind.

I feel the pressure on my shoulders grow heavier. Splitting myself in so many directions always leaves someone hanging.

Clay walks out of the garage with Tig trailing behind him.

“I’m going to head out and do my mother’s bidding. Keep an eye on our girls?”

“Aye. Gonna trail ’em to Wendy’s.”

“Surprised Baby J is letting her get that close to you,” I say, amused by her viciousness when it comes to my ex.

“Didn’t say I was gonna walk up to the front door.” Chibs winks. Smooth motherfucker.

I’m still chuckling when I mount my bike, put on my helmet, and follow the boys out of the yard until they turn to head toward Oakland.

I let the ride blow away all my thoughts as I become one with the road. The sun on my skin, the wind blowing away all my tension, I’m one with the bike and in communion with my surroundings. This is my real church, the place I come to feel linked to my creator.

I’m feeling a lot more level-headed when I reach the storage building. Parking in front of the door, I enter the code and lift the door to the climate-controlled area. For a moment, I’m not sure where to look first. I can see so many memories put here to collect dust and stop reminding us of the sorrow they brought with them—toys that had belonged to my younger brother, Tommy, and me. I can still picture the toe-haired kid with a big heart. He’s a hole in my heart that will never be filled in.

I see the crib against the wall, but it’s the knick-knacks that interest me. There are pieces of my father mixed in here. I wish you were here now more than ever Pops.

I caress the photos that disappeared off the wall once Clay moved into our home. I understand the why behind my mother recommitting so swiftly, but it didn’t change the anger it caused. We were doing okay there for a while: Ma, me, and Baby J. When Clay came in, it shot the dynamics to hell. The man knew fuck all about kids, let alone grieving teens, and it showed. We always felt welcome with my Dad.

Clay brought a coldness that had us walking on eggshells and out of the house more often than not. It didn’t escape my notice that the girls both started spending more time at Gran’s and later after she passed, at Tig’s.

I shake out some manilla envelopes and smile at the sight of my parents in their youth. They look so carefree and happy. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen Dad look like that after Tommy died.

A photo falls like a leaf landing onto a binder of something I don’t recognize.

What’s this?

I take it out and find a manuscript. I can hear my father’s voice reading out loud in my mind.

The life and death of Sam Crow. How the Sons of Anarchy lost their way. By John Thomas Teller. For my sons: Thomas, who’s already at peace, and Jackson... may he never know this life of chaos.

I pause to snap a picture and send it to the girls. Found something of Dad’s.

There’s something about this that commands my attention.

I open the first page and find myself sucked in and my view of everything I’d been groomed to take over, tilts on its axis.

I’m a few chapters in when my phone vibrates in my kutte pocket. It’s like emerging from a different world. I pull it out of my pocket and sigh. Church. Setting aside a few things for a Prospect to pick up, I take the manuscript and place it into my saddlebag before I’m drawn back into the fray.

***

I stalk out of Church with Mayans, the Niners, and guns on the brain. We have forty-eight hours to come up with the guns Leroy ordered, or we’re going to be in a bad spot with them. Our relationship with the Niners has been good. The last thing we need is both them and the Mayans out for blood. Charming is small. Ain’t many places for a person to hide. We know firsthand how damn ruthless the Mayans can be when they go to war. Bloody ‘92 will forever remind us that they have no limitations.

Still, I can’t help but wonder how they got the intel. Are they scoping us out or paying someone else in town to do their dirty work for them?

Ma rushes into the garage alone, and my stomach jumps.

“What’s going on?” I bark.

“I been trying to call you!” Her eyes are glossy, and her tone is wounded.

“Where are the girls?” I ask carefully, enunciating each word. Chibs left them with a prospect to look over them once he’d been called back for Church.

“At the hospital.”

“What?” Chibs roars from behind me.

“With Wendy. Junkie bitch took a hit and od’d.”

“Mother Mary,” Chibs whispers, crossing himself.

The bottom drops out of my world. I can barely hear as I sway slightly. Did this bitch kill my son? Blood rushes in my ears, and the world drops away.

“Shite. Let’s get you to the hospital, brotha,” Chibs urges, shaking me out of my stupor as he squeezes my arm, grounding me. I stumble out feeling drunk as I make my way to my bike. Part of me doesn’t want to make the trip to St. Thomas because that’ll mean finding out what might be an ugly truth.

The trip is a complete blur. I pull into a spot, kill the engine, and head inside. The doors open, and I step inside feeling like I’m traveling to the pit of hell with my mom on my heels talking to Clay.

“It’s gotta be the Nords dealing out of the Dog again.”

I’m going to kill those white supremacist bastards as soon as I see about my son.

A small hand grabs my wrist. I turn on my mother, irritated. “I don’t want you to walk into this blind, baby. Tara Fucking Knowles is the doctor on his case. The girls aren’t happy. I’m sure they’ve let her know by now.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew?”

“I saw her once and looked it into it, yeah.” I hold my hand up. “We’ll talk about it later.” For once, she backs off as we travel to the correct floor.

I spot Tara standing awkwardly by my two pissed-off girls.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask.

“Bitch refused to tell us anything,” Journee says.

“Said we weren’t family or on the paperwork to release medical information to,” Lee growls.

“I’m changing that shit today. You got me, Tara?” I snarl.

She nods and swallows.

“Good. Now what the hell happened?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Tara asked.

“A couple of weeks ago.” I don’t just abandon people. Even when we break up.

“Her hands and feet were full of tracks. Toxicology reports aren’t back yet, but it’s most likely crank.”

“That selfish bitch,” Journee hisses.

Lee steps up on my right slipping her fingers into mine, and Journee steps up on my left, with Ma directly behind me.

All of them are lending me silent support.

She looked fine when we saw her.

I squeeze Lee’s hand and pull from her silent strength.

“The baby?” I force the question out of my clogged throat.

“We had to do an emergency C-section. He’s ten weeks premature.”

I close my eyes. “Holy shit,” I whisper. That’s not right. Are his lungs even developed yet? I might not have advertised it, but I read up on pregnancy.

“Come on, let’s sit down, and I’ll walk you through it.”

“Just tell us bitch,” Journee snaps.

Lee wraps an arm around me, and my sister’s arm joins hers.

I draw strength from them, bracing myself. Last thing I need right now is to be alone anywhere with Tara while she drops bombs.

Tara’s eyes dart nervously to all my girls. “He’s got a congenital heart defect and gastroschisis, a tear in his abdomen. The gastro and the early birth are from the drugs. But the CHD is probably—.”

“The family flaw,” Mom says softly.

Tara nods. “Yes, it’s genetic. Either one would be serious but not life-threatening. However, the two of them together—.” My stomach plummets.

She pauses, unsure of what she should say next.

I need to know what she’s holding back on.

“Just tell me.”

“Dr. Namid gives him a twenty percent chance, and I’m afraid that’s being optimistic.”

“How could we not know?” I shake my head, disgusted. We did everything but live there with her.

“Her OB said she missed her last appointment.”

“Bitch must’ve hidden that one,” Lee says from between her teeth.

“No one knew. Dr. Namid wants to fix his belly first. Then if he stabilizes, he’ll go in and try to repair the heart.”

She pauses, her brown eyes soften towards me.

“I’m sorry, Jax.” She says kindly.

I nod my head and blink to keep my emotions in check.

“I can take you to see him now.”

“Go,” the girls whisper, releasing me as Tara turns and I step forward, following her.

We get through the door, and I pause. “Tara! Maybe you shouldn’t do this. I’m sure you got other patients –.”

“I asked Dr. Namid if I could assist. I wanna help your son –.”

I glance over my shoulders at the girls. “His name’s Abel?”

Lee nods her agreement, and I return my attention to a befuddled-looking Tara.

“That’s a good name.”

I can’t do it—go in there and see my little boy laying helpless as he fights for his life while I stand by, twiddling my thumbs. I need to make the person responsible for this pay. Avenging him is an action. I need to be doing something, or I’m going to explode and destroy everything in sight.

I spin on my heels.

“Jax?” Tara calls.

I ignore her and continue to walk.

“Jax,” Ma says.

“J wait-” Baby J steps forward.

“Jackson?” Lee whispers, gripping my hand, trying to stay me.

Even with her firm grip trying to anchor me, the fury I’m feeling won’t be subsided.

“Go with Tara, and stay with Ma.” I point at Ma.

“I got something to do.”

Before they can argue I press a chaste kiss to Lee’s crow, releasing her hand and briskly walking down the corridor away from them.

“I don’t want to be calmed and soothed.

Right now I need some release, some revenge.

Daddy,” I vaguely hear my sister cry out.

“I’m on it, Mo.”

“Watch his back,” Clay calls.

***

Chibs

I’m on Jax like white on rice.

If anything happens to him on my watch, I’ll be getting my ass handed to me by the ladies and then my President.

Rage rolls off him in intense waves as he walks through the leather pillow-top salon-style doors of the Hairy Dog.

As he enters the smoky room, he’s a man on a mission.

I can’t fault him for it. I want to see him get his retaliation. I know how not getting it can eat a man up one flashback at a time.

He grabs a pool stick off the wall and begins to beat the tattooed bastard bloody on his own turf.

“Sell crank to my pregnant ex?” Jax is an enraged beast.

His boys move to surge forward, and Bobby pulls his piece.

“Easy boys,” Bobby drawls as only an Elvis impersonator could.

I let Jackie continue to whale on the lad for a few beats longer before I step in, post testicle piercing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa” I snag him around the waist and pull him back. “I think you made your point. I think you made your point!” Jax stills, and I release him.

“Stupid peckerwood shithead.” Jax spits on the impaled, bloodied, and broken body.

I follow up with a little spit of my own.

“Enjoy your lunch. Shish keballs are on me,” Bobby says, bringing up the rear as we exit the den of hate.

Jax climbs onto his bike.

“You alright?” Bobby asks.

“I’m gonna see Op.”

“You sure you got your head back on straight, brotha?” I ask.

“No. But I need to know you’re with the girls.”

“Tha I can do.” It pains me to leave him to his own devices, but I’m not trusting the girls to Clay. They need a soft touch right now, and the Pres is notoriously heavy-handed. I haven’t had a cause to pray much recently, but I’ve thanked the man upstairs plenty, so maybe he’ll hear me now as I pray for the bairn who’s already got the odds stacked against him.

***

I spot the girls camped out when I enter the hospital.

Mo jumps up and runs to me.

“Daddy.” I open my arms and pull her to me, resting my head on her head.

“Where’s Jax?”

“He went to see Opie. Figured that might be the best thing for him.”

She hiccups. “Abel’s so small and so very sick.”

“I know, but he comes from strong, stock. He’ll be fine.” I peer up to see Lee watching and incline my head, opening one of my arms. She walks over, and I pull her to me, settling her beside her wife. I kiss Lee’s head.

“It’s going to be okay, girls. He’s got a lot of people out here rooting for him and good doctors.” Gemma glaring at the operating door doesn’t hurt either.

Feeling eyes on me, I glance up to find Clay watching us.

He could never understand this little family of four we’re building.

He’s always been … self-motivated.

I know how precious true family is, and I’ll cherish every moment of it I experience.

“Looks like you got this under control, brother. I’m going to check in on our other problems,” Clay says. “You stay here and keep me posted.”

“Aye.” He slinks away with Bobby following him, and I refocus on the girls in my arms who’ve seen their lives turned upside down in less than forty-eight hours.

“Come on, loves, let’s go take a seat.” I guide them to the chairs and sink down with both of them still attached. Stroking my hand over their hair, I lean my head back against the wall and settle in for what I know will be a lengthy wait.

“It feels like it’s taking a really long time,” Lee mumbles.

“Means they’re making sure to do it right,” I whisper.

“He’d know. He was a medic,” Journee says, working to soothe her wife’s nerves. I feel the slight tremor in her body that tells me she’s struggling to believe her own words.

“I hope so,” Lee whispers, glancing back towards the operating room doors.

“We can’t lose another Teller like this,” Journee’s voice waivers.

“Nah, that’s not going to happen. You need a nephew to raise your kid up with,” Lee whispers, lending comfort.

Journee sniffles and reaches across me to twine her fingers with Lee’s.

The girls both rest their heads against my chest and I let my fingers weave into their hair and massage their scalps.

Both of them release deep sighs and snuggle closer.

I know neither of them got much extra sleep this morning, despite their attempt.

And with the way the adrenaline has been coming and going it’s only a matter of time till their bodies grow heavy and their breathing grows even.

Gemma walks over to us sometime later and smiles.

“Always been attached at the damn hip,” she says softly.

I peer down and note the girls have fallen into a troubled sleep.

“Aye. How you doing, Ma?”

She shakes her head. “If that bitch isn’t dead, she’s going to wish she was when I’m done with her.”

I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about.

“Has there been any news on her?”

Gemma shakes her head.

“Not yet. Wish they’d come and tell me I never have to worry about her again.” She sighs.

Turning to look at me, she gives me those narrowed whiskey-colored eyes.

She’s been brewing something in that big brain of hers and it’s either gonna be really good for me or about to make me very uncomfortable.

“You’re good for my daughter. I worried I might never see that kind of joy in her eyes again. She was always my sweet baby. Kind-hearted and open. Not naïve, but a little too optimistic. I tried to train it outta her, but never could. Then I went and got used to it.” She gives a throaty chuckle and shakes her head.

“Seeing it crushed under the boot heels of some fucking traitor like Hobart. That shit hurt deep.” She narrows her gaze. “I ain’t never going through that again, am I?”

I’m wondering why she’s waited till now to have this convo with me and not before the wedding, but I know better than to question the Queen.

“No, ma’am.” I answer honestly.

She nods her head. “Good.” She smiles. “Give me a grandbaby, and you and I will be golden.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Yeah, I heard that for myself, Daddy,” she says sarcastically.

I grin unashamed. I’ll never be embarrassed about anything that Mo and I do.

A throat clears, and we both look up.

“He made it.”

Gemma grins, and I gently rock the girls to wake them.

“Wait, they’re doing the crow thing now?” Tara whispers.

“Another comment like that, and I’ll forget you just helped save my grandchild,” Gemma snaps.

“Journee is me wife and me old lady.” I glance down at Lee, who’s blinking up at me before I direct the wide smile I know gets under people’s skin at Tara.

“And I’ll let Leelove inform you about her new position.”

“Whas going on, Daddy?” Journee whispers.

“Abel made it through the first surgery, loves,” I whisper.

They’re out of my arms and jumping up and down like a pair of high school cheerleaders.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Tara cautions.

The girls turn to her with a look of disgust.

“Always the buzzkill,” Lee mumbles.

Tara clears her throat. “Wendy Case is also awake.”

“Trust me. You don’t want us to go see Wendy right now,” Gemma says.

“She’s going to need support to beat this—.”

The girls look at each other and burst out laughing.

Tara’s face falls.

“Ya have ta want help t’get it. Yew’ve missed a lot. So yer speaking on things ya Cannae understand.”

“We’re talking about decent human kindness,” Tara says, exasperated.

“There are so many things you’ve grown out of touch with Knowles. I’d list them for you, but we’ve got far better things to do right now,” Gemma says as her fingers fly over the keyboard. My phone vibrates, and I know she’s sent a club update.

When my phone begins to ring, Mo huffs and pouts.

“Yeah?”

“Time for church, Chibby. We learned a few things,” Tig says.

“On my way in. Bring the girls?” I ask.

Gemma shakes her head. “We have got to get a handle on Jax’s house for important reasons.”

I nod my head. “Need you to send a prospect to Jax’s old house for the girls.”

“He’ll be waiting for them,” Tig says.

“Appreciate it, Tigger.”

“You know they’re my girls too.”

“Aye. I know.” I disconnect.

“Duty calls, ladies, but there’ll be a prospect awaiting your arrival.

“The one who doesn’t eat meat?” Gemma wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t trust a man who doesn’t eat meat. Don’t patch him in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when it comes time to vote.”

“Always liked you, Scottie.”

“Such a suck-up,” Journee teases.

I wink at her. Cupping the back of her neck, I pull her into a kiss. I savor her taste and softness before I pull away.

“One of us will come to bring you home if the prospect doesn’t. yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I pat her ass. “There’s a good lass.”

“Fill me in on my grandson before we leave, Knowles,” Gemma says, taking her aside as I pull away for Mo.

“Stay safe, Filip.”

“Always Mo Astor.”

***

Church is a different experience now that I have something more than the club and its secrets to protect. I know retaliation is coming with the Mayans, and now with Wendy’s bullshit, we’re looking into the Nords. It’s like placing a fucking target on my back, and yet, I can’t show the way I feel in any way. Not at the table in front of mixed company. The Nords only have about sixteen guys, but with their leader, Darby, out of jail and ready to make his presence known, we’re looking at brawn over brain action happening. We’ve turned a blind eye to the meth labs they run out of Lodi, but that was when they sold to truckers and Hispanic gangs. This is hitting too close to home.

“How’s his guy doing?” Clay asks.

I focus back on the conversation going on around me.

“Fractured cheek, broken nose, left nut swinging solo.” Juicy informs us with a smirk.

“Yes, it was beautiful!” I crow. “That’s my boy!” I let the laughter I don’t feel flow. I’m damn used to pretending.

“He’s lucky he’s breathing,” Jackie boy growls. I know he means every word.

“So, uh, any luck up north?” Clay asks, turning his attention to Happy, who we’d called in to try to replace our missing hardware.

“Tacoma can help with the Glocks, but there’s no M4s anywhere. Washington State, Oregon, Nevada, nobody’s got stock, man.”

Fucking perfect.

“We’ll have all the Mayan intel by the morning. We’ll get our guns back.” Jax says, turning to look at Juicy.

Juice nods.

They downplay how much good he’s done for our club but without him, we’d still be in the dark playing guessing games.

They start to conclude with treasury talk and other bullshit.

I’m counting down until I can get home to my wife.

“All right, all right. Anything else?” Clay asks. Finally.

“Yeah, I, uh, just wanna say to Jackson on a club level,” Piney begins. I sit up. He doesn’t do speeches often. “The Sons of Anarchy, the Redwood Original, is here for you. Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become, you know. Every time I see you sitting at this table, well, I do a double-take at you.”

“It’s probably just the weed Pop,” Opie says, lightening the mood.

Piney gives a chuckle. “Probably. I mean, he’s... Anyway, whatever you need, son, it’s yours.” The man’s old school. He understands what loyalty means. For people like him and me, the club is about the family we’ve chosen for ourselves, not the bullshit that comes with it.

“Thank you, Piney. Thanks, boys,” Jax says. I nod my head at him. He knows all he has to do is ask me.

“Meeting closed.”

Now I pay my dues, shoot the shit, and bide my time. The clubhouse doesn’t hold the same lure it used to.

“What the hell is that smell?” Clay asks.

“I don’t know. God, if I know. I smell it too,” Bobby says.

I tense up. The last thing we need to do is find a fucking dead Crow. With the way they do drugs, it’s happened before.

They walk around sniffing. Clay comes to the pool table. Shit. Which one is it this time? Peggy’s been hitting the coke pretty hard for someone her age.

“It’s that box,” Clay says.

“What is it?” Bobby asks.

“I don’t know,” Clay says. Clay opens the box, and the scent rushes toward us.

I gag when I see the decapitated deer head.

What the feck is this horse shite?

“Hey, that’s mine.”

Oh, for fucks sake.

I shake my head as my damn prospect rushes over, proud as shit, and lifts the rotting head up.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Bobby asks, covering his nose and mouth. Even Piney, with his oxygen tubes, tries to plug up his nostrils.

“No, I just—You know, I thought it was like a surprise. We could mount it in the club. You know, like on the wall.

“It’s gotta be stuffed and treated, you idiot,” Jax says.

“Yeah, I know, I just... Stuffed with what?” he asks. Fucking hell, why am I in charge of this blundering idiot? Assholes assigned him to me while I was on me honeymoon with Mo Astor. Jealous, vindictive bastards.

“Got a real winner there,” Jax says.

“Feck off.” I nudge him playfully with my elbow, and he gives me a small smile.

“Jax.”

“Gotta go, Duty calls,” He says, nodding his head toward Clay.

“Good speed, brother.”

I join Tig at the bar, positioned where I can watch Jax. He’s not himself right now, and he’s got a lot to lose.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Jax Teller #chibs telford #Mo Astor

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mikel-rarez-blog · 6 years

Text

BERLIN [1]

It’s been almost a week and I haven’t been able to dissect between what really occurred and what was only true according to my besmirched psyche.

The second night I was convinced I was the king of this newly conquered land, I was the legend that people never forget though they may not possess all the right details – that is the simple truth for simple minds.

I’ve been trying to seize the exact moment when it had happened. Unfortunately, I haven’t been lucky in doing so. My thoughts are still entangled and scattered, irremediably displaced and disturbed; I’ve pondered over them time and time again, however, I’m still left hanging.

The past four days have been an excess of everything, just too much. My nervous system imploded and I was left thinking everybody hated me, they kept saying I was a user and that I wasn’t worth more than any of them in the real world. I was lucky my host wouldn’t just kick me out; he either did care a bit for me or he didn’t want any police problems, I was leaning towards the latter, though he kept telling me everything was ok, don’t worry, I understand.

I just don’t quite believe it.

…

Yesterday we did nothing other than having lunch.

My host wouldn’t say much; he made sure his mouth was full every time I attempted to even look sideways. Although, when I did manage to blurt out a question, he would respond enthusiastically.

I sought to divert from what my gut kept whispering with such intensity. I persisted in failing though.

One moment, I heard my host on the phone pouring scorn on me for not leaving. As I returned to the living area, he welcomed me with the friendliest of smiles.

And how could I mistrust those beautifully carved teeth?

…

I was still afflicted by the previous nights.

I had chiselled my own sepulchre in a city so foreign to what I was used to. I had thought I would be able to handle me dwindling from above while attempting to forsake that mindless shadow who claimed to be better than its real self.

Boy was I wrong.

And who would give a damn? The contradiction was just too great for anyone to even fathom.

I know I wouldn’t give it a thought.

…

My host had invited two boys over, they played and it had sounded real hard and extremely rough, the way I like it. Unfortunately, my body couldn’t have taken any more; I had to take a breather and rest, at least try.

To add to my agitation, I could barely sleep. Their voices rushed on through me like fiery spears, they hurt so badly. They had been mean, cruel, and rash. They pulverised my heart, for what they had spat like venom seemed the truth.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a clown; this is all a theatre for him. He thinks I don’t know but I do. We met once and then he says he’s moving to my city. How stupid does he think I am? He’s waiting for me to hand over the keys. How disappointed will he be! I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“He told me some conflicting stories also, I mean, how is it possible for someone to have three degrees, be under 30 and not have a job. And he says he’s applying to university here. That just doesn’t add up, he doesn’t seem that bright.”

“And what about the feet thing, they stink and he wouldn’t show them to either of us. What’s that about?”

“Maybe his toes are deformed?”

“No, that’s how he hides his addiction.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, his type of junkie, they shoot themselves and try to hide it. I bet you that’s what he doesn’t want us to see, the infection marks between his toes.”

Only one of those statements was true and after having heard their tirade I know that even if I showed them proof, they wouldn’t buy it. I had been everything but the regular me. I couldn’t form a proper phrase. I was clumsier than usual, and after day two I was even more socially awkward than my regular self, which is already quite abnormal and strange.

I had chiselled my own sepulchre in a city so foreign to what I was used to. I had thought I would be able to handle me going to the limit and trying to be someone who in his mind was better than his real self. Boy was I wrong. And they wouldn’t believe me; the contradiction was just too great for anyone to even fathom. I know I wouldn’t give it a thought.

I had shown the worst of me, and that’ll keep haunting me.

…

Fall asleep, fall asleep, fall asleep, FALL ASLEEP, FALL ASLEEP, just FALL…

…

Before their rant had come to be I had been fine, more than fine.

Up until the moment my host asked me if I was ok I had been horny as hell; eventually he answered himself saying I wasn’t. Soon after I lost myself.

I tore myself to pieces. I had been reciting silently how OK I was, how in control I was, what a better man I was; it turned out I was wrong. My host had seen through me and with only three words he had dismantled me. NowI know that was the moment, when I started to descend.

The image stuck in my mind, me realising the life I was used to having was no more and by me deciding on not turning back I may have just as well condemned what was to come. I might have destroyed that which had made me content with who I am.

I’ve been a fool for so long, thinking I could escape my previous life, my previous man, my so constant despair.

I remember writing to him before it all got blurry. I remember him answering and telling me everything was great. I remember feeling sad and devastated we could not be together. I remember being upset he had not chosen me. I remember being crushed he would not acknowledge me.

I remember not being there.

…

Half asleep I wandered across my host’s flat. The boys weren’t done playing just yet; they were nowhere near finishing.

I don’t recall much but the imprint of the two small and slim boys all tight up, one looking at the ceiling, face covered with white plastic, and the other one looking down, his bare ass pointing to the sky or rather to my host’s greedy fists. Both of them were as silent as a grave, my feet stumbled noisily, the noisiest they had ever been.

My funebrial walk to the bathroom had been a success.

…

“Should we go over and take his socks off? Let’s uncover him!”

“Shh! He’s not really sleeping. Look, he’s faking it.”

FALL ASLEEP, FALL ASLEEP, FALL ASLEEP, FALL ASLEEP…

…

TO BE CONTINUED

#shortstory

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