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chrisandherworks · 2 years

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𝓐𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓶: 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮 | 𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 (18+)

After years of writing vampire fanfiction, I decided to jump in and write my own series. Please, read the warnings below. Hope you enjoy!

MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS STORY.

Chapter I (next chapter)

Wordcount: 2,5k words

Warnings: s*xual harassment, minor character death, violence, blood, fatphobia/body-shaming, racism, strong language.

BELLS

Something moved behind that dumpster; it definitely was not human.

Shards of glass, broken syringes and pieces of the surrounding rotten buildings crowded the alley. Some segments of a broken fence tried to keep unwelcome visitors away from the abandoned hospital’s yard. Once it held a high status, now it was standing on remaining memories. Fragments of murmurs and whimpers hung in the air, that’s all that could be heard in a neighbourhood such as the Needles. These sounds and the one coming from behind the dumpster.

Bells’ hands clenched the straps of her backpack, or what remained of it, sweating and staining. She was standing near, wanting to dive in and maybe find dinner for tonight. She hoped for a glimpse of luck.

Yet, her feet were cemented in the ground. All she could do was wait.

What if it’s one of those? The sightings became more and more regular. I have no weapon.

All that could be found around were bricks, smashed bottles of beer-

Yes, a brick.

She slowly bent down, rough hand trying to grab it. As soon as her fingers clawed around it, Bells rose to her feet. No sound, no whispers. Putrid was rising, clouding the midnight air.

That’s when it moved. The big, fat rodent made its way out of there with a piece of sausage in its mouth, abandoning Bells.

Damn it.

She got scared by a fucking rat. Now she will get to eat sleep for dinner. Fucking hell.

“Shit!”

She threw the brick away, her grumbling stomach was not helping either. All she could do was nervously grab some strands of her raven locks. There was no time to waste with childish fears, bedtime stories.

Nightwalkers are not a thing. Get your shit together.

Her hands found the sides of the dumpster quickly and she threw her whole body weight between opened plastic bags. When you find a roof over your head in a place like the Needles, you have two options: eat or get eaten. Some people get to live in better places around Arcpool - the Beetles for the rich, the Tweedles for the middle class and what remains of that stays in the Needles. All of the bad things stay here. That is the order of things.

Arcpool, the unwelcoming house of capitalism, was a city built on the remains of three villages that were the inspiration for the three distinct urban areas.

Doctors, lawyers, engineers and businessmen get to eat wagyu steaks after golf matches in the Beetles. Their wives sunbathe under rays of their own pollution, wearing enough sunscreen to cover their plastic bodies. Kens and Barbies get to rule this city.

Other people have quiet family dinners and watch TV-shows right after church in the early Sunday afternoons. Average lives for average people, that’s the Tweedles life.

The leftovers, like Bells, get to look for leftovers in dumpsters that conquer the Needles.

She used to live at the border between Tweedles and Needles. Nights used to be much more peaceful there, but peace never stayed with her. She lost her job two months ago, her rent one month ago and nothing else could be done. Her roommate bailed on her. Erin, that damned Erin.

Now her hands were filled with an expired, half-opened bean can and a piece of cheese that somehow was spared from the wrath of the rodents. Protectively placing the goods in her bag, she made her way out of that alley.

The street lamps barely worked, which allowed shadows to play around, unbothered in the darkness. They were always whispering unholy things that Bells’ ears chose to ignore. By walking two different streets and turning one corner, the shadows could no longer say anything. The bright red lights of Magnolia Motel invited outsiders in and scared the locals. 3 floors build in the most mysterious ways represented home to many people: drug dealers, drug addicts, prostitutes, gang members and people like the girl that chose to go dumpster diving just to be able to pay for another night. It was one of the few places in this neighbourhood where people actually got clean water and heat, all being managed by Mr. Cho. That kind, yet somehow frightful man, always found a way to keep his motel safe. The biggest investition of his life allowed him to put food on the table for his own family, by wearing a smile and having a hand of steel.

Everytime Bells would come back late at night, he would silently sit at the reception. His eyes could be focused on six different tasks at once, yet he could always see right through her. Maybe he was an intuitive man or maybe he learnt this ability by having three daughters. The smell was bearable, but Mr. Cho’s stare was not. Even his hearing could hear right through her. There was something peaceful about this old, scary man that owned a motel in the worst neighbourhood imaginable.

“Arriving late again?” his stare didn’t leave the papers he was signing.

Bells turned her heels, right before walking the first couple of steps.

“Didn’t know there was a curfew.”

“There isn’t.”

“Then why are you asking me that?”

“A poor, old man is not allowed to be curious, Miss Bells?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just none of your business.”

“Nothing that happens in here is ever my business. Why would something that happens outside could ever by my business?”

He was right, nothing was ever his business. Just the motel, not actually what happened inside of it, considering the people that lived there.

“I don’t know. A poor, young girl is not allowed to be curious, Mr. Cho?”

“Good night, Miss Bells.”

“Night’.”

That memory was now replaying inside her imagination like a broken record.

In front of Magnolia Motel, six shadows dared to stand tall. Cigarette smoke came out of their breaths. They were no longer afraid of the crimson lights, because the two O’s and magnolia flower were out. The lights inside the upper floors were out as well. The wooden door was unhinged, leaving the reception unprotected. Leaving Mr. Cho unprotected. The reception’s lightbulb was throbbing in despair, trying to breathe during its last moments.

It went on. It went out. It went on. It went out. Images of light and dark were playing and replaying, it was like sitting in the front row at the cinema. Mute films were filling the silence. Everything was reflected in Bells’ eyes; blue turned red. Bloody handprints stained the walls, red waves coating the baseball bats held by the strangers.

Just red.

Mr. Cho was coated in red, sitting at the unwary reception. Or what remained of him. It was the first time she saw his eyes not looking down at that desk. His lifeless orbs were staring right through her.

They were red.

The reception was red.

He was red.

“That fucking gaffer thought no one could ever get through a fucking plastic safe.”

“Bet ya’ ass that it’s made in China,” they all bursted in a laugh. The only one that didn’t laugh at first had a sudden smile creep on his face. It revealed his golden teeth.

“Was made in China, Remy. I fucking smashed his face into it.” He brought the bloody bat a little too close to his subordinate’s face. Remy could only stare at the hammered nails that decorated the dirty weapon.

“Yeah, boss, you are right! Always right!” another one approved.

Remy shook his head, the boss was always right. Especially when someone as feral as Goldie was your boss.

“Should we play rugby with his head?” the tallest asked.

“After you do it, send it to his family.” the boss replied and finished his cigarette, his gaze catching the figure staring at them.

Bells was standing too close to this whole scene. She saw it all. And they saw her too, turning their heads in unison like crows. The mute film turned into a play of tragedy.

Her legs were no longer cemented like before, because they weren’t creatures of the night that wanted to chase her down for a drip of blood. They were humans and she knew how cruel humans can be. They were monsters.

“Get that bitch!”

Bells’ sneakers were burning over the pavement. Her body moved impulsively between dumpsters, storming the way she came before. It was like a sickness infected Lotus’ Motel and it was now spreading everywhere. Structures were dancing under the throbbing of the street lights, inside the girl’s brain everything was going upside down. Shadows were following, running after her. No, men were chasing her.

Eat or get eaten.

She sprinted through the familiar alley. Her breath was shaking, her heart was close to jumping out of her chest. Her fingers found the wire fence of the hospital. Trembling, she climbed the safest part of it and jumped over. The steps were getting too close. An echo of bats swinging in the air was scratching her ears.

“There she is! That fat bitch fucking climbed it!”

“Let’s tear it down.”

“We are gonna cut ourselves!”

“Jay, are you crazy? She’ll escape us!”

“You really think that?”

Their voices tuned out as Bells picked herself up and tried to find a way around or inside the hospital. Her clothes were filled with mud, half of her belongings were lost during the chase, spread around the streets like gingerbread. Her incoherent breaths were not getting any better. All that her eyes could find were hammered pieces of wood, no possible entrance. She grabbed one, finding some of her last strength. She had to tear it down. She had no weapon.

Why did I leave the fucking brick there?

Bells didn’t have a chance to turn around on her own, because one of them grabbed a handful of her dark hair. She screamed out of her lungs.

“Y’all hearing this bitch? She thinks somebody is gonna hear her,” he started to laugh as he yanked her even harder. She struggled to escape his grip, but the bat that came too close to her throat stopped her. The nails were digging in her neck.

Their leader bent down, grabbing her whole face. “You are a feisty one, aren’t you?” His golden teeth shone even in the darkest time of night. She stopped for a moment like a wild animal facing the headlights of a car. She shook her head obediently.

”No? How come?” It was silent for a second.

You ugly ass bitch.

Then she bit him.

“Fucking bitch!” his other hand glued instantly to her left cheek, leaving her with a red mark. “She might have given me rabies. Do what you want with her, Cho’s blood is already all over me.”

Goldie stepped back in the shadows and started cleaning his hands with a dirty napkin that was not doing even half of its job.

“Damn, Jay, I do love a fat bitch. Wonder if I could start with her toes first?”

He swung his bat around like a dog moving its tail, having a taste of his fantasy on the tip of his tongue.

“Remy, you fucking weirdo! Don’t talk about feet.”

Jay, the one that held her, moved her around like a puppet, allowing Remy and the others to spit on her.

“I wanna undress her first.”

“Ha! She doesn’t deserve the nice guy treatment!”

As the men were bickering, Bells’ eyes started to fill with tears. Her face was now a mix of shame, spit was coating her eyes.

“Aww! Is the fat baby going to cry? Are you gonna cry now? You worthless fucking cunt!”

No sound came out of her lips. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to scream again. She wanted to. She wanted not to be afraid of them. Instead, her attention was grabbed by the lifeless head that rolled out of the shadows. No sound came from him either, no more at least. Goldie’s teeth stopped shining, no more greedy smiles.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“I DON’T KNOW MAN, I DON’T KNOW!”

They all jumped back.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

The four remaining rushed to check what happened while Jay was still holding her firmly. That was when the night’s smoke moved around them. It was huge, it clouded everything. It was above everything.

“I can’t get his gold teeth, I want his teeth! I’ve always wanted them!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“What the fuck is tha-”

Something ripped Remy’s head out of his body, only with its teeth. Only with its teeth. The corpse fell on the ground, leaving the others stunned, no time to react. A flood of crimson started to drown them. Screams of terror were mixing in with the thick midnight air. The bats became worthless pieces of wood, they didn’t even have time to properly swing them around. The sounds coming out of them left mixed feelings inside of Bells.

Why is a part of me not feeling bad for them?

By second, they all fell down like feathers. Jay’s grip started to lighten, he could no longer keep on the brave appearance, not in front of something like that.

“YOU KNOW WHAT? HAVE HER, I DON’T NEED HER!” He runned towards the only exit, but a flash of nothing stopped him. His bat fell out of his hand.

It grabbed Jay by the neck, lifting him up. It didn’t even bother to use its teeth on him, it just choked him until his voice could no longer phantom the night.

The harshness of Jay’s hands was still ghosting Bells’ body as she cleaned her view with the back of her hoodie. It was a mirage, it had to be. He fell like the others, just a feather touching the ground. She fell too, but not like them.

This time she didn’t scream. She was too afraid to. She was holding herself tightly, trying to seem invisible in front of danger.

Only if she could be part of the ground now. Or soon she would be.

This time, Bells’ whole body was cemented, a rock at the bottom of the ocean. But the smoke, the shadow of shadows started to become the outline of a man. Or of something that resembled a man. She heard about them; bedtime stories, the monsters hiding inside her closet or under the bed were never supposed to become real. She always believed that monsters were actually humans and creatures were creatures. She never thought she would ever get to see one of them in her lifetime, what remained of it at least. Her blood was boiling in her veins, it was preparing itself for what was about to come.

Nightwalker.

Yet, he didn’t even bother to come closer. Thoughts could only dream of wandering around the fields of her mind. She caught his cold gaze for a split second. Sharp dark eyes stole a glimpse of her soul.

Then he faded in the harsh, putrid air. He came in as smoke, he stayed as the thunder of a storm and he went away like a summer breeze. Feathers and dirty posters moved around Bells, circling her like wolves. Her eyes were clear now, one even caught her hazy attention:

Looking for blood donors. Fair price, good payment. At the X Mansion.

If interested, please contact the following phone number:

(666) XXX-XXXX

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

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I just binged read all of your society au rants and I NEED MORE!

(Also for some reason I wasn’t subscribed to you, even though I know I was before, so like rude. I’m blaming a random glitch)

anon calling following ‘subscribed’ destroyed my mortal body on impact I want you to live with this knowledge

also yes I always have things to say on the Society >:3

Luz WILL pet the horrifyingly mutated animal that looks like it could have rabies and no you CANNOT stop her. Eda at this point is convinced Luz has some mutated DNA or blood cells at this point by how often shes gotten bitten by these animals and come out completely fine. granted shes pretty sure all of them are a little mutated in some form

they once found one of those small planes that only fit like 2 people and are just a bit bigger than a car and Luz & Gus looked at each other for 0.5 seconds before deciding “yeah we’re making that puppy FLY” and it became a mini project for a while to get it to work. they used King as a test dummy bc the little bastard is basically a cockroach. Luz is insistent that if they get it working enough they can escape basically anyone and even get over the fences. Willow reasons that they could still shoot at the plane and if they realize they have an aircraft, they’ll probably bring in shit like jets and helicopters and they REALLY dont want that. will this stop them? absolutely not

the scientists in the lab like. grow things. living meat thingies. its weird and Lilith is part of the people who injects random cells and stuff into them. Eda was starving and stuck in one of the labs once and fished out one of the hunks of meat and was about 1/3rd of the way through eating it before Amity popped in on patrol, stared at her for a moment, then said “thats...thats not......please spit that out”

Amity: why are you the way that you are Luz, currently scrambling like a drowned rat out of a half-flooded lab after having a fistfight with whatever loch ness abomination lived inside it bc it was ‘being rude’: I think I was just born like this tbh

Camila has late shifts so she comes home late and when she checks on Luz its already way past when she should be asleep but Luz usually leaves a dummy under her covers so her mom doesn’t worry and has been away from home for as long as a week at a time without even making a quick pitstop. though usually its not that long and is 3-4 days at max. Camila discovered it was a dummy once and went “oh she is in SO much trouble” but Luz didn’t come back in the mourning so she started freaking out. Viney, who spends most of her time actually in the town, caught wind of it and sent a message to Luz like “uh hey,,,,yr mom knows yr not home” and Luz BOOKED IT back. gave some excuse that she was off exploring and lost track of time and fell asleep in some old building and she was grounded for a whole month. did she still sneak out? absolutely. was she still guilt-ridden and on the brink of confessing everything to her mom for Weeks afterwards? also yes

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powerosewaterpuff · 4 years

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yo ,i remember a post about sort of reverse batfam , between jason and dick , can you do the headcanons about under the red hood please

yes yes yes yes yes and another yes to top it all off. i really really love the idea, and i love under the red hood in general so thank u so much for suggesting this :) like i spent all day brainstorming (probs shoulda been studying but shhhhh) diff headcanons so i’m pretty excited to write it out. also so the timeline with this is a little tight ig?? i really wanted to include tim as bruce’s new sidekick with dick in the middle of his fallout with bruce but again a lil too tight so we’re just gonna have rebellious dick for now and i also haven’t watched death in the family so i’m basing this purely off of under the red hood :) (oh and fuck dick’s hair in the movie oh my god i’m ignoring that it even exists i’m so sorry)

dick is 17 on the cusp of hitting 18 and he’s so fucking sick of batman. every conversation of theirs was leading to a screaming match where each one tries to push their opinion as fact. it was getting messy and soul crushing at this point, and dick hated it. the rising action of it all was dick getting fired from robin, a role he hadn’t even been formally granted by batman yet he felt it in his power to strip him of it. he felt like a pawn in a chess game that gambled his identity and being off of the mind numbing mantra of be better. do better. faster. punch harder. follow orders. be better be better better. and dick was sick of it, so he shed the robin uniform. swallowing it like a bitter pill because he was forced to do so. but nightwing was giving him clarity as of late. the sheer rush, brilliance and exuberance of it all reminded him of when flying was a much simpler task.

however, dick had an annoyingly unwavering loyalty to protecting bruce’s (less batman then bruce. bruce was his father. batman was not. yet nowadays the man himself was forgetting who exactly was the secret identity and who the real person was.) safety and well-being, even if it meant risking another shouting round. so, once dick catches wind of batman’s whereabouts for the night, he decides to help him with Amazo etc., and dick cant help but realize how well they still mesh together when it comes to fighting. the talking part however, did not come naturally anymore. (it used to. it used to be so much easier)

now bruce, is attempting his best to keep dick out of the loop. he knows dick will furious. and dick’s temper is something not many can tame, but bruce would take the risk. he’d rather dick spit on his memory then be dead in his arms (just like jason was, blown to bits when he should’ve been in his room. safe. sleeping after studying for some test not fighting crime with him in the underbelly of Gotham city, or getting dragged along bruce’s self induced fight with the world.)

dick, of course, does not appreciate this and can very easily tell the bruce is trying to get him off the case. dick doesn’t appreciate that in the slightest, and it only makes him want to push more. to fight bruce on every detail and demand he be apart of this because that’s the only way he can get anywhere with him. it was fair to say, that the interrogation with the joker he had to force bruce into taking him too, wasn’t exactly pleasant. he watches, leaning back against the wall as batman has joker by the neck. some part of him hates himself for not being upset about this, like he’s failing his moral code in some way. but he ignores that half, and tries not to feel angry as bruce doesn’t choke joker out like the rat he is. dick wished, in the darkest parts of his mind, that he could burn joker alive, just to watch in vengeful satisfaction that the man who stole his brothers breath wither in pain. ( and watch that fucking laugh die out)

now, the confrontation goes quite similar. except dick is noticing these little things that resemble jason too much it be a coincidence. too much. he knows how jason fights, he’s sparred with him for years and used to spend countless nights in his room trying to emulate his older brothers swift and hard hitting movements in front of his mirror. he always wished he could hit as hard as jason, as dicks strength at the time was his inhuman flexiblity and professional acrobatic skills. now, when he and batman are against the red hood, fuck it doesn’t feel right to dick. it’s all too similar. it wasn’t even the bigger moves that caught his attention but the little moves in stance that screamed at him that it was his brother. he kept shutting the idea down, because if it was possible dick would have made it happen. he would’ve.

dick gets hurt in the aftermath, but bruce must be a fucking comedian if he thinks it’s going to stop him. they get into another argument, bruce talking him down to nothing and dick frustrated that bruce couldn’t see that he’s been doing this for too long to be lectured on it, and that bruce wasn’t atlas. he wasn’t responsible for the world being held up between his two hands. it simmers down to loud silence, like it always does and dick hobbles out. leaning slightly on alfred.

bruce’s hunch is eating him alive. devouring his soul and heart with a satisfying crunch, not sparing crumb. with the revelation that his son could be alive, and the Red Hood of all people, one of the first thoughts that run through his mind is that he could not tell dick. dick could never know, and will never know. it was a hushed promise, one kept inside his chest, locked like all of his unspoken words. it would crush dick, just like it was crushing bruce now. (or maybe it was because if bruce was on the fence about breaking his moral agenda, he knows that dick would hurdle over that fence. he hates that he knows this but he does. dick wears a bleeding heart on his sleeve for his family, especially for jason. this is the same boy that was set on killing zucco all those years ago before jason and him had stopped it.)

(jason’s tasting bitter green as he mulls over why the fuck dick was there. that little idiot was supposed to be at home. safe. not carrying out bruce’s destructive agenda of self proclaimed justice. he didn’t know whether to be mad at bruce or dick. because of course bruce encouraged this shit, eager to force another child soldier into the suit and send him out to die. but God, did it hurt that dick had taken bruce’s side over his even if he didn’t know it was jason. and that stung like a motherfucker. his little brother, whose fond memories were becoming hazed in a cloud of viridecent smoke, had picked bruce’s side. a little part of himself though, shy and hesitant, whispered that he had hurt dick. he had hurt his little brother and he couldn’t justify it no matter how vengeful he was. but he shoved that part aside, trying to ignore its desperate murmurs as they told him that every time he looked at nightwing or whatever the fuck his new name was, he saw his eight year old little brother smiling up at him).

dick knows that bruce thinks he’s covering his tracks well. he is but dick knows bruce, better then bruce thinks he does. so dick is slowly beginning to formulate a hunch of his own, as he spends countless nights rubbing his formerly injured leg and wondering if he really did everything he could’ve to save jason. if there was something he missed. it’s starting to gnaw away at him, until realization settles into his chest after snooping through bruce’s files. then, he’s dashing to get into uniform, giving a breathless and hasty apology to alfred. itsjasonitsjasonitsjasongogogorunrunrun

batman. red hood. bruce. jason. father. son. bruce cannot stomach the vigor in jason’s words and jason’s heart is giving out at the fact that his father won’t do this for him. to end that pathetic excuse of a fucking life, one that’s stolen from so many people, but it still wasn’t up to his moral standards limit. was jason not enough to warrant a sacrifice for the greater good. (was jason’s desperate need to feel safe of that walking nightmare not worthy to overtake any mission)

it happens in a rush. dick is swinging up to the building, the blood pumping through his ears drowning out the screams of his chest. the joker tackles batman as the timer tick tick tick’s away numbingly. suddenly, dick has kicked the joker off and has one hand over his neck while the other smothers itself over his mouth and nose. why didn’t he do this before? why didn’t he kill the thing before? it didn’t even deserve to be called human, so why would any moral standards apply to a human based code. if batman wanted to be the whole representer of pure justice, fine. he could do that. dick wasn’t though. he was going this kill piece of shit then never let go of jason as long as he lived.

suddenly, there’s a pull at the back of dick’s uniform and at the corner of his eye he catches sight of jason being pulled by bruce as well and he’s just about to call out for him when the next thing he knows a blast rockets through his ears and the world goes black.

jason was no where to be found. and bruce ends up having to shove dick into the batmobile before he lunged after the joker, after realizing jason was missing and that the joker was still alive and kicking. the argument that insues? isn’t pretty. in fact it’s their worst. dick had spun around and asked bruce, ‘who are you? batman or bruce? because im not talking to batman, i want to hear why bruce couldn’t do the one thing his son needed! i want to know why bruce thought it was going to be beneficial not to fucking tell me that my brother-Bruce, he’s my brother! that he was alive, because you thought I was gonna pull shit like this? look at that! the exact thing you tried to avoid happened, you know why? because you cannot trust me, and it blew up in your face!’

it goes on. and on. and on. there’s no resolution, or admittance to what happened. bruce simply shuts himself down, stating this wasn’t changing anything. there was a then and a now, one in which bruce harbours enough guilt to crush his shoulders.

there’s a stony resolution in dick’s voice after bruce tells him to get out with more finality to it then he’s ever said it before, when he says, “fine. batman.”

(jason replays it over and over again in his head. the batarang. bruce turning his back to him. the jokers screechy laugh eating at his mind. eruptions of pain from the crowbar. again. again. again. and dick. smothering the joker. a steely resolve in his brothers eyes he never wanted to see but was secretly glad for. it replays like a broken film in his head, cutting and chopping but creaking out the same tune.)

AHHH OK SO i def wanted to do so much more with this ugh but i really wanted it done td so excuse just how unpolished it is, i might go back with some new ideas in it, but i like where i ended it off. this is more or less the ‘detachment’ phase in dick’s relationship with bruce, as hes nearing the end of high school and cannot do this with bruce anymore (oh college is a whooole other ordeal hehe) but i think dick would be better to tim then what he canonically was to jason. (also because dick is totally not on a mission to get his brother back at all costs and fix this family, nope. not at all.), and i think dick just has a lot more anger in this too? and bitterness here ig? just because he had lost his parents, then his brother essentially, and had to deal with being the emotional support to bruce who was falling apart. it’s a heavy load, and dick is absolutely still himself, just when it comes to jason and the joker as well as his family in general, i think he has a lot more anger as well as less control yk? (oh also i have him less in blüdhaven in this lil thing just bc like he’s still in highschool and is in this weird phase with bruce that hes fired etc., but is now yk fully going into the, ‘i’m not speaking to you anymore’ part. SOO THATS IT FOR THAT THANK YALL SO SOOOO MUCH FOR READING UR KINDA ALL THE BEST TBH AND TYSM FOR THE SUGGESTION AGAIN THIS WAS HELLA FUN :)!!

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hopes4gf · 3 years

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Thievery and Mischief (a marvel/ descendants crossover)

TW: (applies for series: discussions and mentions of rape, underaged sex, cheating, suicide, mental health)

AN: hi! this is a work in progress fanfic i’m uploading in advance of 15 chapters, so please show this some love, also sorry in advance for typos and spelling errors, my grammar is shit ;/ please enjoy!

I was so young. Too young. I didn’t understand why anything happened. I grew up in Agrabah with my parents and my brother, Aziz. But it wasn’t the dream vacation destination everyone in Auradon sought it out to be. It was a wreck. Jafar and Hades had invaded Agrabah and fought against my parents for revenge. Agrabah was damaged after their attack and our government had struggle to repair itself. So we had to live in a semi-permanent safe home for quite some time. By the way, I was also cursed by Jafar as a kid and I could shape shift into a tiger and develop other powers in the future. In my home, Mom was always stressed. Yelling and screaming how we needed to be better than they were to protect our city, especially me with my powers. My brother and I both took fencing classes, martial arts, learn how to shoot, every survival skill in the books before taking boys and girl Royal etiquette classes. Mom was the one who was particularly hard on me and my older brother throughout our childhood. Dad, not so much. He spent a lot of time in meetings in Auradon City. That’s how my first friendships began. He was great friends with King Adam and Queen Belle, elected leaders of Auradon. Ben, their only child was shy around me at first. He was intimidated by my mature stature. He like horses, painting, books, and food. I liked singing, fencing, and dancing but I also had a love for food and books so we got along through those things. We would always talk about the different ingredients in our cultures foods. His French pastries and my Arabian comfort foods. We were an inseparable pair of friends. And then I was introduced to Audrey. She joined our group soon after King Adam and Belle has decided to promise my parents and Audrey’s parents to a trust bond. A promise that would have one of us marry in the future. 9 year old me definitely didn’t want ANYTHING to do with dating my best friend. Neither did Ben. But Audrey, she was so persistent. She would constantly try to grab his attention. She was such a cheeky little girl. Raised to be such a lady compared to my more loose and carefree attitude. Somehow, Ben was happy around her. Our group soon expanded, and I met the greatest person ever. Li Lonnie, my greatest friend ever. Daughter of Fa Mulan and Li Shang, she was like me. Mature, strong, intelligent, and such a beautiful kid. Sure, she didn’t have my hazel eyes but she was such a pretty girl. She spoke so intelligently and when she spoke it was law. She was one of my inspirations as a kid. And still is :)

Time passed and we realized we weren’t kids anymore. My brother had to go away to a school in Auradon. And I was alone soon again. But I had my friends. But my child-like manners went away when I realized it was soon my turn to go to Auradon. So, I ran away. But you’ll hear more about that in the future.

Freshman year of high school. Audrey and Ben has broken off from our group and started dating in High School. Audrey has changed so much. She was such a sweet girl with a big heart but had begun to morph into a self-absorbed teen. Lonnie was still the same kind-hearted best friend. When I arrived in Auradon, I had a familiar face to help me. My cousin, Jordan. Daughter of the Genie. Everyone in that school was so nice that it hurt. My mother had raised me not to believe everything in front of me. But one particular thing or something changed that. A blonde boy with short curly hair and beautiful blue eyes had captured my attention. I still remember when our eyes had locked for the first time in the school courtyard. It was a whole new experience for me. I suddenly felt happy inside. Like a new found confidence in me was discovered. But my cousin Jordan advised me not to approach the boy. Chad Charming, son of Prince Charming and Cinderella. The most popular boy at Auradon Prep. Every girl would fawn over him endlessly. One day I had found a note from him on my lunch tray to meet him in the gardens. I swear we talked for hours about everything. We talked about our dreams, our experiences, our hopes. He made all my dreams happen. I wanted my first date to be at a carnival and he made that happen. I wanted something from the mall and he got it for me. I thought everything with him was just fine. Until that party. Ben had thrown a party for all his friends at Auradon Prep and Chad and I were there. Everyone was drinking except me. Imagine, prestigious kids of Royalty breaking illegal drinking laws. I didn’t know at the time but the punch was spiked heavily with Vodka. I never drank Vodka after that damn party. Jane, the headmistress, Fairy Godmother’s daughter had come to my dorm crying. She kept saying “I can’t take this anymore”. She had gave me the worst news of my life. She had seen Chad take me upstairs while I was drunk and touch me in explicit manners. Essentially, my boyfriend decided to rape me at my best friend’s party. I was sickened by that. And when my family pressed charges and got a restraining order on him, the case ended in a settlement. He didn’t even serve time. Because the judge was a family friend of the Charmings. I was devastated. I cried for weeks. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just cried. Lonnie visited me every day while I was out of school. She had told me that Chad had moved on and was doing perfectly fine. I was miserable for all of Sophmore year.

By the way, my name is Adri Ababwa and I’m the world’s stupidest masterpiece. But you’ll see why later.

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

“Adri,” My best friend, Ben called out.

My eyes widen, suddenly alarmed from my name being called.

“What’s up?” I say striding over to Ben’s side as he looks out the window of his parlor.

”I spoke with my parents about the proclamation,” Ben says.

I roll my eyes, realizing what’s about to happen.

”I told you your idea was stupid. Your dad would never let you bring Villain kids over-“

”They approved it,” Ben says, stopping me between my sentence.

My eyes widen in disbelief.

“Oh. Oh! I guess that’s good for you I guess,” I say nervously.

Ben takes both of my hands in his.

”Listen, I know things were rough for you last year, but this year we need change in this world. And I’m gonna be the one to establish that change,” Ben says.

”Even if that means bringing the daughters of Maleficent and the Evil Queen and the sons of Cruella de Vil and Jafar to Auradon Prep?” I ask nervously.

”What did I say about that?” Ben asks cheekily.

”They’re not their parents,” I reply in a mumble.

”Right,” Ben says, patting my shoulder. Ben opens his mouth to say something but hesitates.

”What?” I ask.

”That‘s why your going to be my advisor,” Ben says.

I take a step back.

”Your crazy but okay,” I giggle.

Ben chuckles softly and goes to the phone to ask his secretary if Audrey is on her way to the room for her Coronation fitting.

I walk through the door and wish Ben good luck.

As I stride down the hall, I hop onto my sticker filled skateboard and race down the halls. I greet the guards surrounding the castle and slide the down the handlebars of the stairs. I see Audrey and stop to walk the rest of the way.

”Adri! It’s a pleasure to see after so long. Out of your depression, I see,” Audrey says snarkily.

”Sure! I’m fine. And I see your makeup is looking as creased as ever,” I reply in the same fashion.

Audrey huffs and rolls her eyes.

I strut off.

”Fucking bitch,” I mutter to myself, hopping on my skateboard and skating back to my dorm.

As soon as I reach my dorm, Fairy Godmother is standing by my door.

“Can you please give me the board?” Fairy Godmother asks.

”Can’t have any fun around here, can I?” I ask, giving her my board for the fifth time this week

“Not for the first week of school. Remember we have-“

”Press coming in to report on the school, I know Jane told me,” I say at the same time as Fairy Godmother.

“Good. Then I’ll see you soon,” Fairy Godmother says dismissing herself.

I turn around and head for the courtyard where I spot Jordan under our gossip tree.

”What’s new, pinky-Lou?” I ask.

”Hey, cuz. Just doing some newspaper projects. I writing about the secret camera web series of our school and the new kids coming to the Isle,” Jordan says.

”Damn, news does travel fast,” I scoff.

”Ben posted an announcement a couple minutes ago,” Jordan says.

I roll my eyes in disbelief.

“What if one of them is cute? You gonna go for it?” Jordan asks cheekily.

”HELL NO. I am never making the same mistake of opening up to a person ever again,” I yell.

”It’s gonna happen...” Jordan says in a song-like manner.

”Shut the fuck up!” I say.

The night I sneak out of my dorm and go to the kitchens to get a snack for Roxie, my baby tiger.

”Insomnia?” A voice says behind me.

I’m startled by the voice and I turn to see Lonnie standing over the counter.

”Yes, you asshole,” I sigh.

Lonnie laughs silently.

”You know someone’s gonna find out that it’s you recording the videos at lunch,” I say.

”Stop it. That’s top secret,” Lonnie says.

”Who cares? Everyone knows that they’re asshole and dickheads anyways. And your very lucky that I haven’t ratted you out to Jordan. She’s persistent,” I say, grabbing some bacon from the fridge and putting it in a pan

”That’s for Roxie, right?” Lonnie asks.

”Maybe not,” I say.

Lonnie laughs and I take a piece of cooked bacon and put it in my mouth.

I hum softly at the taste.

”Hey. Don’t be afraid to talk to me sometimes. Especially after what I saw,” Lonnie says.

Ah. The thing. After some time in my self-quarantine of Sophmore year, I decided it was time for everything in my life to end. So, I grabbed some pills and I did something I regretted. Lonnie saved my life that day. That’s why I love her so much.

“I know, mama,” I say softly as I cook the rest of the bacon.

”You have no idea how much I care, Adri,” Lonnie says, hugging me from behind me.

”Thats probably why I love when you’re around,” I chuckle.

Lonnie lays her head on my shoulder.

”By the way I signed ya up for the welcoming comitee with Audrey,” Lonnie whispers.

”What!” I yell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later...

Someone starts banging heavily on my door. I open my eyes and the sound in my ears clears.

”ADRI! Wake up! Your late for the Vk’s welcoming,” Audrey screams from behind my door.

Maybe I should have stayed asleep. Damn you, Lonnie.

I put on this:

pin.it/5uiV7hV

And I walked out my door.

“Ben shouldn’t have made you his advisor if you were gonna sleep in,” Audrey says.

”I’m here aren’t I?” I reply.

”Shut up, let’s go,” Audrey says, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the stairs to the courtyard.

Oh god this is gonna be terrible.

Ben sees me and Audrey coming up next to him.

”What happened to you?” Ben asks.

”Slept in,” I mumble.

Ben chuckles and Audrey takes his arm.

”It’s fine by the way, it’s actually the first time in a while,” Ben says.

Fairy Godmother begins to greet everyone in the small group of band kids and cheerleaders until she reaches our trio.

”Ben, Audrey, Adri, how are you?” Fairy Godmother.

“Good,” We all say.

The limo pulls up and the band starts playing. The limo stops and two boys pop out fighting over a scarf.

My eyes glance towards to girls who come out of the other side of the car. One has short plum hair with a plum leather outfit to match. The other girl has long wavy blue hair with two crown braids at the front.

“Why do you want whatever this is?” One of the boys with gray hair says.

”Because you want it,” The other boy in a red beanie says.

Right off the bat you notice who’s who. And the boy in the beanie is definitely Jafar’s son.

“Leave it where you found it! And by that, just leave it.” Fairy Godmother says.

”Just cleaning up!” The boy with the red beanie says.

He puts the scarf back in the limo and his eyes immediately catch mine.

He catches me as I stare at his frame. His brown hair, his dark brown eyes, his muscular form and his leather outfit all catch me off guard.

His frown turns into a smirk and he strides towards me.

”Hello, foxy~ The name’s...Jay,” The boy introduces, attempting to flirt with me.

I laugh softly at his action.

”Your quite the catch aren’t you?” I remark with a smirk.

“Welcome to Auradon Prep,” Fairy Godmother says, stepping between us.

I whisper a little thank you to her and she nods.

”I’m Fairy Godmother, the headmistress,” She curtsies.

”As in, the Fairy Godmother? Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo?” The girl with plum hair asks.

”Bibbidi-Bobbidi, you know it,” Fairy Godmother says.

“Does she ramble like this much?” I ask Ben.

”All the damn time,” Ben says.

We snicker in unison.

Audrey nudges Ben.

”It’s so nice to meet you all. I’m Ben,” Ben introduces.

”Prince Ben. Soon to be King, right Bennyboo?” Audrey interjects.

I fake-vomit at the nickname and roll my eyes.

”You had me at Prince. My mom’s a queen so that makes me a princess,” The blue haired girl says, fawning over Ben.

”The Evil Queen has no Royal status here and neither do you,” Audrey smiles cheekily.

”Yes she does, otherwise Snow White would cease to be Royalty and she is her step-sister,” I comment with a smile.

Audrey raises a brow to stop me and I wink in the girl’s direction. She gives me a smile in return.

”This is Audrey. My-“

”Girlfriend. And future queen,” Audrey says.

”Last but not least, this is Adri. My advisor and my best friend,” Ben says.

”Your new wickedly cool best friend,” I say with a smirk.

”These three are going to show you all around and I’ll see all tomorrow. The doors of wisdom are never shut! Except library hours are 8:00 to 11:00 and you know I have a thing for curfew,” Fairy Godmother says, excusing herself.

”She tends to drag things out of proportion. Don’t mind her,” I say.

Ben chuckles and Audrey nudges his arm.

“It is so, so, so good to finally me... meet you all,” Ben starts as Jay hits his chest with a light punch.

“ This is a momentous occasion, and one that I hope will go down in history... Is that chocolate?” Shaking the gray haired boy’s hand that is covered in chocolate.

”As the day our two peoples began to heal,” Ben finishes.

“Or the day where you showed four peoples where the bathrooms are,” The plum haired girl says.

“A little over the top?” Ben asks her.

”More than a little,” She says.

”So much for my first impression,” Ben says awkwardly.

“You're Maleficent's daughter, aren't you? Yeah, you know what? I totally do not blame you for your mother trying to kill my parents and stuff. Oh, my mom's Aurora. Sleeping...“ Audrey starts.

”Beauty! Yeah I’ve heard the name. You know, I totally do not blame your grandparents for not inviting my mother to their stupid christening,” The girl responds.

”Water under the bridge!” Audrey fakes.

”Totes!” The girl replys in the same tone.

They laugh together pathetically.

“Jeez, can we get this over with?“ I scoff.

” OK. So how about a tour, yeah?“ Ben starts.

We start to move towards the front of the school.

“Auradon Prep was originally built 300 years ago before my father turned it into a high school when he was elected King,” Ben says, clapping his fingers to morph the statue.

The gray haired boy jumps into Jay’s arms.

”Carlos, it’s okay. My father made the statue to remind us that anything is possible,” Ben addresses.

I laugh at the boy’s banter. Jay sees this and drops Carlos to the floor. I can feel him lurking by me as we continue inside the school.

“ So do you guys have magic here? You know, like wands and stuff?” Mal asks.

“All that stuffs pretty much retired. Most of us are just ordinary mortals,” Ben says.

”Unlike me. I was cursed so...” I say clicking my tongue.

”And you happen to be kings and queens?“

“That’s true. Our royal blood goes back hundreds and hundreds of years,“ Audrey says, placing an arm around Ben.

”Doug,” Ben calls Dopey’s son down.

“Doug, will be showing you to your dorms. If you have any questions-“

”Ask Adri or Doug,” Audrey says, whisking him away.

“Um, hey guys. Hi, guys. I'm Dopey's son. As in Dopey, Doc, Bashful, Happy, Grumpy, Sleepy, and... Heigh-ho.,” Doug starts, his eyes landing on the blue haired girl.

I take the clipboard from him and read their names.

”Mal Bertha. Evie Grimhilde. Carlos De Vil. Jay Farr,” I read to myself.

I interrupt Doug as he talks about classes.

”I’ll be showing you to your dorms,” I say, walking up one staircase.

”Guys, it’s actually this way,” Doug points towards me as the go in the wrong direction.

They follow me until we stop at their dorm rooms.

”Boys, you have the larger dorm here,” I point.

”Sweet!” Carlos says, hopping inside.

”What’s in it?” Jay asks, me

”Two full size beds, a flat screen tv, mini fridge, 3D printer, gaming console, a bathroom for two, fireplace, and double closet,” I say off the top of my head.

”Thank god, that’s enough to keep them busy for hours,” Mal says.

Me and the girls turn away from their room but someone places a hand on my shoulder.

”Hey, can we talk after?” Jay asks.

”Why?” I ask, raising a brow.

Jay gives me a pleading looks and I roll my eyes, walking away.

”Girls, this is your dorm. With roughly the same things as the boys except a bigger closet and bathroom and no gaming console,” I say.

”This room needs more-“

”Purple? I supposed you would agree. Love your outfit by the way,” I compliment.

”You don’t look to horrible yourself,” Mal smirks.

”I made it by the way,” Evie adds.

“Fashion Designer, huh? You could make some bank with that,” I comment.

Evie smiles.

”If you need anything, I’m the first door down the hall,” I say.

I close the door to the girls dorm and turn to see someone completely unexpected. My smile turns into a frown as I see Chad Charming at the end of the hall. As I try and stride down the hall to Jay and Carlos’s room, his gaze meets mine.

”Well, well. Look who it is. Little miss court case,” Chad says, his lips curving into a smirk.

”Your lucky my restraining order is expired, Charming,” I snark as he draws near to me.

”You know, you’re lucky Ben and Lonnie are friends with you. Otherwise, everyone here wouldn’t give a damn about your little charity case,” Chad says cockily, running a hand through my hair.

My body tenses and my teeth clench as he touches my hair.

“Don’t do that,” I say through my clenched jaw.

”Or what?” Chad says, pinning me against the wall. His frame towering over me.

”You gonna sue me again just so that I could give your pathetic ass more money?” Chad asks.

”Get your fucking hands off of her,” A voice says from behind Chad.

I look over Chad’s shoulder to see Jay standing behind him with a scowl on his face.

I can practically feel my eyes change shape, pleading to Jay to help me.

Chad gets off of me and walks towards Jay confronting him.

”Is that a threat?” Chad asks.

”You gonna punch me if it is, Princey? You know, you probably shouldn’t mess with someone you barely know. I’m sure it’ll have serious consequences,” Jay growls.

Chad backs off, intimidated by Jay.

”Whatever, man,” Chad scoffs, taming a step back.

He turns to me, his smirk returning.

”I’ll see you later, babe,” Chad says, winking at me.

He walks away and I can practically feel the tears coming to my eyes.

”Who the hell does he think he is?” Jay scoffs.

My legs start to move down the hall, trying to get away.

”Hey! Where are you going?” Jay calls behind me.

”Leave me alone!” I choke.

Jay’s footsteps chase after me and he grabs my wrist.

”Stay out of my business and leave me the hell alone,” I say in a serious tone.

”What was that about though? And why do you look like your about to cry in any second?” Jay asks deliberately.

I growl under my breath.

”Because he’s my abusive ex-boyfriend who raped me while I was blacked out at Ben’s party! And now everyone pities the hell out of me and treats me like a child because I tried to commit suicide. Is that what you’re so desperate to get out of me?” I yell.

Jay is taken aback by my words. His brown eyes widen as he looks at me. Searching through my eyes and seeing the pain in them.

”Shit, I’m so sorry. Look, I will never ever do that to you ever again,” Jay says, concerned by my action.

”Listen, don’t make promises you know you can’t keep,” I say.

Jay turns to leave but I grab his wrist.

”You forgot you tell me what you wanted to speak about,” I say with a smirk.

Jay scratches his neck nervously.

”Sorry. I was just so concerned about the way that guy was talking to you that I didn’t even realize,” Jay explains.

I chuckle lightly at his concern. How is he so chill after that? After I just yelled at him?

“I was just wondering if I could learn a little more about you. I mean-since we know a little bit about Ben and Audrey so,” Jay says.

I giggle lightly at his question. Then I hesitate, remembering this is the son of my parent’s enemy. But suddenly, my new found confidence tells me “Fuck it”.

”Well, I’ve lived in Auradon for 3 years. I like Art a lot. And um, I’m the daughter of Aladdin and Jasmine,” I say shyly.

Jay erupts in a light chuckle. My brows furrow at his actions.

”Did I say something wrong?” I ask.

”No, but that does explain everything,” Jay says with a smirk.

”Explain what exactly?” I ask, confused by his action.

”The comebacks, the way you roll your eyes, the outfit, and the way you act around danger. You have that “I really don’t give and shit sometimes attitude”. I’m assuming it’s family trait,” Jay laughs.

I roll my eyes at his banter.

”Sure, dipshit. And you know wanna know what gives you away?” I ask cheekily.

”What?” Jay says, playing along.

”The fact that you prance around me, eyeing me just like your father did to my mother when she was my age,” I say with a smirk.

His eyes widen, catching him off guard.

”And I promise you, your little concerned or flirtatious act isn’t gonna always cut it with me, pretty boy,” I say, tapping his shoulder and turning to leave.

I look behind me and see him smirk behind me as I walk to my dorm.

That boy is gonna keep trying to win me over. And I’m in for the long game...

#descendants #marvel #jay farr #descendants jay #mal #evie #carlos #jay #ben #lonnie #jane #descendants novels #mcu #original character #oc #fanfiction #descendants x oc #marvel x oc

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“An Unfortunate Christmas” || YEAR 3 – Ch.23 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/25/2020

Word count: 3,169

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down to the great hall in silence. Hermione was still mad at Ron for criticizing her cat, and Ron was still upset with Hermione for owning a rat craving creature.

The large great hall doors were decorated with long tinsel that hung from the very top and dragged along the bottom as the doors opened. Entering the room, Heather gasped, along with Harry. All the tables except one had been pushed back and stacked along the walls. There were twelve seats set for the table, where Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick along with Mr. Filch and two other students who appeared to be first years were already sitting.

Heather was right that no other Slytherin had stayed behind. When Professor Snape had walked in with the normal sign up scroll, she had been the only one to put her name down. She hadn’t paid attention for much longer than to know no one else was jumping at the opportunity to stay behind, something Pansy had noticed and commented on.

She could tell Ron and Harry were not very pleased, sitting so close to Professor Snape or Mr. Filch, and as they approached slowly Professor Dumbledore greeted them enthusiastically, as if trying to raise low spirits.

“Merry Christmas! There are so few of us, I had thought it’d be foolish to be so spread out on tables.” Professor Dumbledore smiled and motioned for the extra seats.

There were three at the end and two right after Professor Snape. Ron and Harry hurried to the seats farthest him, making Hermione sit next to the first years and Heather didn’t want to be rude so she sat next to Professor Snape, leaving the end seat empty.

The table filled with food within minutes. Platters of glazed turkey, bowls of gravy, vegetables platters, warm breaded stuffing, and potatoes of all kinds appeared before them. Their goblets filled with warm liquid and round crinkly rolls fell onto their plates.

Professor Dumbledore lifted his and offered the end to Professor Snape. “Crackers?”

Professor Snape looked at it, and as everyone was now looking at him, he pressed his lips together and pulled on the end. There was a loud pop like a firework had gone off under a silver platter and an odd hat with a stuffed vulture exploded out and floated over the steaming food, waiting to be claimed.

Heather’s eyes widened and looked away, remembering Neville’s boggart. Harry and Ron must have been remembering as well, because they were having a hard time keeping a straight face and were looking at each other. She looked back and swore even Professor McGonagall was smiling under her hand.

Professor Snape pressed his lips into a thin line again and pushed the hat towards Professor Dumbledore who traded his wizard hat for it without a second thought. “Let’s dig in,” Professor Dumbledore said.

The professors started talking among themselves as everyone started scooping foods onto their plates. Heather reached for a large piece of turkey and drowned it in gravy. The cracker was a bit cumbersome so she held it out to Hermione who pulled on the end. With a loud muffled pop, a large red sunhat with a flaking Christmas tree sprung out. It was kind of hideous, and large and when Harry popped his own cracker and a much smaller white wizards hat with ribbon everywhere came out, she exchanged it at once.

“Hey!” Harry took the tree hat and frowned, recognizing its unsightliness at once.

Heather smiled and wore the white hat, digging into the roasted potatoes. The great hall doors opened again and Professor Trelawney entered taking quick bobbing steps that made her seem as though she was gliding across the room to them. She was wearing so much sequence that she let off a glittering light pattern against the floor. Her green dress looked like it’d gone out of style several decades ago even by wizard standards.

Professor Dumbledore stood. “Sybill, how lucky we are to have you join us today.”

“I was crystal gazing and to my amazement, I saw myself abandoning my normal luncheon to join you. I could not resist the pull of fate and had to come down at once. Please excuse my lateness but it was meant to be…”

“Of course, Sybill. Please,” Professor Dumbledore motioned for the end chair.

Harry, who was on the across the chair Professor Trelawney would sit in, had on a very grave face. Heather hid her grin with the back of her hand and looked at Hermione, who was close to laughing at Professor Trelawney’s speech.

Professor Trelawney was mumbling something as her giant owl eyes looked at everyone. She gasped and shook her head. “I mustn’t! You all make twelve! I could not bring such bad luck by making us thirteen. ‘When thirteen dine, the first to rise is first to die’! I dare not, Headmaster!”

Hermione was about to lose it.

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry Sybill, we’ll risk it.”

Professor Trelawney continued to shake her head and mumble “I couldn’t.”

“But didn’t you say you SAW yourself joining us? Which means you will anyways?” Heather felt a kick from Harry and winced.

Professor Trelawney looked down at the chair and nodded. “Well yes I-I have.” She took her seat and offered a cracker to Harry, who pretended not to notice. She looked around. “Where is our dear Professor Lupin?”

“Unfortunately he is ill once again.” Professor Dumbledore served himself a spoonful of gravy, drizzling it on everything, indicating to everyone that they should continue eating.

“But of course you knew that already, Sybill?” Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows, receiving a very cold glare from her.

“I knew, Minerva. Of course I did, except it is bad manners to parade around the fact that one is all knowing. That is why I often act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye. It is very rude to make people around me nervous.”

“Well that explains a great deal,” Professor McGonagall said irritably.

Heather was looking at Hermione who looked just as amused as she felt.

“I have seen that Professor Lupin will not be here for very long. That his time is running out which he must know. He refused to allow me to crystal gaze for him, fleeing as if – ”

“Imagine that,” Professor McGonagall said dully.

“I’m sure,” Professor Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, “that Professor Lupin is not in any danger. He is ill, and in bed after having taken his potion. Which, Severus, you have made for him again?”

“Of course. Headmaster.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Wonderful, then he shall be up and about in no time.”

Heather looked over at Harry, who was giving Professor Snape a narrowed side-stare. The meal went on quite normally after that. Harry and Ron were laughing and Hermione, although ignoring Ron, seemed to be just as amused by the professor’s conversations as Heather was.

Heather was peering past Professor Snape as Professor Flitwick told his story. Professor Sprout was almost crying into her steamed carrot with laughter. It was hard not to at least smile, especially when even Professor Snape, who constantly looked in a foul mood, chuckled a few times.

She glanced at Hermione for a second and noticed she was frowning at her. Heather raised an eyebrow and Hermione looked at Ron and Harry and turned back, shaking her head. Then her brows furrowed again and she gave Heather another look.

What on earth was she trying to say? Did she forget wizards can’t read minds? Heather tilted her head at her and Hermione waved her away, going back to her food.

“Derek, would you like some chipolatas?” Professor Dumbledore offered some to the quiet first year next to him.

The first year went very red and shook his head.

“Heather? What about you?”

Heather gladly took a sausage from the plate Professor Dumbledore held out to her. She stabbed into it with her fork and turned back to Professor Flitwick’s story, which had turned into the time he had been banned from a zoo for trying to smuggle a penguin in order to impress his girlfriend at the time.

“Then when I came back, muggle penguin under my arm, she was gone! I had about five guards looking for a penguin that was rumored to have opened doors,” he was having a hard time not laughing, “so I had to do something risky.”

“Oh the risk-taking starts now?” Professor Sprout burst out, wiping her eyes with her finger.

Professor Flitwick continued, “Yes! Up until then I was only breaking muggle laws! But I had to get away! So I took a Dawdle Drought, Draught of Peace, and an Extimulo Potion all at once and charmed the nearest bench – ”

Professor Snape laughed and cut in, “All three at the same time?”

Professor Flitwick started banging on the table, unable to contain himself. “Yes! Now, Severus, Don’t spoil it for the rest! I was never good at potions so of course I didn’t know what the effects combined would be, but you can all bet I did a stellar job charming that bench,” his voice became squeakier with every word.

He continued his story, and had Heather not learned about several far more insane and crazy events during History of Magic class, she would have never believed any of what he was saying to be true. The only part Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows at was about Professor Flitwick jumping over the hedge fence which he claimed to be able to do despite describing it as three times taller than his height.

“And so I woke up – a week later! Mind you – dazed and in the company of one of those traveling merchant farmers after having promised him a pig and a goat upon my arrival of what destination I told him in my delirious state. And to this day that zoo has a strict no-sweater rule placed on children between the ages of seven and nine.”

Professor Sprout had lost the ability to hold a fork and even Professor McGonagall was dabbing at her eyes, unable to believe the events that unfolded for a young Professor Flitwick. After everyone had calmed their laughing fits, Heather wondered about the combination of the potions he had taken.

She knew Draught of Peace had to be turquois blue and simmering before being consumed and consisted of powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn. She had never made it before and doubted they’d ever be made to make it since brewing it around Neville could end up sending them all into a deep sleep.

Heather turned to Professor Snape, “Was it that the Draught of Peace wasn’t simmering?”

Hermione cut in, “It must have been too much of the Valerian Root in the potion.”

Heather frowned. “Then he’d still be asleep. If the potion wasn’t consumed simmering – ”

“It was the combination of snowdrop, valerian root, and sopophorous bean,” he said sourly, attempting to end the conversation.

Hermione had a look about her and Heather rolled her eyes, knowing she was counting the mention of valerian root as a win.

“But not because there was EXTRA valerian root added, right?” Heather waited for Professor Snape to respond but he merely sipped his goblet.

It had been two hours from the start of the feast and everyone was just about bursting, stuffed full with Christmas dinner. Hermione had somehow taken out a book on fifth year potions – something Heather found incredibly suspicious that she just happened to have had on her – and proven that up to one twentieth of a thimbleful of valerian root could be added without causing permanent sleep but Professor Snape rolled his eyes and so they both took it as it wasn’t the cause and so they had both technically been wrong.

Harry and Ron got up after finishing dessert and Professor Trelawney shrieked.

“W-which one of you stood first?” She reached out for them and looked at each one fiercely.

Ron swallowed, shrugging. “Dunno?”

“What difference is it?” Professor McGonagall said tartly. “Unless there is a mad and deranged giant hound on the other side of those doors, ready to kill the first person into the entrance hall.”

Ron laughed and Harry snickered, making Professor Trelawney look very wounded at Professor McGonagall.

“You guys coming?” Harry looked at Heather and Hermione.

“Er – yes.” Hermione stood and kept close to Heather as they walked out. Just as they reached the entrance hall stairs into the main corridor, Hermione stopped. “I need a word with Heather, you two go on ahead.”

Heather stopped and stood next to Hermione as Harry and Ron walked on. She crossed her arms, expecting it to be about whatever she was trying to communicate all during the meal.

“That broom. We need to… to… tell the professors.”

Heather’s eyes widened. Them? Tattle on Harry? Get his broom taken away and make it impossible for him to participate in his next matches? She liked the plan she had made with Draco getting the same broom, keeping it fair, but to betray Harry?

“Hermione, why would we do that?”

She sighed, “Because what if it’s from Black? And it’s cursed and he gets hurt?”

Heather shook her head. “Black’s just come out of prison. Where would he have the money – ”

“What if he falls again and this time he… this time Dumbledore isn’t there to save him!”

Heather’s breath caught in her throat. Hermione was right in a way, and if she was at all right about who had given him the broom… Then Harry was in grave danger. She looked down at her hands and nodded.

“We’ll go back in and tell Professor McGonagall.” Hermione spun on her heels and led the way back into the great hall.

The first years ran past them, making them the last students invading the professor’s dinners. They approached the table and Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall looked over at them. They stood at either side of professor Trelawney and when Heather didn’t speak, Hermione did.

“Professor McGonagall? Could I have a word, please? It’s extremely important.”

“Is it so important that it cannot wait? That it must – ”

Hermione interrupted Professor Snape, “Yes.”

“Over there then.” Professor McGonagall pointed at the high table stage and they followed her up. “What is it? What’s happened. Where is Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley?”

“They’re in the tower, but... well… Harry’s received a Christmas gift that might not… be very safe.”

Professor McGonagall blinked at Hermione and turned to Heather. “What gift?”

Heather unstuck her dry tongue. “A Quidditch broom…”

“But it arrived without a note and he has no idea who could have given it to him! And Heather didn’t receive any sort of present like that so it was meant for only him!” Hermione let out a shaky breath as Professor McGonagall thought.

“So you’re both thinking it could be from Sirius Black, then? Is that it?”

They nodded.

“But isn’t there some way to see if it’s dangerous? So that Harry could still use it if it’s not?” Heather had to try to save it for him, especially if Draco might be returning to school with one of his own.

Professor McGonagall nodded and told them to wait there as she collected Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore. “Explain again, please.”

Heather nodded. “Harry received a firebolt – ”

Professor McGonagall sucked in air like she’d just been stung. “An actual firebolt?”

Heather nodded, seeing the loss in her eyes. “And it didn’t have a note.”

“It could be from Sirius Black,” Hermione added.

Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard. “How unfortunate… to receive such a wonderful Christmas gift under such mysterious circumstances.”

“Headmaster. Potter, of course, will have the broom confiscated?” Professor Snape looked at Professor Dumbledore in thought.

“We would know if it’s jinxed or cursed as soon as its ridden, wouldn’t we?” Professor McGonagall laughed, “I could even be the one to – ”

“That would be foolish and dangerous,” Professor Snape snapped.

“Severus, you just don’t want your Slytherins to play us with a firebolt – ”

He raised a brow, “Irrelevant. I can, of course, check it for curses, and bring it ‘round to you when I’m through.”

Professor McGonagall lifted a disbelieving brow. “Done as soon as possible too, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think Harry would want… I mean… Since it’s his broom couldn’t someone else look at it?” Hermione looked at Professor McGonagall and avoided anyone else’s eyes.

“This isn’t a repair shop, Granger.” Professor Snape turned back to Professor Dumbledore. “If the broom needs to be searched thoroughly, the only expert in this castle would be me.”

Professor Dumbledore let go of his beard and smiled, finally focusing on the situation again. “A simple search will suffice. Filius and Rolanda will do fine with that.”

Heather watched Professor Snape go from amused, to disbelieving, to angry. “Headmaster. Perhaps we should consider the fact that Sirius Black is the only known wizard to have escaped Azkaban and has somehow gotten passed an army of dementors and invaded this very school.”

“It has been considered, and Harry’s wishes on who will search the broom will be granted. Minerva, please confiscate the broom before anything unwanted happens.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “They’re in the tower? Good. Then follow me.”

They marched along behind Professor McGonagall and the closer they got to the Gryffindor tower, the worse Heather felt. Her stomach was doing flips at the thought of taking Harry’s broom completely away. She kept telling herself that it was just going to be searched and returned, but that didn’t stop her guilt from eating at her.

They should have told him what they were going to do, not go behind his back about it. Of course it was all Hermione’s idea, and even Professor Dumbledore seemed a bit skeptical about it being from Sirius Black. They were nearing the portrait of Sir Cadogan when she decided she didn’t want to be a part of what was about to happen.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” She called out to Hermione and dashed back down the stairs before Hermione could even process what she’d yelled.

Tomorrow morning it was going to be a firestorm of daggers around them. Ron angry with Hermione, Harry angry at them, no one talking to anyone… She made it back down to the common room and sighed, relieved to have skipped seeing Professor McGonagall take the greatest broom in existence from Harry.

She looked around at her mess of books and paper around the fireplace and sat down on a cushion. She pulled up her dark arts book and continued reading where she had left off, using her folded up werewolf essay as a bookmark. She thought briefly of the possibility of Draco coming back with the firebolt and smiled guiltily, quickly clearing her mind.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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saradobiebauer · 3 years

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This is Not a Horror Movie arrives in TEN DAYS! Because I love you, enjoy this excerpt. Happy Monday, my darlings!

Add to Goodreads >> https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57490940-this-is-not-a-horror-movie 🐠 🐠 🐠 The first raindrop hits me as I duck under the busted fence at the back of the Outpost. I look up while waiting for Connor to step through, and we’re in some deep shit, folks. In Florida, there are rainstorms and then there are apocalyptic cloud-lettings. Based on the black sky and total lack of sun, we’re about to be hit by the latter. I cuss, which makes Connor look up too.

“Oh, boy,” he mutters. “We’ve got to move.” He hurries past me, glancing back once to make sure I’m following. We make it to a crooked overhang by one of the big buildings as the quiet water droplets become attack missiles. Connor takes a load off on the back of a park bench, his feet on the seat. “I guess we wait it out.”

I inwardly groan. This is so not what I need right now. I’m literally trapped with the dude I want to avoid. The only thing that would make this worse: if he wants to talk about Liz. Storm be damned, I’d make a run for it.

Instead, he says, “What do you write about anyway?”

Thrown by his non sequitur, I blink for a few seconds. “Um… stuff.”

“I assume you’re more eloquent with your prose.”

I roll my eyes and mimic his seated position on the opposite side of the bench. Around us, the scent of rain hitting wood and soaking sea grass intrudes. “Mostly fantasy and horror. Some American gothic stuff. You know, creepy small-town neighbors and husbands murdering wives. That sort of thing.”

“Is that why you read horror? Is it research?”

“No, I just like it. I like scary stories. They’re comforting.”

He snickers. “How?”

“No matter how bad life gets, at least I’m not being chased by Leatherface.”

He gives me a wide-mouthed silent laugh above the sound of deluge on a crooked roof. Rain falls off the edge to my right like a waterfall. “So writing is like reading—an escape for you?”

I poke at my sand-covered toes. “I guess.”

“Do you want me to stop talking?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Talking has never been my strong suit.”

“I think you’re very good at talking.”

I stare out into the storm. The rain falls so hard it almost looks like fog. “Writing is so much safer. It gives me time to think about what I’m saying before I say it. I need more space between my mouth and my brain.”

He’s way closer than I realized when he whispers, “I’m very fond of the space between your brain and your mouth.”

I turn to look at him, and he’s right there, in my face. And, of course, I fall backwards off the bench—which would have been embarrassing enough, thank you, but I do one better and actually fall through rotted wood that was apparently covering a hole. I keep falling until my head smacks into something, and my body hits the ground. All the air rushes from my lungs, and ouch, that hurt.

I think I hear Connor up above shouting my name, but the storm is so damn loud, as is the ringing in my ears. I curl onto my side on the cold, damp floor before trying to sit up. Something warm drips into my right eye, and I realize my head is gushing blood. Great. Some drips onto the floor below as I try to remember how to breathe.

“Fuck.” I groan.

Even though the only light is coming from the hole I busted in the floor, I see the rats staring back at me. There’s a dozen of them at least, probably waiting out the storm down here.

“Hey, please don’t eat me.”

They don’t scurry—they’re used to humans by now—but their stillness is— I’ll be honest: horrifying. Plus, I’m bleeding from my head, and I have no idea where I am. A big boom of thunder makes the rodents jump and scatter. They scream as they run, and, okay, maybe I scream a little, too, as I continue blinking blood out of my eye.

I assume my shattered skull is what conjures a pair of red, glowing eyes in the darkness about ten feet away, but before I have time to embrace my newly acquired hallucinations, there’s the pounding of feet from somewhere, followed by the panicked screaming of my name.

Connor appears, blocking the red, glowing eyes. He grabs me by the face. “Emory! Em— Oh my God, your head.”

I shove him out of the way, but the red, glowing eyes are gone. All that’s left is Connor brushing hair back from my gushing wound while muttering to himself.

“It’s nothing,” I manage. “Head wounds always bleed a lot. You’ve seen the movies. It means nothing.”

He puts one arm around my shoulders, the other beneath my knees, and lifts. I cuss once I’m airborne. “You don’t have to carry me. I—” Oh, I feel sick. Oh, the room is spinning. Shit. I cling to the front of his shirt and bury my face against his neck. Pride, be damned.

“Emory, talk to me.”

The world is shaking too much.

“Emory, please.”

“Can’t talk. Might vomit.”

“I’m going to get you home.”

The sound of rain wakes me some. “Did you see the red, glowing eyes?” I ask.

“What?”

Talking is much too difficult, so I lean my head against his shoulder and—

“Emory, please stay awake. We’re almost there, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” I clutch tighter to his shirt when he holds tighter to me.

Thanks to the ongoing storm, it’s super dark outside, so walking into my family’s brightly lit mudroom, covered in blood and rain, is like being smashed in the face by a frying pan. I try to tell Connor to take me outside again, but my voice is no match for Liz’s howl.

There are lots of hands and people saying my name as I feel couch cushions behind me. I’d like to rest, but I shiver. The air-conditioning is no good for my soaking wet clothes. I hear Mom’s voice—strong and authoritative. “Connor, give me that blanket! Liz, the first aid kit! Then, call your father.”

“’M fine,” I mutter and then notice the bloody disaster of my shirt. “But I shouldn’t have worn white today.”

“If he’s worried about fashion, he should be fine,” Mom says. “Where were you boys?”

“The Outpost.”

Mom turns toward Connor, who looks like a wet, abandoned kitten. “I’ve said before that place is dangerous.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Jones.”

She sighs. “Knowing my son, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Sort of was, though,” he whispers, and I’m not sure anyone was supposed to hear.

#this is not a horror movie #sara dobie bauer

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atinytokki · 4 years

Text

Distant Daylight

vi. The Treasure Trove

Yunho’s tenth birthday was the day things changed.

Sangwoo hadn’t returned yet, despite the passage of winter, and while for Gunho he was only a distant thought, Yunho still spent afternoons looking out the window and wondering when he would turn up.

His absence didn’t mean training stopped however, and Yunho would square up against bags of flour if he had to, he needed to be in shape. He needed to get out of here.

The orphanage didn’t believe in birthdays, or at least they didn’t celebrate them, which meant yet another secret pantry meeting to spend time with Gunho.

“I have to confess something,” Gunho whispered, candlelight casting a strange shadow on his face. He was oddly withdrawn, only hesitantly partaking in the secret birthday feast with his brother.

“No you don’t,” Yunho chucked nervously. “Let’s just relax and eat rice cakes.”

“But...” Gunho bit his lip and looked away, and after that Yunho knew it was serious. “I was going to give you something for your birthday.”

“What do you mean?” Yunho pressed quietly. “You don’t need to get me anything. It would probably be confiscated anyway.”

“It already was,” Gunho whispered, rubbing his eyes. “Mother’s music box. I was going to give it to you in case they move me to another room or someone adopts me—”

“What are you talking about?” Yunho asked slowly after gasping at the news. “You can’t be adopted, not without me...”

“We don’t know that,” Gunho snapped back. “I just think Mother would want you to have it, so I was going to give it to you, but the caretakers saw it and they took it away.”

Yunho sat back, astonished. “Well... where is it?”

Gunho finally met his eyes and winced at what he was about to say. “In the headmaster’s office.”

Yunho went quiet for a minute.

“Forget about it,” Gunho eventually sighed when he received no response. “When personal objects go in there, they don’t come back out. It’s probably a lost cause.”

“No, it isn’t!” Yunho cut him off, a sly smile spreading on his face. “Let’s sneak in and get it back!”

Gunho paled at the very idea. “But we could be caught...”

“What’s the worst they can do? Put you in the delinquent room?”

As soon as it left his lips, Yunho regretted saying it.

It was true, he wanted company in his lonely wing of the orphanage. With Sangwoo gone, hardly anyone ever talked to him. But dooming Gunho to join him in his unfortunate fate...

Maybe it was better if he broke the rules alone.

“Never mind. You just keep watch and make some excuses with that baby face of yours if you have to,” Yunho chuckled, getting to his feet. “I’ll take care of this.”

As he slipped out of the pantry and towards the headmaster’s office, Gunho whined after him, “I don’t have a baby face!”

Gunho wasn’t joking when he said objects couldn’t return from the study. The moment Yunho silently crept into the office, he understood why.

The stern headmaster’s desk was frustratingly devoid of not only their mother’s music box, but any stolen items at all. Yunho opened every drawer and even shook the massive thing to see if secret compartments would reveal themselves, but nothing worked.

All the trunks and bookcases yielded the same empty results, and soon Yunho was beginning to wonder if it was time to give up. He was tiring and becoming less alert to potential caretakers that might walk in on him.

Inspecting the paintings that hung on the walls, he suddenly realised one of them was no painting at all, but actually a secret door. The portrait pushed open at his touch, and the giddy, adventurous feeling that bloomed inside left no room for hesitation, so he entered the short tunnel quietly.

It only took three or four steps in the dark before he arrived at a dimly lit room, so large and spacious that he had to tilt his head to see the ceiling. It was solid, imposing stone with only the faint glow of fading torches to warm its cold walls, and Yunho suppressed a shiver as he took in the grand room.

Piled all around were objects— blankets, toys, articles of clothing, various items of jewellery, occasional furniture, and even game pieces. Anything that might have sentimental value was gathered here.

At first, Yunho was horrified. What kind of person would steal from his charges for so many years that he had to hide a collection of their things piled so high they couldn’t see the top?

And then, he was excited. While it tinged his melancholy to rifle through treasure that didn’t belong to him, he was in search of one very important item that did.

The morning sun was gently brushing the rooftops in the city by the time he located it, atop an empty shell of a suitcase and a worn infant blanket.

Playing the song back once and letting the sweet tinkling of the familiar tune fill his ears, he slipped out of the secret room without incident, and presented a beaming Gunho with his prize.

Gunho squeezed him in a hug so tight, it brought tears to Yunho’s eyes, and he watched with a fond smile as his brother played the tune back again for the hundredth time.

It hit Yunho in the face that day with all the subtlety of a royal parade.

Gunho was growing up.

...

Their borrowed happiness together didn’t last longer than the summer, however, with the disappearance of Gunho’s treasured mouse friend.

Yunho was much less motivated to search the halls at night for the grimy little creature, especially as sickness began to sweep through the city.

One of the boys in Gunho’s room came down with the fever, and a week later, three more had contracted it. Mousey was caught and exterminated with all the other rats responsible for spreading disease.

By mid-autumn, Gunho himself was showing signs of illness and Yunho was tearing his hair out looking for a way to help him.

Sangwoo hadn’t come back and most likely wasn’t going to. It had been almost exactly a year since his escape, which meant Yunho needed to take things into his own hands.

Still, he found himself helplessly fighting the caretakers with tears streaming down his cheeks as they refused to let him into his brother’s room to see him.

“No one is allowed in,” the woman told him sternly, struggling to avoid his fists while keeping him out. “It’s for your own safety.”

“Please,” Yunho sobbed, sinking through their arms to the floor as his strength gave out. “Please, my brother needs me—”

“You’ll get sick,” the second caretaker argued, like that was any deterrent.

“I don’t care,” Yunho cried bitterly. He was tired of fighting them. “You can’t do this.”

If he couldn’t stand up to a couple of exhausted caretakers, he wasn’t ready at all for the real world.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing was being done for Gunho or any of the sick children. The adults were too afraid to help them and risk their own safety and whether he was prepared or not, if Yunho didn’t escape with Gunho now, his chances of survival were looking slimmer by the moment.

And so he resigned himself.

With nothing but a bag of pantry food and a music box, he waited until the dead of night and slipped the bag under the fence.

Gunho’s room was guarded, but the man keeping watch had been there for a few hours and looked moments away from nodding off, so Yunho forced himself to be patient.

He could see Gunho’s motionless form stretched out beside the other sick boys on the floor. No one was attending them, and it made Yunho’s blood boil.

The second the caretaker’s head hit his chest, Yunho silently entered the room and tried to shake his brother awake.

Gunho was feverish and, for a moment, unresponsive, and it brought Yunho’s heart to his throat for the terrifying pause before his brother’s eyes focused on him.

“Wha—?”

“Quiet!” Yunho hushed him and began scooping him up, pressing a hand to his mouth should he make any more noise on the way out.

“Where are we going?” Gunho finally mumbled as soon as they safely left the building. Yunho squeezed under the fence, collecting his bag, and motioned for Gunho to do the same. With some help, he managed to wriggle through without injury to himself and climbed onto Yunho’s back for the long walk into town.

“We’re leaving this place for good.”

The world was out there, and anything was better than the cage they’d been stuck in.

...

A/N: Haha... you mean to tell me... I haven’t updated this since July??Well I have remedied that~ and a few more spinoff chapters and maybe a main series one will be out shortly (or at least when my classes end in a couple weeks) so thanks for being patient and enjoy 🥺

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#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho fanfic #ateez pirate au #ateez pirates #distant daylight #distant daylight.vi #tokki writes

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theycallmegothboy · 3 years

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1-100 >:DDDD REVENGE!!!

FELIXXXXXXXXXXXX >:(( 1. Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? -spotify 2. is your room messy or clean? -it’s pretty messy i guess 3. what color are your eyes? -blue and grey

4. do you like your name? why? -yeah it’s fine 5. what is your relationship status? -single 6. describe your personality in 3 words or less -certified intrusive thot 7. what color hair do you have? -brown and rn it’s red 8. what kind of car do you drive? color? -i dont have a car 9. where do you shop? -hot topic, goodwill, target 10. how would you describe your style? -comfy emo 11. favorite social media account -of mine, probably discord or youtube 12. what size bed do you have? -twin >:(( 13. any siblings? -i have 1.5 brothers 14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? -probably vancouver, idk canada seems lit 15. favorite snapchat filter? -i like the one with devil horns and a tail but its cute 16. favorite makeup brand(s) -i dont wear makeup 17. how many times a week do you shower? -i used to shower every day, but i dont do anything that gets me dirty so like maybe 3 times but if i leave the house then i shower 18. favorite tv show? -stranger things 19. shoe size? -8 or 9 20. how tall are you? -5′6 with shoes >:(( 21. sandals or sneakers? -sneakers wtf 22. do you go to the gym? -lol no 23. describe your dream date -making some pie or something together and then eating the pie and then sitting on some rooftop looking at stars 24. how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? -quite a bit actually but i’m saving up for a phone lol so soon it will be like maybe 10 dollars lmao 25. what color socks are you wearing? -not wearing socks but the ones i had earlier were white (ankle length) 26. how many pillows do you sleep with? -just one but it sucks 27. do you have a job? what do you do? -NO BUT IM TRYING TO GET A JOB BUT THE FUCKIN PEOPLE THERE ARE GHOSTING ME AND WONT REPLY TO MY EMAILS SO LIKE SBJHBJS 28. how many friends do you have? -like 4 lmao 29. whats the worst thing you have ever done? -idk nothing super bad but i do a lot of small shit that makes me feel guilty when i realize what i did 30. whats your favorite candle scent? -juniper rosewood 31. 3 favorite boy names -leo, clay, charlie 32. 3 favorite girl names -ivy, uh... idk thats all ive got 33. favorite actor? -no clue 34. favorite actress? -no clue 35. who is your celebrity crush? -not a celeb but i’d smash danny phantom 36. favorite movie? -nightmare before christmas or edward scissorhands 37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? -no, but my fav book is probably the prince and the pauper? idk 38. money or brains? -CASH MONEYYYY jk probably brains but if your entire personality is being “smart” like fuck off lmao 39. do you have a nickname? what is it? - a bunch of people call me son (see #49, #100), some call me rat, dumdum, goth boy

40.how many times have you been to the hospital? -just once i think when i was birthed. i also went once with my brother cause he kicked some scissors i left out on the floor and it sliced his toe the fuck open and he needed stitches and i watched him get the stitches and almost passed out :/ 41. top 10 favorite songs -please dont make me do this i dont have it in me 42. do you take any medications daily? -yea i take 20mg of vyvanse but i need to get it raised to 30 cause 20 is Not Enough 43. what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) -i got some dry fuckin skin yall dont even know 44. what is your biggest fear? -it depends. the dark is a pretty constant one though 45. how many kids do you want? -like 2 or 3 eventually 46. whats your go to hair style? -in my face, looking stupid 47. what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) -it’s pretty small 48. who is your role model? -i dont fuckin know lmao 49. what was the last compliment you received? - “i belive in you, my son, you’re an amazing human being“ (same friend mentioned in #100, not actually a parent of mine) 50. what was the last text you sent? -”no it’s a raccoon“ YOU GET NO CONTEXT LMAO 51. how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? -i dont think i ever hardcore believed in him, maybe i did though i remember sleeping under the tree one christmas eve waiting for him but i was like “oh yeah that makes sense“ i guess 52. what is your dream car? -i honestly dont give a shit as long as it actually fucking works 53. opinion on smoking? -cigarettes? fuck no that’s nastyyy. weed? that’s fine i guess but wait till you’re like 18. 54. do you go to college? -no. am sophomore n highschool 55. what is your dream job? -musician/palentologist 56. would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? -fuck the suburbs lmao, but also im tired of rural, so like.. semi urban?? 57. do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? -no but i take the little soaps >:)) 58. do you have freckles? -yes 59. do you smile for pictures? -awkwardly, yes 60. how many pictures do you have on your phone? -dont have a phone but i have like 12 on my computer currently. 4 are of me, the rest are of my cat or random shit 61. have you ever peed in the woods? -yes 62. do you still watch cartoons? -cartoons these days kinda suck but like if they were good fuck yeah i would like gravity falls can come hang yknow? 63. do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? -i had nuggets from mcdonalds today so i guess them? i dont really care 64. Favorite dipping sauce? -i got sweet and sour but i dont like it that much. that schezuan sauce was great 65. what do you wear to bed? -wouldnt you like to know? ;)) 66. have you ever won a spelling bee? -NO ive only been in two. the first one i misspelled the word “turmoil“ cause i had never heard it before and the second one i spelled the word “owed“ as “ode“ cause i was thinking like ode to joy and then i felt like a big Fool afterwards :(( 67. what are your hobbies? -lol what hobbies 68. can you draw? -i am physically able to draw, but not well, no 69 (haha). do you play an instrument? -yeah i play a few 70. what was the last concert you saw? -i saw Chicago in either georgia or tennessee i cant remember in like 2016 71. tea or coffee? -hot coffee, iced tea. NOT the other way around. (i love both though) 72. Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? -starbucks 73. do you want to get married? -sure why not 74. what is your crush’s first and last initial? -dont have a crush 75. are you going to change your last name when you get married? -idk maybe 76. what color looks best on you? -i dont know but i wear black a lot and that’s pretty dope 77. do you miss anyone right now? -yeah 78. do you sleep with your door open or closed? -closed 79. do you believe in ghosts? -on the fence. not 100% “oh my god look at these gHoSt oRbS i need to sage my house!!!“ but i accept that there’s some things i wont understand about the world and that i have no answers to. i wouldnt be surprised if there are, and i wouldnt be surprised if there aren’t. 80. what is your biggest pet peeve? -whatever my adhd decides i viscerally hate with a firey passion right at that moment 81. last person you called -my brother (the 1 of the 1.5 from #13 and the one who sliced his toe in #40) 82. favorite ice cream flavor? -chocolate is dope 83. regular oreos or golden oreos? -regular double stuff. if you say golden, mint, peppermint, or thin oreos i’m gonna have to euthanize you, i dont make the rules. 84. chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? -rainbow cause it’s prettier 85. what shirt are you wearing? -queen shirt from hot topic 86. what is your phone background? -i didnt get a phone between question 60 and now but my computer one is some mountains with the moon in the background 87. are you outgoing or shy? -really depends on who i’m around 88. do you like it when people play with your hair? -YES FUCK AAAAAAA (this girl played with my hair literally once in middle school and i was like oh shit and i had a crush on her until the end of middle school true story,,, so ashley if you’re out there-) 89. do you like your neighbors? -to the left they’re fine and their dog is nice but idk what happened to the horses so that’s sus but that’s where our cat came from so they can hang guess, behind me they’re fine but their boys are loud, to the right they’re fine, and even further to the right are the dope neighbors and waaaaaaaaaay far to the right is a llama and he’s dope as hell 90. do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? -whenever the fuck i remember to/have the energy 91. have you ever been high? -i dont think so but i wouldnt put it past myself 92. have you ever been drunk? -not that i can remember, no 93. last thing you ate? -sloppy joe from a can 94. favorite lyrics right now -”not gonna waste my life, cause i’ve been fucked up“ 95. summer or winter? -fall. fuck you 96. day or night? -night but i like it when it’s actually night and it doesnt get dark at like 4 fucking pm cause that makes me depressed 97. dark, milk, or white chocolate? -dark is good, milk is fine, white is only suitable for fancy stripes on chocolate covered strawberries 98. favorite month? -i vibe with september 99. what is your zodiac sign -sagittarius (was almost a scorpio but i was holding out >:))) 100. who was the last person you cried in front of? -in person, my mom like 6 months ago, on a discord call, my friend (i love you by the way, you’re the best,,, i dont think he has tumblr but im just putting it out there) like a month or so ago. i hate crying in front of people, i turn into such a hyperventilating snot monster which is not suitable for human gaze and thats the real tea :/

felix this took like 2 hours of my life i will never get back i hate you and i hope you’re happy with what you’ve done <3 <3

also anyone who wants to stalk me, enjoy this information that im handing to you on a silver platter :)) <3

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stripper-patrick · 5 years

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Here for you📴 Erik Killmonger

Lil Mama 🍷

Oh shit♋️

Here for you📴

Bitch⚔️

Always be my baby💛

Song: pillowtalk- Zayn

Warnings: language, n-word use, verbal abuse, small physical abuse, smut

Relationship: Erik Killmonger x black plus sized reader

It’s been about a month since the doctors appointment. I finally got a little bump. I just look like I gained a little bit of weight not too much. Lately I’ve been thinking about Erik a lot more and how supportive he’s been and how amazing he’s been.

“You haven’t given me an answer” Dionte says taking a bite of his sandwich

“For what”

“Me proposing”

“Where’s the ring? Did you get on one knee? What’s the real reason you marrying me? Once you answer these questions then we’ll talk” I roll my eyes and Dionte leans forward

“If you ever talk to me that way again ima fuck you up”

“Don’t get popped” I say

“Check please”

...

“I don’t know who you thought you were talking to but it wasn’t me”

“Bitch I’m the man of the house”

“Nigga you came and lived with me cause yo dumbass got evicted” he backhands me and I feel a stinging pain across my face.

“Y/N I’m warning you now stop treating me like I’m a child” I grab the car keys. I get in the car and drive off. I don’t know where I’m going but I’m going away from here.

I wind up at Erik’s house and I ponder whether or not I even wanna go in. I take out the key and walk up to the door knocking on it. I wait for a bit then hear the door open and reveal Erik. No shirt no shoes and wild hair out of its braids.

“Hey mama wassup”

“Hey can I come in” he steps to the side and I walk past him.

“You ok?” We walk to the kitchen and I nod slowly “why is your face red?”

I keep quiet and fix my eyes to the painting next to him. “Y/N”

“E I-“

“Did he do this to you?” I can tell he’s getting angrier by the second.

“Er-“

“Just answer my Gotdamn question”

“Yes it there’s nothing to worry about I’ll handle it”

“I shouldn’t even be saying this cause there shouldn’t be a next time but” he pauses taking a deep breath to calm himself “the next time he touches you I’ll kill him and I put that on my life”

“E I’m fine” He sighs shaking his head

“Can you braid my hair?” I nod. I follow Erik up to his room where I grab the gel a rat tail comb and sit down on his bed. He sits in my lap but him being taller than me he has to slouch a little.

“Can I ask you something” I part his hair and pull the rest of it out of the way

“Yea” he answers

“What are these scars for?” I ask running my hands over his broad shoulders and chest.

“If I tell you, you gotta promise me you won’t look at me any different”

“Erik you’re my best friend-“

“I got that but we haven’t seen each other in years so you don’t know what I’ve done”

“What are they”

“Promise me Y/N”

“I promise”

“Each scar is for someone I’ve killed” he says.

I don’t know what to think “why”

“Sometimes in Wakanda we’ll have a ritual where you test your strength and that other person or yourself pays the price”

“And other times?” I keep braiding his hair

“When people cross me or bring up my past in a negative way”

“So if I bring up your past like your father in the heat of the moment-“ he turns around fully to me and grabs my chin softly

“I would never hurt you” he looks me directly in my eyes “you or my baby you need to understand that”

I look at him nodding. “Baby girl tell me you understand”

“I understand” he turns around and I go back to braiding his hair.

....

I’m in the kitchen making Erik some of my famous pancakes. He comes over and wraps his arms around my waist and rubs my growing stomach.

“Stay the night I don’t feel comfortable with you staying with that bitch”

“E he’ll probably blow my phone up and look for me”

“Cool if he come here and try to start some shit I’ll have another scar on me” I shake my head at his craziness. I know he’d really kill him without hesitation “did you say yes to his proposal”

“No I didn’t give him an answer” I flip the pancakes and set them on the plate

“Do you want to marry him”

“Of course not” I say

��Then tell him that mama” he kisses my cheek and grabs the stack of about 8 pancakes.

“Don’t tell me your eating all of those”

“Ok I won’t tell you”

“Erik leave 2”

“Make more”

“Please daddy” I bat my lashes at him “me and your child are hungry”

“That daddy thing will have you bent over and me slangin dick in a hot second” he puts 2 pancakes on a plate for me and I smile. Erik sits in the living room with his pancakes and I cut mine up putting syrup on them. I sit next to him and eat my pancakes while we watch American Horror Story.

Once I’m finished my food a gory scene comes on where they’re all fighting to be the Supreme and Zoe disappears and ends up on the fence dead. Blood spews from her mouth and I feel nauseous.

“I don’t feel well”

“You gon throw up?” As soon he asks that I get and walk to the bathroom throwing up my pancakes.

Again I feel Erik’s hand rub my back. I hear the water run then a cold wrap be placed on the back of my neck. I finish up and flush the toilet. I rinse my mouth and throw water on my face wiping it.

“Let’s go lay down it’s late” he says. He takes my hand in his and we go to his room.

“Do you want water?” I shake my head and undress. I go in his drawer grabbing a big t-shirt. My phone rings and Erik looks at it.

“It’s the devil himself” I grab the phone putting it on speaker. I lay down and Erik kisses my stomach rubbing it.

“Baby please come back I’m sorry I’m so sorry”

“Nah I’m spending the night at a friends”

“Y/N I’m warning you” Erik’s head pops up and his nose flares

“That’s cute” I hang up and sigh rubbing my face.

“I wanna do a drive by”

“You know what I want?”

“What’s that?”

“Some dick” I smirk rubbing his leg higher and higher. I can see he’s getting harder.

“That won’t hurt lil one?”

“It won’t even reach it. It’s small the baby I mean” he rolls his eyes kissing me and lays on top of me.

“Fuck me up daddy” I moan taking off my panties. Erik’s large fingers rub me while sucking on my neck. I dip my hand in his shorts jerking him a little watching him tense then relax.

I pull his shorts down and he pushes himself into me. My jaw drops as I pull him into myself. My nails are digging into his back. He’s slow and deep with it but still kinda rough.

My back arches off the bed and he places his hand under it holding me closer. This is different than all the other times. I can feel his love and his desperation.

“Erik” He moans by my ear egging me on. I hold him closer actually feeling him. Somehow he goes even deeper making my toes curl and my head fall back against the pillow.

Erik pulls my leg over his shoulder and starts to pound me out until we both scream each other’s name.

...

“I love you” he admits. This is rare. That’s a very special meaning to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t sweetheart”

“I love you too” I actually mean it and I haven’t meant that in a minute. Even saying it to Dionte I don’t mean it. Why am I still with him?

#smut #series #erik stevens smut #erik killmonger gifs #erik killmonger #erik stevens #black panther #erik killmonger series #avengers #marvel

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therealmadblonde · 5 years

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This must be how one gets started writing fanfic. I set out to put down a brief headcanon about how each of the Leverage crew might react to animals, and I ended up with two pages. I daresay it’s been done before, but I see a lot of this kind of thing here, so I guess this is my take on the Pets of Leverage. Feel free to argue in the comments.

We have to start with Eliot, because he’s the only one who would bring a pet home. He sees a young dog, hurt, in an alley on a rainy night, and he brings it home to tend to it before taking it to the vet. He had a dog growing up and has always liked them. When his boyhood hound broke its spine trying to jump a fence, he shot it himself to save it pain. He vowed never to have another pet, but later, on a long assignment in the Basque region, a pregnant momma cat sheltered in his hut. He let her stay because she kept the rats and bugs out. Soon he began feeding her scraps and filling a water bowl for her. She had her kittens and he secretly loved watching them play, and built a nesting box they couldn’t get out of. Several weeks later, when the kits were close to being weaned, mama cat went out to hunt and never came back. Eliot cared for the kittens until he could find homes among the locals for each. They were good mousers and well prized, but Eliot saved one ‘til the last, a big tom he called Gauerdi. That one was hard to give up.

When he brings the dog back to the brew-pub, it is with the intention of bringing it to the pound the next morning, but it looks so poorly he’s afraid they’ll just put it down. So he keeps it and cares for it and begins to teach it obedience. It’s some kind of brindled bull mix, big and strong, and he names it Butch. Eliot has a natural way with animals, and they love him and do what he says. A few months later, he notices distinctive signs of mice in the basement and thinks about getting traps, but when he’s taking some late trash out, he hears a loud mewling. Two kittens are crying in the rain, and one is the spitting image of Gauerdi. He puts them in a dry box in the same spot and waits until sunrise to see if their momma comes back, but she never does, so he brings them in.

Hardison is initially not pleased about the pets. He is concerned they will be noisy and distracting and make a mess, and he’s afraid that, as the responsible one who usually cares for the home, he’ll be left with the care and clean-up. Sometimes he is, but he puts his foot down firmly about emptying the litter box. There were often pets around his Nana’s house, but they always belonged to the other kids. He spent his money and time on tech.

The dog tries hard to win his love, and the cats LOVE his equipment because it is warm, so they always seem to be near him, even if they never obey him. He begins talking to them while the others are off on heists and he is home alone. He is won over by their cuteness and love. And by watching Parker with them.

Parker is fascinated with the animals, never having had a pet or even a friend with a pet. She relates to each as an individual, and tries to understand their psychology. She’s the one who cleans the litter box, no fuss, because Eliot explains that it’s a good way to monitor their health. She gets Hardison to build an elaborate cat tower with a climbing section that is Parker-sized so she can perch up high with the cats. She teaches Butch to walk on his hind legs. She teaches the cats acrobatics and plays with them for hours. The smaller of the two is a black tortoiseshell with black mask-like patches over her eyes: Valois-Saint-Remy, or Remy for short. She likes to climb with and/or on Parker, and likes to perch on Hardison’s shoulder as he’s working.

The larger of the two is a tuxedo cat like Gauerdi, and his name is Wild. Eliot has taught him to play fetch and he often races Butch for the ball. He’s a big and powerful cat who likes to roughhouse with the dog, but he’ll let Parker dress him up in hats and sweaters for pictures, and lie perfectly still in her arms when she rubs his belly.

Parker wants more animals and keeps bugging Hardison every time they pass a pet store or see a flier for free bunnies. Finally, he buys her a beautiful snake, Vincenzo, and she is so fascinated that she begins to wear it around the place as a necklace or bracelet. Hardison often swears he’s sorry he bought it, and will not watch it eat, but loves to see Parker pleased and secretly thinks she looks very elegant and exotic with it wrapped around her.

Sophie doesn’t care for any of the animals. They shed and make messes. The dog plays too rough and pulls too hard on the lead. The cats claw and put holes in her sweaters. The snake just scares her. The final straw is when Butch chews up a pair of her Jimmy Choos. Eliot has to keep her from hitting him with the last of the left sole and heel. After that, she refuses to have anything to do with any of the animals and often asks the others to move them or put them in another room.

Nate initially grumbles and complains, says they’re thieves, not the ASPCA. But Butch has a habit of sitting with his head on Nate’s knee, and Nate will absentmindedly pet him. Soon Nate is found napping with a cat on his lap and one curled up under his chin. He refuses to feed or walk them, but he becomes known for sneaking them treats at the table, and they wait by his feet anytime there’s food. Nate sometimes calls the snake Sterling just to tease Parker.

#leverage #nate ford #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #sophie devereaux #pets of leverage #OF COURSE they name all their pets after famous thieves!#Butch-Remy-Wild-Vincenzo

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skyoffireau · 5 years

Text

Bluestar’s Quest, Ch. 3

The water ran over Sunningrocks as Bluefur made her way through the woods and to the stones at the edge of the river. Snowflower trod beside her, so close she could feel her warmth. Accompanying them were Thistleclaw, Whitepaw, Featherwhisker and Stormtail.

They hadn’t shared a very deep connection with their father, the twins, but he had still insisted he be present for their departure. Whitepaw was murmuring worriedly to his mother, flitting his tail back and forth. Thistleclaw said nothing, but glared silently ahead. Featherwhisker carried two bundles of traveling herbs in his jowls, unable to speak through them.

Finally they reached the edge of the Sunningrocks, the sand digging between Bluefur’s toes.

“This is where we leave you,” Featherwhisker said after he put down his herbs. “Eat these; it will stave off your hunger and shorten your journey.”

Bluefur nodded gratefully and bent down, chewing the herbs up and swallowing them with a hard, forced gulp. The sour taste was enough to make a cat ill, but she tried to shrug it off. Snowflower ate her bundle, then turned to her small family.

“Please be careful,” Whitepaw fussed softly. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll be going through enemy territory,” Thistleclaw said with a low grumble. “Don’t be afraid to defend yourself, tooth and claw.”

“I will, and I won’t,” Snowflower said with a dutiful nod. “Don’t forget, me and Bluefur are warriors. We’ve fought for these very rocks. We can fend off a scrawny WindClan patrol.”

Thistleclaw glared at Bluefur, sending a shock through her. “You can’t expect others to come to your aid every time you fight,” he growled. “Especially not your kin.”

Snowflower was rendered speechless, and she shrugged. “Well, we’ll be fine, either way. I’ll be back for your Warrior Ceremony, honeynose. I promise.” She touched her nose to Whitepaw’s, then departed from their side. Bluefur settled a few paces behind her sister’s, and they left the Sunningrocks and ThunderClan behind.

As they followed the river, the water flowing past them and far away, Bluefur gazed across the water. The reeds rustled, and a flash of reddish-brown fur swept between them. Before she could meet the green eyes waiting for her, Bluefur charged forward through the long grass, kicking up leaves.

“Are you that excited?” Snowflower asked with a laugh as she followed Bluefur. The grey queen laughed in reply, playing off her fears and shame.

They reached the Falls, where Bluefur gazed down at the rocks and spray for a bit before following past the bridge connecting WindClan and RiverClan. It was an odd twoleg thing that was rarely ever used. Fourtrees was next, and as they passed the hollow Bluefur admired the Great Rock. One day I’ll be standing up there, she thought, representing my Clan! It was a kittenish thought, but a nice one.

They reached WindClan’s moorlands, where the gentle breeze became a light yet buffeting wind. Snowflower’s long fur parted, and the pink skin showed underneath as they navigated the tall grasses where WindClan made their hunting grounds.

By the time the sun was setting they were almost entirely across the moor, and the sleepiness and hunger was beginning to set in. Bluefur sniffed at a few oddly large rabbit dens by the gorge, but ended up passing them by.

“There’s a barn,” Snowflower suggested, using her nose to indicate. “We can stay there, maybe?”

She was hesitant, but as they continued walking, the soreness in her pawpads encouraged her to agree. They slid under the fencing and into the freshly-harvested crops, the soft upturned earth a welcome feeling on sore feet. They made their way to the barn, where the warmth of the hay inside was welcoming.

They padded through the door, and Bluefur was shocked to see cats lounging on the hay bails.

“Hullo,” one of them said, a black queen with soft features. “You Clan cats?”

“Yes,” Snowflower said with a small nod.

“We were looking to stay the night here,” Bluefur said, forcing the words out through her surprise. “Would that be alright?”

“Of course!” the ginger tom said, flitting his tail as he jumped down to greet them. “We love getting visitors. My name’s Fleck, and this-” he used his tail to gesture to the queen still on the hay bail - “Is my sister, Mitzi.”

Bluefur dipped her head to the two loners. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said.

“Feel free to hunt yourselves full,” Mitzi offered warmly. “My daughter Soot can show you the chicken coop where the mice live.”

From the depths, a black molly that was almost a perfect copy of Mitzi came out, slinking between bails. “I always was the best hunter.”

“Was not!” This was a black-and-white tom, laying prone beside a curled up tortoiseshell with a purple collar.

“I was the best hunter, once,” another tom said, this one a grey tom with pale gold eyes. “We were all the best, I think, at some point.”

“Anyway,” Soot said sharply. “Those are my brothers, Magpie and Mist. Magpie’s mate is Amber. My sister’s around here somewhere,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “She’s always kind of roving... her name is Piper. She looks like me but dirtier.”

“Be nice!” Mitzi scolded as the three queens made their way to the entrance.

Soot humpfed, then lead the two sisters out of the barn and back into the field.

“So where have you traveled from?” Soot asked casually as they walked.

“ThunderClan,” Snowflower replied. “We’ve been sent here on a mission.”

“Awesome,” Soot said. “A pawful of seasons ago, we had this tom named Stormkit live with us. He said he was from RiverClan.”

“That must be Crookedjaw,” Bluefur said with a nod. “I heard rumors he disappeared for a while as a kit.”

“Crookedjaw would be his name,” Soot said, with a bit of sadness in her voice. “He had a terribly broken face...”

Her voice trailed off, and the three queens took to hunting after a few more moments of walking. There was nothing but rat and mouse-scent, but Bluefur didn’t mind that. A lack of variety for a day was a small price to pay for such a big adventure and a message from StarClan itself.

They brought their kills back to the barn, where Bluefur sat a distance from the barn cats with her sister and tucked into the meal. Thank you, StarClan, for the food you’ve given me and my sister, she thought. And if you could, protect these cats, too. Not every cat must be in a Clan to be protected, right?

The thought bugged her, but she said nothing to her sister. She disposed of the prey-bones outside of the barn, then came back inside and curled up, grey fur brushing against Snowflower’s white. There she dozed, thinking of the big day to come.

#BQ #Bluestar's Quest #NaNoWriMo

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vampwrrrmistresslist · 5 years

Text

Sweet Lies 1

Rated 18+ and PLD for Poor Life Decisions

Footsteps pounding against concrete. A single drop of sweat trickling down the back of your neck. Smothering humid air in pre-dawn warmth. It’s you, the summer dark, and Trent Reznor pouring loving acid in your ears. Four am. You knew that you shouldn’t be out this early, but you couldn’t stand the southern summer heat, couldn’t bear to run with the sun beating the sweat out of your back, stealing the air from your lungs, sapping your strength. So, you awoke every morning with the birds, and ran for hours before the rise of your enemy in the sky.

Friends and family protested, but your town was relatively safe, and you mostly ran in quiet neighbourhoods, and along the rip rap between town-homes that you couldn’t afford, and the gentle bay. Your favourite mornings were in the fall, when fog would steal in on little cat feet, to blanket the world in white. On those days, you would take your time, walking along the docks, blind to the world, except for the water around your feet. You felt like the only person left.

You were 30 years old, and felt dry, withered, like the sap of life had drained away. Tucked away in a safe, if somewhat dead-end government call centre job, living with your blind father, the world passed you by as you seamlessly moved from living to existing. No car, no savings, just a little apartment for you two, and a few fat cats on whom you lavished all the love that was meant for that someone special that you were now firmly convinced you would never meet. Between taking care of your father, a couple of surprise illnesses that resulted in your having to undergo multiple surgeries, educational loans, exorbitant rent, and two cats whose internal organs decided to break, costing thousands of dollars to fix, you were broke, with no end in sight. So, sometimes you just needed to be alone. To breathe by yourself, and for a glorious moment, pretend that you didn’t have responsibilities bowing your over-burdened shoulders, turning you into a beldam before your time.

The most frustrating thing was that you had done everything right. You had been an obedient daughter, never getting into trouble, never asking for anything. You graduated in the top 5% of your high school class, only to go on to double major in the local Ivy League, where you again graduated summa cum laude. The one mistake—one—that you could possibly trace, is that you decided to take a gap year between university, and grad school, to earn enough money to buy a car.

Unfortunately, ensconced in your ivy bower, you hadn’t taken into account the gravity of just how bad the economy really was, and after two years of being unable to find a job, you were firmly in debt. When you were finally able to find your current employment, and had almost dug yourself out of your mountain of debt, your father lost his sight, and the city eminent-domained your entire block, leaving you to try to find somewhere for the both of you.

It turned out that your search had been for nothing, as it was then that your bipolar stepmother decided to waltz her way back into your father’s good graces, offering her apartment, saying that she wanted to be a family. Again. You had lost count of how many times you had done that particular song and dance throughout your childhood. So, you decided to let them go be great together. When your father realized what you were planning, however, he told you in no uncertain terms, that if you left him now, you left him for good. He would disown you. And so, against your better judgement, you moved in with the harpy. Again.

And it was fine for a few years. Until it wasn’t. You had almost paid off your entire debt when she broke. She left. Again.

Thousands of dollars, and a few more years later, you had once again almost made it out of the hole, when you grew ill. Years of seeing doctors, growing ever sicker, ever weaker, only to finally be diagnosed with something that should have been found on the first visit. The only option was surgery, and you did it, only to land back in the hospital within three months, due to a spontaneous organ failure, at the same time as your cats’ debacle. Prior to all of this, you had almost, once more seen the silver lining of solvency among the clouds of debt. After these events, however…you were once again, right back where you started. Just thinking about it made you want to weep.

Before your illness, faced with digging yourself once more out of debt, you had decided to change the one thing over which you felt you had control. Your body. You had always been chubby, but cute, but one day you looked in the mirror to discover that you could barely recognize this new body. So, you decided to finally start treating yourself preciously. Between a quality diet, and exercise, you managed to lose almost all of the weight, save for last 14 lbs. Then you got sick, and over the next few years, between your illness, being unable to exercise, and too depressed to eat well, you gained it all back, and then some. If you believed in reincarnation, then you would have thought that you betrayed your country in a previous life. How could one little person have so much bad luck? So, you ran. You ran in the morning, and you ran after work. It was the one thing you had over which you had control. Alone, in the dark, with nothing but your breath, and the music, you didn’t have to respond, didn’t have to make decisions, didn’t have to worry, you could just…breathe.

The sultry lyrics to “Reptile” slithered through your hindbrain as you ran, the waters of the bay softly lapping against the rip rap. As you rounded the turn that would take you away from the townhomes, and through the park, you noticed a van parked in the middle of park’s exit. You didn’t think much of it, as cars parked in that space all the time, the park being right next to a hotel parking garage. You slowed as you approached. Even though you were confident that it was nothing, you lived life cautiously. Looking to the left, and to the right, you saw that all of the other park exits were closed, so unless you wanted to jump the fence, you were going to have to squeeze by that van. Head tilted, you examined it for a while, but saw no sign of life. Shrugging, you slipped out of the gate, and side-stepped the side of the van to get past it, and back on the path.

***

“Mineminemine,” he thought inchoately as he watched you. It had been months since he first saw you, ever since you ran by him early one morning, the sunrise still a thought on the horizon. Face flushed and dewy, mouth rosy, long, thick braided ponytail switching like a black snake, the exercise doing interesting things to the jigglier bits of your anatomy, to him you were a vision. He slipped deeper in the shadows, to remain unnoticed as you jogged by. Since then, he awoke at four every morning, just to see you. He didn’t see you every day, but like a rat in a variable interval schedule of reinforcement experiment, he still and always came every day. Just in case. When he finally got up the courage to let you see him, stepping near the path on which you ran, pretending to walk a friend’s dog that he had borrowed just for the purpose, you nodded at him, just once, as you ran by, the scent of your hair enveloping him in a warm cloud of bliss. He knew then, that you were meant to be with him, had seen the way your eyes lingered over him as you ran by, seen the blush that stole over your skin the pre-dawn moonlight. You were just too shy to say anything, he understood that. He understood that it would be up to him to ensure your future together. You didn’t need to say anything; that one glance told him everything, and so, longingly watching your retreating back, he began to plan.

***

You edged past the side of the van toward the front, almost clearing it when the side door slid open. Surprised, you gave a yelp, then grinned at the tall, thin man who stared at you, mouth agape. “Sorry,” you chuckled, pulling out your earbuds. “I’m easily startled.” You waited a moment for a nod, a smile, a response, anything, but he continued to stare at you, unresponsive. “O…kay,” you thought, “this is creepy beyond all reason.” “Right,” you said, nodding once, as you backed away, around the front of the van, to the other side of the path. After a few steps, you glanced behind you to see that the man was gone. You turned back around, the skin between your shoulder blades itching as if you were being watched. Suddenly, you heard a shuffling step that quickly turned into a run, and you spun to see him coming right for you. Quickly turning on your heel, you made to run down the path which, unfortunately led under the bridge, but if you could just get past that, you would be on the docks, with the early morning watermen, who would hear you if you needed help. Unfortunately, his long legs ate up the ground between you, and before you even made it to the underpass, he grabbed you from behind, and lifted you in the air, squeezing you tightly.

***

“Come on! Come on!” he panted, half carrying you, half dragging you back toward the van. News articles flashed behind your eyes, “30 year old woman kidnapped while on morning run,” “Local government employee goes missing,” “Jogger’s body found in park”. Yes, you were 30 years old, and you had done next to nothing. You were 30 years old, and life was passing you by. You were 30 years old, and might not live to see 31. You were 30 years old…and you were pissed.

A/N: This is the first chapter of an ongoing fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist. If you want to follow me, then please do so at my main blog @vampwrrr, as I always update there, first.

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known: Topside Turvy

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female OC, Dean x Demon!Reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have included dates relevant to air dates for reference points. I try not to repeat information you already know, but please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Torture, captivity, demons, Possession, necromancy, corpse disposal/ desecration, murder, eating raw beef, autopsies, animal death, angel kills, show level violence, Slow Burn. More warnings to come. Each Chapter will have its own warnings, because I am generous like that.

Earth Date: April 18, 2013

Location: Hell, and its Earth-level operations

The king knew the Winchesters were interfering with his domain; all too soon his rage reverberated throughout every corner of Hell. Your pacifism had somehow gone unseen, leaving you to ponder their motivations in silence as you focused your energy to quell your panic over betraying the crown. Crowley worked in secret with the kidnapped prophet under the strictest of security. Today the rumors started: he decided to use a new angle to break the petulant former honor student. The king of Hell was holding a casting call. Any demon who thought they had the chops to portray the Winchesters well enough to coax information out of the paranoid prophet. ‘Potential side parts available, real talent only apply.’

Curiosity got the best of you, after a few hours you tracked down the where and when. Upon breaching the portal to Earth, you had to recite your resume and why you thought yourself qualified to audition for the challenge.

“I was tortured by Dean Winchester.” You said it plainly, as if it was a long-forgotten past, and not a constant pining at the base of your every thought.

“When were you on Earth last?” the first gatekeeper asked, unimpressed.

“He tortured me here, before my, evolution,” You used your hands, hoping your point got across. When his dead eyes blinked back, you added. “Under Alistair’s tutelage?”

“Line B,” he nodded behind him. “Follow the stairs to the vessels. The boss wants us all in meat suits for the glamor to work.”

As you found the appropriate entry gate, you shuffled along the slight incline of the dusty floor. You had yet to find anyone ahead of you in your assigned queue. As the despair began to dissipate, you knew you had left the true confines of Hell behind. The magical bindings along the fences kept you weak, unable to flee and the atmosphere slowly softened your membrane sublimating you into a shapeless cloud. The Den of Bodies reeked of fresh death, human forms deposited like unwanted toys, empty from either recent possession or the tinny aftertaste of necromancy.

You soon found a male form close to Dean’s height and followed the cramped line illuminated with an icy blue letter “B”. Slowly you adjusted to the feel and weight of the vessel, it was hollow and odiferous in a way a corpse could only be. Walking came quickly and as you rounded the next bend you eventually found the demon ahead of you in the line, which thrice wrapped around a broad chamber. Within the darkened space more servants in human skin were transforming the old warehouse into a mirage of a crumby tugboat in a forgotten American freshwater harbor. Suddenly a fresh panic overtook you. Besides the very slim possibility of being transfigured into the man that was the focus of your emotions for centuries, what were you doing here?

In the end, you improvised. You didn’t make it passed the first round of auditions, didn’t even get a chance to perform for the king himself. But that didn’t stop you from observing the surveillance goons’ schedules and precisely orchestrated operation during the days you waited in line. On a whim, after your second rejection, you hung back and hid in the Wardrobe Department like a forgotten costume change. It was the quietest space you had occupied in decades, content to wait out the auditions like a rat waiting for the carnival to close.

And what a closing night; first they sent the last of the surviving actors back downstairs. All but one of the staggered portals sealed and secured by patrols. Since the Wardrobe Den was on this side of the portals, but out of the way of their duties, it was the last thing searched. So, when you heard voices whimpering about clean up detail; you got creative. Standing you dragged a body by its feet to the top of the heap.

“Wait, I thought we were on body dispersal?” A confused elderly Asian suited demon complained.

“I got sent from deliveries, figured we would take a handful so as not to draw attention once we are done with the project,” You shrugged, grabbing another body to stack.

“Whatever, man, let’s just fry the ones we need to before the boss comes back?” The first demon’s lanky partner bought your story, helping you even out the third body on your pile. You swung around, pulling the collected stack of bodies back the way they came, hoping to find a true Exit to the outside world. There was a goddamn sign, green like toxic ooze, lighting your way. The slow trudge of dragging bodies alleviated as you found an old dolly on the wings of a loading dock.

“What are you doing?” A demon with a security uniform on asked as you plopped the last lifeless corpse on to the metal cart.

“Hiding bodies, what does it look like I’m doing?” You sighed, breathing in the outside air for the first time in a century, so close to freedom you could taste it. An unraveling sense of possibility exploded among your thoughts.

“Okay, on your way, grab some Pad Thai? The golden boy in there is getting pretty obscure with his food requests. We got another truck handling the rest of the laundry list.” He handed you a scrawled-on shred of paper. You took the assignment in slight disbelief as a dubious grin broke onto your vessel’s face. Could demons get any stupider?

Earth date: April 21, 2013

Location: Janesville, CA

It was oddly damp and cool, but out in the open the afternoon sun gave off such warmth you would have stayed out until sunset. The dead man you had been wearing since Hell had caused some trouble and you were in the market for a new ensemble as you strolled down the gravel drive toward the ramshackle homestead, just enjoying the spring day. The bull had sensed you coming, an agonizing moan tore through its massive throat before it sunk to the ground. Its fear was the dinner bell, you quickly hopped the pasture fence to play with the anguished creature.

A shotgun blast shot out in warning behind you, the old farmer calling out as he approached, “Get back now!”

The beast’s blood had soaked the dirt beneath your knees, your hands and face caked with the sticky liquid. The knowledge that this was its true death and that it had happened at your hands flowed through you, an unbridled power. The muffled shriek that came from the man’s mouth as you spun to face him was icing on the cake. You quickly approached him, the urine snaked down his jeans and on to his shaking legs. He couldn’t form words before his heart gave out with your tendon-riddled smile. You left him for his Reaper and marched to his backdoor.

“Was that really necessary Harold!” The old woman bellowed from the next room. “I swear I need to hide that gun, with your eye sight,” her voice trailed off as she looked up to see all the blood-soaked six feet of your vessel in the door way. She crossed herself, before you smoked out of the mess and into her praying throat. Hopefully, you had caused enough mayhem for those pesky little hunters to start poking their noses around.

You cleared her throat and went for the phone, dialing the emergency line. “Yes? Hello? Oh god, this man attacked Simon, and now I think Harold’s had a heart attack. Please, send help—” You waited on the line, frantically trying to give the dispatcher the details. Before the sirens were on the horizon, you walked your old vessel back out to the pasture and planted two solid blasts to the body. Your short stay in the old woman had given her quite the headache and she quickly passed out beside the telephone. You jumped into Harold before he was loaded into the back of the ambulance and taken to the county coroner.

Earth date: April 23, 2013 (Just before Pac Man Fever)

Location: Lassen County Government Office, Susanville, CA

Chloe Collins tightened the belt of her trench coat, realizing it would be too warm to use soon. Her etched blade rested carefully on her belt, hidden yet accessible in its personalized leather sheath. She checked her watch before taking another sip of her gas station coffee-hodge-podge of regular Colombian roast cut with their water and powder cappuccino concentrate. She was waiting on Roger or Geoff, not sure who would draw the short straw, and therefore would have to put forth some effort in the appearance department. While the other got lucky and was due to be scoping out the cleared crime scene. She hadn’t slept in two days when the omens came up on the radar. She had gotten into town early the night before, allowing her some rest before back-up or county offices were ready for her.

She was giving Geoff/ Roger ten more minutes, or she was going in alone, slackers. When her phone rang, she didn’t even check the caller ID. “If you are going to bail, save it, I would have been done here if I wasn’t waiting on you two.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Cease,” a rich baritone replied. She froze and pulled her face away to check her guess.

“Yup, just did the assumption ass thing, whatcha need Winchester?” She leaned back against the driver’s side door of her pick up as she listened to his very detailed request. “If you had a prophet all this time, how come you didn’t share some winning lotto numbers?”

She heard the exhaustion over the phone, the snark was to draw out the conversation as Roger had finally shown up. CC relished in making him listen to her side of the line as he stewed in apologetic, if not awkward intrusion.

“Nah, not that kind of prophet, think decoder ring. Anyway, you see anything or if you get a demon talking, send a line. Alright?” Dean wrapped up his request.

“Alright. Take care.”

“Yeah, you too.” He ended a little too sadly.

CC slid the phone into her pocket to smile innocently at Roger. “Since you’re late, you get body duty, I’m going to catch up with the Sheriff.” He rolled his eyes and nodded, letting her lead the way.

The refrigerator was nearly empty when they slid the body of the old man you rode into the middle row, chest height for easy access. You were fascinated by the vivisection and organ removal, leaving the doctor to do his job. The Sheriff was friendly despite being extremely uneasy about the details of the case. You had to hold back from giving him the scare of his life more times than you could count. “Psychopaths are bad for PR,” you heard as the evidence was verified and files were exchanged. Now, in the cold and the dark you waited, hoping you had hit all the neon warning lights that would bring somebody useful within arms’ reach.

The coroner began muttering under his breath, something about the Feds and not having time for this. He quickly brought out the focus of the investigation, the body of your escape vessel that had been dead for weeks when it mutilated a prized bull and took two blasts to the torso. Another man’s voice began asking questions, weird substances and oddities in the coroner’s findings.

“Yeah, you know what, I haven’t gotten it sent out yet, but his ears were lined with this powder,” there was scraping and shuffling before he handed the vial to the investigator. “Besides the whole, eating a cow raw thing, that was weird.”

“Right.” The stranger listened as the coroner read all the medical jargon from the report back to him. “Thanks, Doc, I think I will just check the other body quickly while I wait for my partner to finish up with the Sheriff.”

“Harold Simmons, not much weird there, poor guy,” the door opened, and you felt the tray jostle the stiff that you were squatting in. Resisting the urge to tear open the eyelids and treat both the men to their own wet shorts, you laid still, waiting for the hunter to show his true colors. The funny thing about Hell was that it hadn’t taught you how gullible and disposable humans were. The constant torture and regeneration of the soul made any act possible, but back on Earth a hang nail could practically do them in. You had yet to perfect the art of handling them properly, your own strength and distaste winning over patience and inconspicuousness. When the coroner finally shut the door behind him, the hunter dug the vial of sulfur from his pocket, cracking the safety seal and sniffing away like any asinine teenager in chemistry class.

“Blech, should have known.” Roger capped the sample and put it back among the doctor’s collected evidence on a cart.

“You know, you don’t smell like daisies either,” you replied, sniffing the air haughtily from your seat on the metal rack.

The hunter balked at you before throwing a baggie of salt at your face. The slight residue on the exterior of the plastic seal smarted, but the contents remained secure as the bag bounced off the grizzled jaw of your meatsuit and fell to the floor. You jumped from your perch at the man who was know fumbling with his phone and aiming a useless handgun at your head. You sighed, reaching out and snapping his wrist effectively liberating his weapon. He cried out, a whimper more than scream.

“Now, I don’t have to kill you,” you crooned, sliding the barrel of the gun along his jaw, “just want to talk. I was hoping some of your kind would come sniffing around.”

“I ain’t gonna talk, man, I don’t make deals,” He groaned, rocking his shatter joint on his chest. Well, he was playing tougher than you gave him credit for, which just made it more exciting.

“Oh, no, honey, I’m not here to upsell you for the soul suite of your choice,” you bent over, cold skin flush against his greasy forehead, instantly he kicked away, disgusted. A guttural laugh broke from the old man, lungs that weren’t, wheezing with the effort. “No, but how ‘bout you tell me about them Winchester boys, eh?” The toothless mouth loose with a hapless grin.

Just as you finished whispering a flash of metal caught your eye, a spell blade slashed against the sinewy forearm of your vessel as you spun to face your attacker. The flesh bubbled, the air soon filled with it. Now this was a hunter, she was crouched down, her weapon rolling between her fingers as she circled you for another opening. You had lost the gun in the distraction before her arrival. Her hair was pinned back, but it was dark and coarse, her professional full-length coat floating behind her like a cape. She tried signaling her partner, but you kicked the gun out of reach of his good hand.

You taunted her, “Look-y here boys, the big girl is bringing the hurt. Fancy blade you got there, where’d you get something like that? Two for one deal? The coat and the dagger free with purchase?”

“I fucking hate mouthy demons,” she snipped through clenched teeth.

“CC!” The man bellowed, he had left his path for the gun, instead going back to the forgotten sack of saline. The bag flew through the air and just as she caught it, you ejected from the dead man’s jaw and into the air, you aimed for the injured man in hopes to play on the woman’s sympathies. But he was somehow warded. Frustrated, you snaked back, finding her throat much more accommodating. Being inside a living vessel was like jumping onto a moving train, her thoughts and instincts fighting every piece of your presence and prodding.

“CC? Can you hear me?” All the color had drained from Roger’s face as she shuddered underneath your weight.

“My knife, Rog,” she stammered, she sure was strong. You stood frozen, willing her to grab her gun and put five rounds through the back of his skull, to scream for the Sheriff, to do a twostep; the bitch wouldn’t budge. You roamed her memories, floating through the day at the farm with the Sheriff, her annoyance that the man she was working with was late, a phone call about a prophet. Kevin Tran. A request from an old friend, a mutual acquaintance as it were. You were stopped before you could go deeper, a sharp jab of iron to her thigh shot you right back out of her tense jaw.

Fascinated and annoyed, you disappeared out of the open door and into the hallway that ran the length of the municipal building. You dove into a spherical clerk who was overseeing marriage licenses and stayed put.

“What the hell was that?!” Roger screeched.

“That,” CC panted, “was a demon, dumb ass.” She kissed the iron face of her trusty knife as it had just saved her from being a sulfur buffed surfboard. CC stood, helping the gangly man to his feet. After quickly realizing how impossible it would be to find the demon among the building full of office staff and deputies. They, instead, cooperated to ease the vacated corpse back onto the gurney-like bed he had sprang from. They worked quickly, not wanting to bring any more suspicions to the small town’s doorstep.

After a day next to the police scanner while cruising the simple farm highways in either direction, Roger, Geoff and Chloe called it a night. They would stay up in shifts, salt lining the door and windows, waiting for the murderous damnation to leave a trail of bodies. It was three days without any sign or circumstance that would warrant further investigation. They had lost it, best to move on and pray a better hunter faced it next.

The orthopedic lifts in the rubber soled shoes rubbed mercilessly against the woman’s high arches as she shuffled down the frontage road to the outdated pick up truck. She was sticky with sweat, and the dry air didn’t help her breathing. Her thin top clung to the lumps and rolls as she waddled along, hoping she would catch the Federal Agents before they left town. She had no idea how she knew where they were staying or why she needed to see them, but she hurried all the same. At the tarnished number twelve she stopped, chest heaving and permed hair clinging to her temples. She raised her doughy hand to knock when the door swung back, a gun level with her face as she lost her voice, “Don’t shoot!” came later as her eyes clamped shut and her hands raised in surrender.

“What do you want?” The female agent spat, lowering the weapon into the back of a pair of jeans, the large leather knife case obvious on her hip.

“Just wanted to stop you before you left, my name is Darlene Woods, I work at the Sheriff’s office.” The older woman’s voice was shrill and persistent. “Now, why did I come all the way here?” the woman held her hand to her mouth, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you need me to call someone for you? Ms. Woods? Is everything alright?” Chloe Collins rested against the motel room door, worry for the older woman only slightly overtaking her paranoia.

“Just give me a minute, dear,” Darlene looked at the ground, her hands on her hips as if her memory would surrender to her grimace. “Oh, silly me, I remember!”

And she smiled with a darkness in her eyes that Chloe knew all too well.

Earth date: April 30, 2013

Location: Albuquerque, New Mexico

She had been heading East on nothing but a hunch, the news stories and tips fading to white noise as she let the mile markers lead her onward. Chloe sat at the Biggersons’ counter nursing her second coffee refill. She could have asked for a box for her leftover lunch, but she was going to hit the road anyway, might as well eat as much as she could because it was who knows how long until her next stop. There was an ironic rebellion to her giving the monstrous restaurant chain her business, since they had been slowly poisoning a third of America not a year earlier while the Leviathans roamed free. One more monster invasion she had survived and now lived to enjoy their sweet potato fries another day.

Her waitress stormed out of the backroom in sobs, the entire room quieted as her predicament spread throughout the dinning area.

“Margie!” The manager chased after her from the kitchen, his face worried with a mix of personal pain.

Just then the televisions all changed to a live news broadcast, the sister franchise in flames in Santa Fe. CC watched the wreckage as the drama from the backroom became clear. Just as the news shot panned out in order to get the reporter back in the shot, she caught it: a mysterious figure amongst the flames. A tiny voice in the back of her head told her to ignore it, that it wasn’t worth her time. She promptly ignored the voice, bemusedly noting that the next leg of her trek would be much shorter than she originally thought.

CC left two twenties under her saucer and shrugged into her suede leather coat. Some days a generous tip was all it took to turn a server’s day around and Chloe had more money than time.

*^*

Next Chapter: Crowley and the Queen

#known series #dean winchester #dean winchester x demon!reader #dean winchester x female oc #dean winchester fanfic #dark fic #demon!reader #hell #blood #animal death #demon possession #demons #dean x you #dean fanfic #dean fic #spn dark fic #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 6 years

Text

Phantom Thief

Word Count: 9000+ (chapter 2 of 3) (chapter 1)

Genre: Angst/Family

Characters: Emerald Sustrai, Jadeite Sustrai (OC, mentioned), Beryl Sustrai (OC), minor OCS

Summary: Professional thief Jadeite Sustrai dreams of only one thing: a happy family. To that end, he sets out from home to seek his fortune, certain that before long, he will be able to bring his wife and little daughter into a life of ease and plenty.Unfortunately, Jadeite's plan is nowhere near as clever as he thinks. And before long, young Emerald's life takes a nosedive straight into hell.

Content warnings for child abuse, child abandonment, mentions of domestic abuse, classism, and violence against the homeless.

~0~

“Dear mother, dear father, you clipped my wings before I learned to fly

Unspoiled, unspoken, I’ve outgrown that fucking lullaby

Same thing I’ve always heard from you; do as I say, not as I do

Innocence torn from me without your shelter, barred reality, I’m living blindly.”

- Dyers’ Eve, Metallica

~0~

Days like this are the worst.

The rain pours down so hard and fast that Emerald can’t see anything outside the wide front window of the bakery. Though the place is small and warmed by the heat of the ovens, she still shivers to look and be reminded that she’ll soon have to run back out into that.

Of course, it’s out of nervousness as much as chill. This is a first-time mark for her, and nothing about it puts her at ease. It’s late afternoon, near closing time, so there’s only two or three other people inside, but that just gives her less to blend in with. And the man behind the back counter -- who looks as if he should be breaking bones in the prizefighting ring instead of here baking pastries -- had snorted derisively when she’d hurried through the door, and in the few minutes since, had barely taken his eyes off her, contempt and judgment clear in them.

She knows how she looks; a stick-thin preteen in a filthy, overlarge shirt and tattered shorts, soaked to the skin and looking over his precious loaves of bread with broken, dirty fingernails is not something any shopkeeper who gives a shit wants to see on his property. She guesses that the only reason he hasn’t chased her out yet is because of her new trick: reach into her empty pocket and ruffle around in it, while slipping the sound of clicking plastic and glimpses of Lien cards into the man’s mind, making him think that she is a paying customer, if a distasteful one.

Emerald swallows, trying very, very hard not to look at him, only at the paper-wrapped bread arranged on the table before her as if hung up about which one to buy. She doesn’t want to be here. She’d have a much easier time with the convenience stores further downtown, where the tall shelves hid her better, the workers usually didn’t give her a second glance, and she could grab bottles of water and one of those huge boxes of crackers that would keep much longer than bread. But lately there were more and more obstacles popping up between her and a bite to eat there: her Semblance didn’t work on security cameras, her face was becoming too familiar, as someone who came in often but never could seem to buy a thing, and eventually even the laziest, most apathetic workers are bound to notice something at some point.

So here she is, so scared her stomach is doing backflips and struggling not to give herself away by trembling too much. But if she can pull this off right, she’s only seconds away from her first meal in days. Taking a deep, steadying, hopefully inconspicuous breath, and picks up the biggest loaf of bread within her reach. She pretends she didn’t just feel the shopkeeper’s glare intensify like a hot dagger to her neck, pretends to simply be examining her choice, while in reality she’s trying to concentrate. It’s more difficult than she’d thought; she hadn’t expected her head to start hurting so bad so fast. Even without the voice in the back of her mind --

(“You won’t ever do that to me again!”)

Don’t think about it! Don’t look...Don’t look...just focus, right over there, behind him, picture it...

Damn it, this is so hard, too hard, she should have practiced more but it hurt too much, she can’t use her Semblance on someone she can’t see, she should just forget it and go but the bread is fresh and warm in her hands and it’s so big and she’s so hungry --

Now!

“Wha - ?!” the shopkeeper squawks. He spins around, eyes bulging, to the nonexistent crash of metal behind him. The other two customers look up, startled at the random outburst. And Emerald is off like a shot, tucking the bread under her arm and bursting out the door, cringing at the chirpy ring of the mounted bell announcing her flight. The torrential rain is coming down even harder than before, like a thousand sharp, freezing needles assailing her. Its rushing, splattering sounds are loud in her ears, playing counterpoint to her pounding pulse, but not so loud that she can’t hear the shopkeeper’s wordless roar of rage behind her. She turns her head, chances a look through the front window, and her heart leaps into her throat.

Did he just vault over the counter?! Seriously?!

The man -- the absolutely gigantic man -- throws open the front door and starts barreling down the street after her, fists clenched and eyes wide and bloodshot, and a strangled gasp escapes her. She sprints even faster, shoving and elbowing past the staring passers-by flooding the narrow sidewalk (all of a sudden there’s too many of them, a wall of flesh moving to trap her), as she hears the all-too-familiar hunting cry booming behind her.

“Thief! Thief! Stop her!”

Desperate to escape, she wheels around and bolts down the closest alleyway. There’s no way she can fight this guy off, she thinks frantically, but even up here, Mitsubachi’s backstreets have a way of becoming downright labyrinthine to those who don’t know them, so she might be able to lose him. If there’s one thing she’s gotten very, very good at, it’s running. She can hear thundering footsteps splashing through the puddles behind her, but she knows that big, heavy opponents can run hard, but not fast. And certainly not for too long, either; when they chase her like this they lose steam within a minute, before they can get near her --

“I’m going to catch you, brat!”

Emerald startles and very nearly slips on the wet stone. Shit! That’s too close!

She had thought that she was running as fast as she could, but sheer terror spurs her on even faster. Everything starts to pass her in a dark grey and black blur, and she moves by reflex alone, the instincts of a rat fleeing a wild dog. Walls fly by, rain blurs her vision and rushes in her ears, she turns one corner, then turns another, runs down an empty street, turns, turns, runs straight, turns, glances back, runs straight --

“Ow!”

-- into something hard and splintery. Dazed, rubbing her scraped forehead, Emerald looks up, and her heart drops when she sees the wooden fence set up before her, right in the middle of the narrow alleyway: a few wide, thick boards looming above her head, with towering apartment buildings on either side of her. Surprise only holds her still for a second, before panic sets her off again. Clutching the bread tighter under her arm, she jumps up and grabs the pointed top of a board, hooking her other arm over it.

The wood is wet and rotten, and she can only hope it won’t break under her weight, slight as she is. It shouldn’t be that hard, she reassures herself, she’s hopped plenty of damn fences. The rain beats down on her upturned face, and the worn, tractionless soles of her shoes scrabble against the slick surface. The wood makes an ominous creaking sound as she pulls herself up, and she can hear her pursuer still close by, but she can’t look back, she’s almost home free!

But just as she’s about to throw herself over the fence, those footsteps reel around the corner into the alley, and a wide, meaty hand grabs the back of her shirt and flings her out into the building by their side. She cries out in pain as her thin body slams against the concrete wall, and the loaf of bread flies from her hand and drops to the filthy wet cement along with her. Unthinking -- the only thing in her head is a desperate siren of terror -- she makes to grab for it, but is kicked back against the wall the instant she tries.

Before she can do anything -- beg, flee, bargain -- the man is bearing down on her, fists bigger than her head pummeling every inch of her he can reach. She screams, cries like a beaten dog, and tries to scramble away, but he won’t let her under the storm of blows. Her ears ring and her vision flashes red with every hit, her nose is crushed with a sickening crack, and she can feel skin and bone bruising fiercely. And in between it all is what little she can understand of the man’s bellowing and cursing her:

“...teach you to -- fucking little -- should have just -- piece of shit thief!”

She only barely hears it, she doesn’t care. All she can think to do is try weakly to shield herself, curl up like a ball like an insect, with her knees tucked up into her chest, arms crossed in front of her face, and eyes shut tight.

Stop it, please stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, please just stop!

It might have been seconds, it might have been a few more agonizing minutes, but eventually it does stop. She doesn’t relax, doesn’t even dare to breathe, but the fists stop coming and she hears the man straighten up, huffing with exhaustion. The next noise he makes sounds more like a bear’s growl than human speech, to her ears.

“You...” The slam of a boot on the ground; she flinches as foul-smelling water is splashed into her face. “That better have taught you a lesson, you little rat. You’re lucky I don’t drag you to the cops right now.”

Don’t move, don’t look, don’t move, don’t look, oh, gods, please, don’t...

There’s no more. Another moment of tense silence, and then the sound of the man’s footsteps retreating, growing fainter and farther away until she can’t hear them any more. Even then, it takes a few minutes before she can relax the painful tension of her muscles and uncurl herself again. In that time, no one comes, not to help and not to hurt. She supposes that that, if nothing else, is fortunate.

Her head is spinning, and she's going to have so many bruises later. But it doesn't feel like she's got a concussion, or like anything’s broken, or permanently damaged. Still, it’s slow going, pulling herself back up to her feet. As if her legs are made of rubber, she wobbles, staggers, braces one hand against the wet brick wall before she's able to stand without nearly keeling over. Her legs still shake, but she tries to walk anyway.

Come on. Keep walking. Walk. One step at a time. No sense in lying here all day. Walk. It’s going to be okay.

Emerald makes it up to a relatively steady standing position. Her ribs are already aching with every breath, even before she tries to move. She takes one small step, that sends pain shooting up her legs. Then another, then...Half of another. She nearly trips on that third step, and by chance her eyes land on the loaf of bread on the ground, that she'd almost forgotten.

It's barely recognizable as the same thing she'd laid her hands on not five minutes ago. The bread had flown out of the paper wrapping, and been quickly reduced to mush by the rain relentlessly pounding on top of it and the muddy water puddling below. It hardly even looks like food anymore. But...It's still there.

Hot tightness grips her throat, and she immediately swallows hard and digs her nails into her palms to stave off the tears before they can come. Don't be such a baby, Emerald scolds herself, and stumbles toward it.

She bends down and scoops the soggy mess into her hands, trying her best to hold it together. The one blessing she has ever been given in this life, she thinks as she shoves the first bite in her mouth, is that she was born without a gag reflex.

It's a long way through the backstreets, and the pain in her legs and ribs only gets worse with every step. She manages to eat the ruined bread at a steady pace, and she makes it near the end of the last alley. There’s a dumpster there, and the back doors she’d passed had been for food places, she thinks, maybe it’s worth a try...Barely anyone’s passing by, no one should see if she just waits a second...

Against her better judgment, she shifts her grip on the bread so she can stealthily push the dumpster’s lid up so she can at least peek in. It clunks faintly, but doesn’t budge one bit. Locked. Of course. Hardly any of them are open these days. And if they are, all the food’s covered in fucking bleach or something. Just to spit in her face. She can’t even get the satisfaction of slamming the stupid thing shut before she stumbles the last few feet to the end of the alley.

Fuck it. Her lungs are killing her and her head is still floaty and spinning...She has to stop. Drop, more like: her knees give out and she winces as her backside hits the rough concrete harder than she’d meant to. Well...At least she hadn’t landed in another puddle, she tries to reassure herself.

That does not, however, make her any less cold or less wet. She sits on the edge of the alley and the sidewalk, at the side of the dumpster, and forces the next bites into her mouth. There’s a shop on her other side, but the awning over its front is too short by far to provide her with any protection from the rain. She looks around for a stray sheet of cardboard, or something else that she could maybe prop up over herself, but no good. She’d managed to get her hands on a coat a few weeks ago, and a nice big one too (winter is coming on fast and pneumonia with it, as always, and even if she wasn’t going to be sick northern Mistrali cold is torture enough), but it had been stolen off her while she slept just the other day.

Emerald shivers, and not entirely from the cold. She’s lucky that’s all that had happened, before she had woken up and run away. Thank gods her Semblance is perfect camouflage.

Mechanically, she keeps biting at the bread, hoping it didn’t pick up anything on the ground that will make her sick later. She can’t afford to throw this up...She should be figuring out what to do next, but she’s tired and she hurts and she’s cold and wet and — !

Calm down. Just...Just try and take a second to rest?

Gingerly, she leans back against the brick wall, looking at the street beside her. There’s no cars on the street, but plenty of pedestrians walking up and down the sidewalk on both sides. Scanning her surroundings, she can spot a few people like her around, too. One boy about her age, hurrying by with a downturned face and shoes held together by duct tape, with a tarp held over his head to protect him from the rain. A woman with long, matted hair, sitting on the stoop of an apartment building down the street, hunched over under multiple mismatched layers of clothes, a piece of cardboard with a black marker message on it propped against her knees. An old man sitting on the corner across the street, twitching, wild-eyed and wild-haired, with a single Lien card dropped into the overturned hat in front of him. None of them make eye contact with her, and she doesn’t mind that.

She doesn’t need anybody, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter that she’s overlooked, when she’s not causing trouble. Nobody else cares, why should she?

She’s lost count of how many times she’s tried to remind herself of things like this. And yet, it’s never cooled the hot needle of shame and anger that stabs at her heart, when they look at her like that. The people who pass right by her with nice warm clothes and wide umbrellas to protect them from the sleet, who have money and homes and families and lives to go back to, who glance down at her for a split second and then hurriedly look away again, the way you look and not-look at a particularly disgusting piece of roadkill splattered across the street. Again and again and again, every single one of them.

Emerald’s body is still frozen to the bones but her belly turns hot with anger. She knows what they’re thinking: they wish she didn’t exist, they wish they didn’t have to see or think about her, they wish she would disappear, or at least go away. But where do they think she’s going to go?! Not home, certainly. They’d be happy if she just laid down and died, she thinks, gritting her teeth around another mouthful of bread mush. But not here, oh no. Somewhere away from decent people, where nobody has to see something like her.

She huffs, and bites her lip to try to cut off that train of thought. Going off on a mental tangent makes her feel righteously furious, but it won’t fill her belly any. And it won’t distract her from the other, even worse part of it all that just won’t get out of her head, no matter how long it’s been or how hard she tries to put it behind her.

Home.

Even after five years of roaming around Mitsubachi on her own, Emerald still knows exactly how far she is from that basement apartment at the east end of the city. She still hasn’t gotten up the guts to go anywhere near back there, either, even if she isn’t sure Mom even lives there anymore. She knows also that she’s not a little kid anymore, and what’s Mom going to do to her, anyway, if she does run into her again? She could use her Semblance to get out if --

(“GET OUT!”)

She gives her head a small shake; it’s still ringing in her skull. And those hard green eyes and sharp nails...She feels more nauseous than before. Yeah, no. Best to keep her distance. The panicked, childish whine of I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home had taken a long time to stop. But eventually it had, and she’s glad of it now.

Mom doesn’t want her. Fine. Emerald doesn’t need her, not one bit. She doesn’t need her and she doesn’t need a —

“Nice family!” Her eyes flick to the old man across the street, who has half risen from his corner with arms flung wide, at a middle-aged couple and their sons, not too much younger than Emerald. He isn’t going to hurt them, even she can see that; she isn’t sure he’s able to move his legs, from what she can see of how he moves. “Excuse me! You’re such a nice family -- Please, could you just give me a little -- ?”

The boys stare determinedly up and ahead, as if nothing is happening. The man wrinkles his nose and walks faster, while the woman looks distressed, surreptitiously taking her Scroll out, dialing three numbers, and putting it to her ear.

All right then, time to go, Emerald decides, scarfing down the last of the bread and swallowing hard. She’s been tased and smashed with nightsticks before, and she has absolutely zero desire to repeat the experience. The hooded lady and her sign have already made themselves scarce, she sees as she gets up and walks as fast as she can down the street.

Against her better judgment, she turns to take one last look at the scene behind her. The father is glaring back over his shoulder as the mother talks rapidly into her Scroll, no doubt trying to sound as frightened and appalled as she can. The old man looks confused at them more than anything.

Emerald grimaces before turning back and quickening her pace, just a little. She hopes the cops won’t hurt him too badly. Like the rest of them, he doesn’t have anyone around to protect him. Sturns her eyes forward again, determined to pay the idea no more mind. She’s seen such things before and she won’t stop seeing them anytime soon, so she might as well just stop letting it all get to her. And just as well...

There’s people walking in front of her, at varying distances. She inspects each one of them, gauging the risk versus reward of picking any of them as potential marks. She hadn’t been careful enough, before, she should have practiced more. It’s no excuse that every time she uses her Semblance --

(“You little freak, stay out of my head!”)

Emerald bites her lip. It’s not wrong to have it, she tells herself for the millionth time, it’s not. It’s her Semblance, there can’t be anything wrong or bad or disgusting about it. Her mom is the one that’s wrong, and yet...She still feels the ache in her gut and sharp sting on her scalp whenever she musters up the nerve to use it. It’s what landed her out here on the gods-damned street, after all.

Whining’s not going to put food in your mouth, she chides herself. Just suck it up. Stupid brat.

Okay...There’s a small hole-in-the-wall cafe on the corner of the street. Outdoor seating. No fence or railing to block off the round picnic tables with umbrellas over them. A girl in a bright green raincoat, only a few years older than her underneath the big hood, is the only one still there and her eyes are glued to her Scroll. Her pocketbook, more of a backpack looking thing, is hanging on the back of her chair, by only one strap. Where in the hell does she think she lives, Emerald wonders, that she can be so careless?

Everyone else is either looking determinedly ahead on their courses or down at the sidewalk, as it and the street are both still running with water. No security or cops or unfairly beefy shop owners around to stop her. She can do it. She can do it. She just has to be brave. Reach for her Aura...

(“You stay away from me!”)

She has to fight not to let her face contort in rage. Why won’t Mom just go away? Not like that’s an abnormal thing for a parent to do, anyways...

Focus, you dumbass.

It's a simple enough thing. Even if she were just a dime-a-dozen purse snatcher, it would be simple. But she is a cut above other thieves by her inborn ability alone...even if her lack of experience shoves her roughly back down to their level again. As she approaches the girl, she works up her nerve and concentrates on her visible temple. For an instant, the girl sees a mysterious flash of bright red in the cafe window in front of her, and her head jerks up in shock. And while she squints at the window trying to figure out what in the hell she just saw, Emerald takes the strap of the pocketbook in her hand without looking or breaking stride, slipping it onto her own shoulder as if it belonged to her all along.

She doesn’t remember where she learned it, but she was taught that if you run when there’s no one chasing you, you only make yourself look more suspicious. And she has no intention of being the one to trigger another chase. She turns the corner, out of sight, and heads back towards her usual haunts back downtown. Head up, eyes alert, and if anyone gives her a second glance, she changes the bag on her shoulder into a dripping-wet black garbage bag. She isn’t sure that it’s a very convincing illusion -- she’s not good with details yet -- but she only has to do it a few times and it seems to work.

It’s almost an hour’s walk before Emerald finally makes it to somewhere that’s usually safe. She’d been sleeping in an underpass for the past few weeks, but too many people complained about the increasing amount of sheet tents and mattresses on the side of their road, and she’d had to bolt from a police raid in the middle of the night. Parking lots and garages are tempting to sneak into to sleep, but she always ends up chased out within hours by security. When she was younger, she’d slept on benches and outside closed stores, but now it seems like every place she looks, there’s stainless steel dividers in the benches and black iron spikes in the sidewalk, that tell her very clearly where they’d all like her to go instead. She’s heard that there’s a burgeoning tent city of some sort a distance outside the city proper, in the forest, but...It’s not like she’s ever actually seen a Grimm before, but she knows she’d never like to risk meeting one. It’s safer to stay here.

So, for the past couple days, Emerald been hiding out in a few different places far, far downtown, where there’s not quite as much police presence. There’s a school that was shut down a few months back and still not turned into anyplace else; the blacktop is partially out of sight, and so far, she hasn’t seen anything in the way of cops or security guards. It’s getting dark now, and the pawn shop will be closed by now. So she’ll hang onto the bag for the night, and stop in first thing in the morning.

When she walks onto it, she finds that she’s not quite alone. In the opposite corner of the chain link fence and dark brick, there’s a much different kind of family than before: a man trying to keep two toddlers and a girl too small and thin for Emerald to reasonably determine her age in his arms, as they keep trying to run away to play in the rain and puddles. They look at her like a pack of raccoons in the dark, eyes dark and glinting in the streetlights, the kids curiously and the father glaring as if preparing to have to claw her away. She glares back, hand moving to her hip; with a flash of her Semblance, the man sees the glint of a knife under her shirt. There’s a sliver of dry-ish space from the slant of the roof on each side, and she lays herself down on it. Satisfied that she won’t be bothered so long as she doesn’t move from here, she turns on her side to hide the pocketbook from sight and starts to paw through it.

Tissues, perfume, mints, eyeglasses case, pen, a...roll of duck-patterned duct tape for some reason? Those were all right, she guesses, but nearer to the bottom, and in the side pockets...Some green Lien cards and a layer of change, sanitary pads, full water bottle and bag of fruit snacks, a wallet with more cash and change, ID, and — !

Emerald’s brows furrow as she digs out a small fabric-lined box at the very bottom of the bag. It has an easily opened clasp, and she keeps it well inside the bag as she snaps it open. And when she does, she has to fight to keep the shock from showing on her face at the sight of a thin, gleaming chain, with a big jewel cut in a heart and set in silver in the center. The gemstone is beautiful, glittering green. Especially after a day like today, she can hardly believe her luck: all she has to do is keep it safe for the night and soon she’ll get...

Well, she has no actual idea of its value, she’s not smart like that, but she can still take it to the pawn shop first thing in the morning. Grisa will know what it’s worth, or if she doesn’t, one of her rotating employees/grandchildren will. It’s tempting to think about all the things she could buy, but it’s bad luck to get her hopes up before the new item is actually in her hands. And even then it could just as easily be snatched away from her.

Don’t you ever take anything for granted, baby doll, comes that soft, sinuous voice again at the back of her mind. The voice that comes within a hairsbreadth of caring about her. She can practically feel the sharp thumbnail running over her lip. Don’t you ever think that anything is yours to keep forever.

Emerald grits her teeth. Mom had absolutely lost her shit about Emerald’s newfound ability to get in her head, and now she won’t get out of Emerald’s head. It might be funny if it weren’t so annoying. And it wouldn’t be so annoying if Mom weren’t actually right about so many things. She replaces the necklace and slips the box into her pants pocket, hoping the outline doesn’t show too obviously.

She rolls over again, closing the pocketbook and clutching it to her chest with both arms like a teddy bear. She would use it as a pillow -- it’d be better than the thick black asphalt -- but this is safer. She’s not going to lose this like she lost her coat. The man across the blacktop is gathering the children to him the same way, eyes still alternating between glaring warningly at her and making sure that they are all accounted for. His age is uncertain, from the dinginess of his wrinkled skin and shaggy state of his hair and beard, as is what his relationship to the children might be. Might be a grandpa, or an older uncle of some kind. Might not be any blood of theirs at all.

But Emerald’s instincts say dad. And it’s another thought that makes her grind her teeth so hard she’s probably going to hurt herself one day.

She doesn’t know why she sometimes tries so hard to remember her father. Maybe it’s the idea, that Mom so spitefully hammered into her head, that she looks just like Dad and if she looks into her reflection, she’ll be looking at his face too. But even that doesn’t jog her memory. To her, after so long, Jade Sustrai is two blurry flashes of memory.

One, a retreating back that she had looked up at, as it passed through a pale-lit doorway, and then the slam of the door in her face. Had she watched obliviously, happily awaiting his return? Fearfully, begging him not to go? She doesn’t remember that part. She’ll never know.

Two, the sharp clap of his hand flashing out to grab Mom’s wrist, before her open palm slammed into his face. It was dark, but she thinks she remembers the angry curl of lips, a hiss of restrained fury -- from which one? Had it worked, or had it only made Mom angrier, hurt him worse? Had that hand ever moved to protect her, like that? She wonders...But she doubts it.

It had taken a longer time for her to accept her Semblance, freakish anomaly that it was, than it had taken her to accept the hot, nauseating weight in the pit of her stomach: the realization that her father had walked out of her life, right before her eyes, with barely a goodbye. For a dumb little kid like she had been, the concept of permanence was...not yet a permanent thing. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to get it through her head that Dad was gone for good.

(Her and Mama sitting on the stairs in front of the apartment, in the cold morning air.

She squirms; the stone is hard and steep. “Is Daddy coming back soon?”

Mama snorts, pulling a cigarette out of the carton lying against her leg. She doesn’t smoke very much, only when she’s angrier than usual. “He’s not coming back, Emerald. How many times have I told you?”

Plenty, but the repetition doesn’t make it make sense. Daddy just went to work, like he does every day. He always comes back. “His note said he would be back soon. That we just had to wait for him.”

Mama isn’t looking at her. The green plastic lighter in her other hand snaps twice and then flickers to life. “Don’t make me regret teaching you to read,” she says, too flatly for Emerald to tell whether she’s joking or not.

She doesn’t understand what Mama is so upset about. Maybe she forgot how it works. “It’s okay, Mama. Daddy leaves for a long time, sometimes. But he always comes back, and he brings stuff a lot of the time.”

She considers telling Mama about the magic trick Daddy did before he left, that made her heart glow. But Mama hates it when he does his disappearing trick, and when Uncle Akashi makes people dizzy with his hands. So maybe best to keep that a secret.

The ember at the end of the lit cigarette glows bright, an orange pinprick in her mother’s dark eyes. She takes a long drag and lifts her head up to breathe out a cloud of smoke, before she talks again. “Not this time, baby doll. It’s been two weeks and not a trace of either Jade or Akashi. No explanation except that stupid note. I can tell what happened. We’re on our own now.”

Emerald resists the urge to pout. That’s not true. “Daddy said he was coming back.”

Mama looks her in the eyes. The corner of her mouth tugs up into a smirk, but Emerald doesn’t see what’s funny.

“Emerald, if you go through your life just believing everything that everyone tells you, you’re going to have a bad time. I should never have trusted that rat bastard, let alone married him, but...Well.” She gestures with the cigarette at Emerald, who still isn’t quite sure what she means at times like this. “You’d better learn from this, baby girl. Don’t you ever trust anyone who can get inside your head that easily. Who can fuck with your head and your heart, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Something weird twists in her belly, and she doesn’t like it at all. It’s hard to look at Mama’s eyes, would be even through the smoke. “But he said. He promised.”

Mama sighs heavily, her smirk dropping. She doesn’t look mean anymore, she just looks...blank. Emerald still isn’t sure which expression she’s more afraid of. Her mother takes another long drag off the cigarette and blows upward again. “Your daddy said a lot of things he didn’t really mean.”

All of a sudden, her throat feels tight and it’s hard to talk. Her voice comes out in a tiny squeak instead. “Daddy said he loves us.”

Mama doesn’t answer at first. She looks at Emerald, not blinking, with a strange look on her face. Not loving, but not glaring either. Something softens the slightest bit in the lines of that face, and she reaches out towards her daughter with her free hand.

“Oh, baby doll,” she whispers, in that voice that’s almost gentle. Almost sad. She runs her fingertip lightly down Emerald’s cheeks and under her chin, back and forth; her one and only fully affectionate gesture. “What’s going to happen to you?”

Emerald is never sure whether she’s really looking for an answer, when she asks that question, but she figures she should give one anyway. “I don’t know, Mama.”

Mama makes a huffy kind of noise, that might be the beginning of a laugh. “Well. Maybe I’ll be around to find out, maybe I won’t.” She pauses, tilts her head. “You know, you’ve got Jade’s eyes exactly...With any luck, I won’t notice anything else of him in you.”

Emerald doesn’t know what’s lucky about that. “He’s coming back soon,” she tries again.

The fingers on her chin pause, too, grip a little tighter. Not enough to hurt, though. Mama sighs again, and there’s still a trace of sadness in her eyes. “I almost wish he had died instead. That would have been easier to get through your head, wouldn’t it? Might hurt less, too. At least he wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

She still doesn’t understand: why would Daddy want to leave? Where would he go? Why wouldn’t he let her come along?

Mama is taking her hand off her, leaning back again. She’s checking her messages on her Scroll’s cracked screen, and taking one last long drag on her cigarette before putting it out on the sidewalk next to her.

“Come on, now. I’ve got customers coming,” she says as she stands up, wiping her hand on her tattered jeans and reaching up to tighten her thick ponytail. “Looks like you’ll be coming to work with me for a while.”

Emerald crosses her arms and scoots back on the step. She doesn’t like going to work with Mama instead of Daddy; she never gets to do anything to help and some of her customers act all weird. She’s even seen Mama have to pull that gun she keeps under her shirt on them a couple times, so they’ll stay away from her when they’re like that. She still gives them the stuff in her bag, anyway, so long as they’re able to give her the Lien in return.

But Mama is tugging her up by the arm, zipping up the thin jacket she’s wearing over her dress. “I said come on, Emerald. You can’t stay here. You want someone to break in and snatch you up, so you’ll never see me again?”

Emerald’s breath catches, and she grabs her mother’s leg with both arms. “No!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Mama, not roughly, pulls her leg from Emerald’s grip. She hitches up the straps of her backpack and starts down the street. Emerald hastily trots after her, and Mama reaches down for her. “Hold my hand, now. I don’t want you running off on me too.”

Emerald doesn’t like not being able to run around, but she does like the feeling of her mother’s hand clasped around hers. Mama holds her more tightly, when she cares to, but Daddy holds her soft and warm, enveloping her whole body in his arms. She hasn’t thought before about which embrace she likes better, but she knows she misses Daddy’s.

Mama is wrong, Emerald thinks, though she probably shouldn’t tell her so again. Daddy will come back. He promised her he would, and her daddy would never lie. All she needs to do is wait, and she’ll see him again soon. She knows it.)

She should have known better.

A wave of deep shame and embarrassment hits her when she feels that same tightness in her throat and stinging in her eyes. Five years since she’d last seen Mom, eight since she’d seen Dad, and still there are times when she can’t stop herself from bawling like a baby about it. She’s still so stupid, she still...

She can’t look at the father and his kids across the blacktop again. She can’t handle the longing, that grips her weak heart and squeezes tight, for the arms around her that she can barely remember. Even relative safety is a distant memory for her, now. She’d thought that unlocking her Semblance was a good thing; even at eight years old, she had known that being able to make someone see anything she wanted was a powerful thing. A useful thing. Cool, at least, as far as her young mind could see. She had thought her mom would be happy, if she were to show it to her...

Gods, I was just trying to make her happy...!

Mom throwing her out...She doesn’t want to remember it, how terrified she’d been, how furious Mom had been. She’s done her best to block it out, even if it does still stubbornly bleed through.

(“I don’t care where you go, just get away from me!”

She’s never seen Mama so scared, so angry, in her life. As for her, she’s frozen, tears slipping down her face, and all of a sudden she can’t speak.

“M-Mama...? I-I’m sorry...I, I was just — “

“I said I don’t care! I’m not letting something like you in my head! You really are just like your fucking father!”

“Mama!”

“Shut up! GET OUT!”)

Her mother’s hatred and resentment, mixed with her own until she can’t tell the two apart, still burns in her blood. She’d been right, that one time: grieving somebody who was lost but not dead was a far more complicated pain. But even so, she thinks she could have handled it, if she hadn’t been all alone...If she was like those little girls, piled up together in their dad’s embrace, it wouldn’t matter if her mom didn’t want her, if she didn’t have anywhere to live. She would have had a home.

But the father she had didn’t seem to think she deserved that. She wasn’t worth sticking around to protect. And she still has no idea what she had done wrong.

Emerald curls up tighter around the pocketbook, the rough and cracked asphalt digging into her soaked skin, and shuts her eyes tight against the hot tears. They’re slipping out again, mingling with the cold rainwater still running down her cheeks. She hates herself for crying again, over two people who couldn’t care less about her. Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck them both for leaving her alone like this!

It hurts...!

Stop it. Shut up. Stupid brat. No one cares!

Forget about Mom and Dad. She has to keep herself under control, now. Every part of her hurts, she needs to sleep; no time to stay awake just to whine to herself all night.

Calm down...Calm down...Go to sleep, just go to sleep. Shh. Shhh...

Every muscle is tensed to run at a moment’s notice, should someone give her another rude awakening, and her eyes are shut painfully tight. The rain is still pelting her and pooling under her, and she feels like a drowned rat. Or a trod-upon one, soaked and sore to the bones.

It doesn’t matter. She’s fallen asleep feeling worse. All she has left to do is pray that no one will touch her tonight, and that her sleep will be dreamless.

~0~

Emerald wakes up in the morning getting the sense that only one of those prayers came true, but it doesn’t matter; whatever awful thing she’d dreamed that had woken her up still in tears, it fades from her head within a few minutes. Her body doesn’t seem to have been moved or touched, and everything is the same as it was yesterday in the pocketbook. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she slings it over her shoulder and walks as fast as she can the next ten blocks down to the pawn shop, scarfing down the bag of fruit snacks on the way there.

“Mm...Hmm.” Grisa holds the heart necklace up in front of her face and squints at it through her cataracts, then takes the jeweler’s telescope out of the little drawer by the register and squints through that too. “I’ll spare you the boring details: it’s pretty, but cheap. I can give you seventy Lien for them.”

“What?!” Emerald’s hand twitches with the urge to slam it against the counter in frustration. “No way it’s worth that little!”

Sarale, eldest of Grisa’s many grandchildren, sitting on the side stairs leading up to her apartment, pauses in cleaning her handgun to glance up at her through long golden bangs. She doesn’t move, though; she’s seen Emerald here enough to know that she isn’t one of the violent customers, and Emerald has seen enough of the older girl to know that starting a commotion in her family’s pawn shop would be a decidedly bad idea.

“You’re still not great at haggling, are you, Em?” she says mildly instead, and Grisa chortles.

Emerald looks down at the floor, all the fight quite suddenly blown out of her, and feels her face getting hot. “I...”

“No need to be sorry, dear,” Grisa assures her, setting the necklace down on the counter. “You’ve had a bit of a rough day, haven’t you?”

Emerald tries not to fidget, very conscious of the bruises on her arm, poking out from the sleeve of her shirt. They’ve darkened into obvious bluish-purple by now, and she dreads having to eventually look at the way the rest of them are mottling the skin of her torso.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t that bad,” she says, trying to sound sure about it. “Are...It’s a real gemstone, right? Not some fake plastic thing?”

“Oh, the jade is real. But it’s not worth much. It’s small and poorly cut, and the rest is silver-plated, not real silver. Start stealing from jewelers instead of from pocketbooks and you might get something valuable.”

Emerald can’t hold back an annoyed huff. How is she supposed to do that? “Figures that the jade is worthless,” she grumbles. It really is just her luck.

Grisa smiles. “You’ve got that talent of yours, you’ll be fine. Sniff out your brethren, why don’t you? Emeralds are worth more than jadeites and beryls put together.”

Emerald can’t resist a small smile. “Y-Yeah, I guess so.”

“Your dad’s old joke,” Sarale snickers. “Repeated it every damn time he came in here, I swear. Laughed every time, too.”

Smile gone. That hadn’t taken long at all. “Yeah, good for him,” she snaps, hoping she doesn’t sound too petulant. The next words slip out without her really thinking about it: “You really never heard anything from him?”

“Nope, not a thing. He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing or where he was going, except for his friend with the tail. I’ve got no clue what became of him.”

“He never...?” Emerald shakes herself. It doesn’t matter, she reminds herself. Dad doesn’t care and neither should she. “Never mind. Are...Are you sure that that’s all you can give me for the necklace?”

“As it is, yes. Tough break, hon.”

Story of her life. “I...” She starts to dig in the pocketbook again. There’s nothing else valuable in here, she knows, but still. “Is there...Is the bag itself worth anything?”

“Give it here.” Emerald sets the bag on the counter, and Grisa looks it over for several minutes, checking the brand and hardware. “Not the best and not new, but it looks like legitimate designer. Lucky you. Empty it out and throw it in with the necklace and I’ll bump you up to a hundred and fifty Lien, let’s say.”

Emerald nods, knowing it’s likely the best deal she’s going to get; she really isn’t good at negotiating terms for herself. “Great. Thanks, I mean.”

“Just business, dearie, don’t thank me. Here, I’ll throw this in, too, to make this less of a hassle — Rala, go up and get a bag out of the bag bag!”

Sarale holsters her gun and obediently trots up the stairs, where there is a large plastic bag on the landing just inside the apartment. Moments later, Emerald is handed a smaller plastic shopping bag to empty the contents of the pocketbook into, and the promised Lien for both items.

“Out of curiosity,” Sarale says as Emerald packs up. “What do you think you’ll spend your payday on?”

“Uh...Food, probably?”

“Fair enough.” Sarale goes back to polishing the gun, but Emerald suspects it’s only for show now; the older girl’s tawny eyes are fixed on her and not blinking. “Where have you been roaming around lately? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, uh...Around.” Emerald can feel her face getting hot again and curses her quickness to embarrassment. “City’s big, lot of...ground to cover...”

“Hm. When are you going to go back to your mother? Do you think you could get me an acquaintance discount? I have some friends coming in from mid-Mistral next weekend, I want to show them a good time.”

She barely hears the rest of Sarale’s questions; the first one was too strong an electric shock, straight to her gut. “Wh...What?” she hears herself ask, more of a whimper than anything.

“Ignore Rala, dear; if I ever see her strung out on anything your mother sells, she’s out of my will.” Grisa is looking at her more gravely; Emerald will think of it in those terms because if she sees that roadkill look one more damn time she’s going to scream. “That woman doesn’t have much to do with us. But I hear that she’s been telling everybody who asks that you ran away from her, just like your dad. Has been for a long time now, after being so close-lipped about it.”

Emerald can feel herself trembling from head to toe. Mom’s been talking about her? Still thinking of her? Mom’s been...

“I...”

“So what’s up, Em?” Sarale smirks. “You trying to follow your daddy after all? I could swear I heard him say he was going to come back. Ought to be careful, you might just miss each other.”

Bile rises in Emerald’s throat, and she forces her next words out past it. “My mom’s a fucking liar,” she snarls, “and she and my shitheel dad deserved each other!”

Sarale blinks, raising her hands up defensively. “Hey, kid, easy now — “

“Shove it, Rala!” she and Grisa shout at the same time.

Her hands shake, and she clenches them hard into fists. She wants to...She just wants to...

Her eyes rove frantically around the wooden shelves of items behind Grisa, all up for sale. Jewelry and tools, of course, but then there’s old videos and electronics, a couple beat-up guitars, a dull katana that reaches almost to the top shelf, and...

She narrows her eyes at a pair of twin handguns, brownish, scratched up, and chipped. “Grisa, do those two guns work?”

“I don’t stock broken things, dear.”

“How much?”

“...Sixty Lien each.”

“Don’t suppose I could convince you to bump it down?”

“Sixty-five each, ammo and holsters included. Ammo by itself is fifteen per magazine.”

She figures that’s as good as she’ll get. She takes a deep breath, and it still feels like a good idea. She has more than that in cash, after the necklace and the bag and the money in there with it, so she’ll still have money left over for food. “I’ll take them.”

Grisa nods, and the exchange takes less than a minute. Emerald takes longer than that to figure out how to both load and clip the things to her belt, and gets more annoyed every second.

“...See, Gramma, I told you Beryl was bullshitting you.” Sarale smirks. “You owe me that katana now.”

“I do not and you should have gotten it in writing. Emerald, dear, do you need help with that?”

“I’m fine.”

Emerald turns on her heel and stalks for the front door. She hears the clatter of Sarale perking up again, and grits her teeth.

“Hey, Em, try not to get beat up too bad next time! I, at least, would miss having you around -- Ow, Gramma!”

Emerald allows herself a fleeting smirk of her own at the sound of something being thrown at the older girl as she leaves the shop, trying very hard not to slam the door behind her. She stalks down the cracked and dirty sidewalk, and by the grace of the gods no one spares her an even slightly menacing glance. Well...Not yet, anyways. But she’ll take what she can get.

She’s in more familiar territory now. Crumbling brownish-red brick buildings, barred and boarded-up windows and doors, the heavy and lingering odor of sewage and unwashed bodies in the air: the closest thing to home she knows. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she figures it doesn’t matter yet; she has nothing but time on her hands.

The weight of the twin pistols at the small of her back feels strange, but she’ll get used to them; they’re not wholly unfamiliar to her. She remembers being little, in the sewer-smelling alley next to their building, with empty soda cans and beer bottles set up as targets on the closed end, and her mother standing at the open end, dark green eyes burning into her back, just waiting for her to screw up so she can yell at her for it. She remembers her small soft hands trying to fit properly around Mom’s gun, how big and cold and heavy the metal had felt as she clumsily lifted and aimed.

She cannot believe her mother’s nerve: lying about her, covering up what she did! She...She has to know what she did was horrible and wrong, but still she won’t admit to it or try to fix it. She can’t tell what makes her sicker, that or her father waltzing on out of her life like she doesn’t even exist. If she ever sees either of them again...

Hesitantly, she reaches back and runs a finger over the butt of one of her new guns. It’s longer than a standard handgun, but when she wraps her hand around it...It feels just right in her grip.

The coolness of the metal jars her back out of her own thoughts somewhat. She lifts her head up a little higher to look around at where she finds herself now, and it takes more effort than usual to make her brain do that instead of once again calculating the distance between here and her mother’s place (much closer now than it had been this morning). She catches the scent of frying fat and burnt vegetables on the air, not unfamiliar. Ah. She’s wound up right by Okela’s shop.

Of all the back-alley shops and eateries around her old neighborhood, this is probably the one that’s the least transparent about how...untrustworthy the food is. Passing by the alley that their back door leads into, she can see a scruffy young man with a bloodied switchblade in one hand and a dead possum in the other, presenting the animal to the baggy-eyed cook leaning in the doorway. Okela looks it over, deems it fit for consumption, and beckons the man inside. Emerald feels a reflexive churn in her stomach, but doesn’t sound so bad, money and a free bowl of her mystery meat soup. She’s eaten it before, when she can afford it, but never been able to catch any animals quick enough to earn it.

Rats and mice are too fast and not big enough to be worth the effort. Most of the bigger vermin — skunks, possums, raccoons, the like — only come out at night, but she has distinct broad-daylight memories of starting to dig into a trash can for food and coming face to snout with a large raccoon who had decided that this trash was his, so maybe she’d get...Well, it would be lucky this time around.

And as it happens, after passing by two separate conspiracy theorists screaming on street corners about how the Mistral Council is plotting to kill them all, a minor street brawl between a human gang and a Faunus gang, and one pigeon being hit by a speeding police car, she spies it: a shady side street, a pair of ripped-open garbage bags, and one fat raccoon happily digging into the spoils. Jackpot.

Emerald creeps into the alley and slips one of the guns out of its holster. She’ll find a place to practice dual wielding another time; now she just needs to get the hang of firing one gun again. Slowly, she raises the gun, pointing it at the head of the unsuspecting raccoon. It’s smaller than a soda can, but the closer distance...probably makes up for it? Much as she tries to forget, she still feels those eyes boring into her back.

(“This is easy, anyone can do it.” Sharp fingers yanking on her hair, nails digging into her arm. “Don’t fuck it up, now.”)

Emerald swallows a growl. Get the fuck out of my head, Mom.

She can do this, now. She’s more comfortable with a gun in her hand than a blade. Dad had never bothered to teach her the intimacies of his preferred weapon...small among all the things her father had never bothered to do for her, but it burned just as badly as any of the others. Both of them are nothing more than a raw open wound in her chest, that over the years she’s only learned how to patch over, not close up.

But even so, when she clicks the safety off and steadies her hold on the gun, it’s that dark, thin blur of a back, with a short green ponytail hanging down onto it, that she sees as her target. That’s where all of her problems had really begun, hadn’t they? With that retreating back and slam of the door, she had been alone. Alone, for good, even if she hadn’t realized it yet.

She can’t fix it. She’ll never fix it, not with a bullet or anything else. But still, the image doesn’t go away.

Emerald pulls the trigger, and blood flies.

#emerald sustrai #RWBY #kaen's fics

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quantumnius · 6 years

Text

Animal Control

That call came in the same way all the others did. Some old lady panicking about the creepy crawlies moving into to her house. You’d be surprised how much more they all screamed and shouted about the rats and mice than they ever did about the big stuff. Rats were easy. The real problems down here, this far south, were snakes and gators. This old lady had one of the real problems. But that’s my job, so I guess, that makes me the real solution.

I could have used an easier call to start the day. The night before had me feeling like a train wreck. I still smelled like damn coors light after brushing my teeth three times. I wasn’t even hungover, but my wife Lauren had made sure I didn’t get a wink of sleep. She just yelled and yelled and yelled about the trash I hadn’t taken out, and all the beer I drink, and the house we lived in, and everything else she could think of. Her voice kept playing on in my head as I got ready for work. “Why can’t you help me make this work, Danny. I can’t do this all by myself!” One bag of trash and an empty case of beer had set her off , and then the first thing I have to deal with is a goddamn gator.

Don’t get me wrong. I like my job. It gets a little crazy every once in a while, but I get a good chunk of change every month, and it definitely ain’t no cubicle job. Besides I’d handled worse calls earlier in the morning. This particular call came in about a big ol’ gator lounging around in a suburban pool. People down here in Florida love their pools, and so do these damned gators.

August was coming on strong, but it was still hot enough to cook an egg on the asphalt. The trees that usually stood up tall all sagged with the weight of the thick heavy air. The swamp that is central Florida was green for miles except for the rusty red of roadkill. This dead raccoon lying near the median looked just like Lauren’s meatloaf, probably smelled just more appetizing. I really hope I didn’t get any of the raccoon-loaf on my tires She’s home all day, she could cook something half-way decent, but it’s always meatloaf. Just thinking about the smell turned my stomach. Usually a beer would calm it back down, but I couldn’t afford some cop catching me with another open container.

I rolled down my windows to let the wind in. The only times the air feels cool this time of the year is when you’re driving with the windows down. This was one of the best perks of my job. Folding myself back into the big pillowy seats of the huge animal control truck and watching the world roll out in front of my tires. The slim black road ahead of me looked just like one of those small black bush snakes winding through the trees. I followed it as it slithered up to the pastel pink and blue suburbs. I drove slow as I passed house after house that looked almost identical, counting down the numbers on the mailboxes to know where I was going.

Lauren would want to buy a house here. This was the kind of place she loved, but I wasn’t going to hear anymore of it. This place made my skin crawl and my spine stand on edge. I could feel the ridges of my back push into the seat behind me. This place didn’t feel natural out here in the middle of swampland. I started counting address numbers again, and realized that I had almost missed the bright pink house that matched the address dispatch had given me.

I turn into the driveway, park, and pop open my door. Right as I stepped out onto the lawn a woman rushed out from the front door. “Thank god you’re here!” she said. A small dog jumped up at the door behind her. I don’t know how such a small dog can be so loud, but damn If I lived next door I’d have to kill it. At least Lauren hated those yip dogs too. The chick, whose name was drowned out by the constant barking, showed me around to the other side of the house where her pool was.

The backyard was pretty trashed. The fence around the yard had an alligator sized hole broken out of it. There was a pretty clear set of tracks pointing to the screen around the pool. You wouldn’t need the tracks though. The alligator was just lounging in the water by the edge of the pool. Grab him a beer and some sunglasses and he looked like somebody I’d hang out with. I guessed he was about five feet long, not really all that big compared to the other gators I handled, but he was heavy and in the pool he was fast.

First things first, I blocked of the hole in the fence so that he didn’t go out for a jog around the neighborhood. I sent the lady back into the house out of the way. Just like the suburbs weren’t no place for a gator, catching a gator was no place for people from the suburbs. I was going to need people that knew what they were doing to help me get this job done. I radioed in for two more animal control agents to drive on out. While they were on there way I started getting ready. There were only two things I needed before I was ready to take on the gator. The first was my snatch stick. If I were a cowboy, it’d be my lasso. In my hands the cord at the end of its six foot long pole could shut the gators mouth and keep him from using any of his shiny teeth. My other tool was called a gator thumper. If the gator got too ornery and we couldn’t capture it the thumper would crush its skull with a heavy metal baton shot out by a spring. I made my way back to the pool with my gear.

The patio was big, maybe twenty-twentyfive feet across. The pool was dead in the center, long and deep. The pool water wasn’t moving at all as the gator floated out to the middle. I took that chance to walk around the patio and get in position for when my help arrived. It’d be easy to pull the gator out with three of us. I’d be able to by myself, but better safe than sorry. The lady knocked on her sliding glass door behind me and opened just a crack. She had her eyes fixed on the gator but she was talking to me. “please be careful on my porch; the plants I keep out there are fragile.” So I looked over and said “Is there anything we need to move before we start throwing the three hundred pound alligator around on your porch?” I didn’t expect her to say yes or to ask me to move the Hydrangeas inside. I don’t even know what the hell a hydrangea is. I just picked up the pot she was pointing at and carried it carefully over to the door. She pulled the door open to take the damn pot.

That’s when it all went wrong. That tiny little mutt shot straight out of the door, barking like it was possessed, and went right up to the end of the pool. The chick went to chase the dog out of instinct. She went to move past me, but I threw the hydrangea at her and grabbed my snatch stick. If anyone was gonna save this dog it was going to be me. If I could just hook the snatch stick around the yap dogs throat I could yank it away from the pool without getting too close the set of jaws and teeth in the pool. the gator started moving around to face the little snack that was shouting “Eat me! Eat me!” right at the end of the water.

I saw the green scaly shape in the water start sliding in under the surface. Hell I’d be pissed off if somebody that size started yelling at me for sunbathing too. He probably has a right to eat that little dog, but it wouldn’t look very good for me to let the dog get snatched while the lady watched. I threw out the lasso. Caught the dog by the throat. That’d shut it up.

The gator smashed through the pane of water and sent shards of water up into the air. The droplets stinging like little teeth leaving bite marks on my skin.

I pulled the dog back with every muscle I could pull with. I thought I’d hit the ground holding the little shit dog on the end of the stick. In mid pull I stopped. Like I’d hit a wall. The world flipped upside down. I could feel my boots try to find something to stand on in mid-air. The entire pool fell on me as my world was still spinning. Everything was being whipped around in every direction as I bobbed under the water. The world finally turning back up and I reached for the cement border of the patio. My wrist crunched hard onto the ground right at the same time my mouth found the air. The gator had been spinning me around under the water. The spinning stopped because it had snapped its jaw shut on my hand, and my hand was gone. There was red everywhere.

The thump of a metal baton going through a skull knocked some sense into me. Two more animal control officers had just finished my job. There wasn’t anymore barking.

When I got home from the hospital I thought things had changed; Lauren had stopped yelling, the pain meds I was on worked miracles, and I felt fine without my left hand. I was getting workers comp checks to pay for everything we needed. When the doctor took me off the pain pills it started all falling apart. Lauren went back to yelling. I went back to work.

Lauren just kept yelling. Always about the trash. The trash and the beer.

I had just gotten home from work. The house smelled like meatloaf, again. I opened the door. She started yelling about the beer boxes by the door.

So I picked up the boxes and walked through the living room to the kitchen. Grabbed a cold beer, and then gathered every single bag of trash in the house. I took it all out the back door to my truck.

She was still yelling at me. From the other side of the glass door. I saw her reach down and lock me out.

“you get that shit to the dump Danny. Right now. Not later. Not Tomorrow. Now” Yapping at me just like that fucking little dog.

This was my yard. What right did she have to fucking yell at me. I dropped the trash and whipped around facing the door. She was still yelling. Our tiny flat green lawn had trash everywhere. I started slowly towards the door. She didn’t even flinch. I walked straight to that little pane of glass, glaring straight through it. All she could do was yap and yell and yap some more. I put my one good hand through that glass, sending shards spraying into the air. leaving little slashes across her face.

The glass in the door spat out in the shape of a pair of jaw, big and powerful. The sharp edges of teeth pointed into flesh to find blood. They sunk in deep.

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her though back through the door. The world rolled us over as she pulled against me and fell, throwing me off balance. We rolled through the pool of broken glass and the green of the grass turned wet red. She fought back: kicked, hit, twisted. I held tight. She stopped struggling and I let her fall on the grass. The whole world was red. Sirens were whining down the street. The was no quiet anywhere.

my skin was stiff and numb against the grass.

I could have moved that gator. it didn’t have to be put down.

#prose #my writing #my short story #writers of tumblr #cw violence #tw violence #tw animal harm #fiction #short story #my prose

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