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may-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Don't Take My Sunshine

summary: love like yours was forbidden in the time period, afraid of ridicule that you both could face, you and wanda remain a secret.

warnings: mentions of old fashion punishment

word count: 2,330

masterlist

a/n: thank you for 500 followers! I've had such bad writer's block for the past couple of days but I hope you all enjoy this story.

((feel free to send in any request you may have 💕))

------

She was the sun, bright and warm whenever she wasn't around; your life felt dark and dull. You cherished moments spent with her, even if they weren't long. You knew she was constantly busy; even a second of her time was precious. When Wanda announced in a letter that she'd be around much longer this go around, you were excited when her letter read that she wanted to enjoy every wakening second with you.

Wanda showed you that she loved you in many ways; although the girl never spoke a word of it, you knew the feeling was there. It was too hard to ignore the chemistry that poured out over the two of you when you were around; it was impossible to ignore the pound and burn of your hearts when near each other. Love was a simple thing when it came to Wanda; she showed it in the way she looked at you, held you, and even sent gifts to ensure that you'd known that you were in her thoughts. Even when she was away, Wanda was determined to make sure you understood and remembered the inevitable feelings that you both had for each other.

Wanda often feared that if she had not been around long enough, your feelings would disappear during all the lonely days you'd have to spend without her, so she always went out of her way to make sure you knew how she felt. Words were never enough for her; she could never imagine the words that would seep past her lips could give her feelings justice, so she never tried. She never dared to let her feelings mutter past her lips in fear that you'd think she was being foolish.

You were the only one who truly understood her; she was only herself around you; god forbid anyone found out about her secret, she'd be burned at the stake, but you swore to keep her secret buried deep inside you till the end of time. She trusted with everything she had that you would keep that promise.

When the carriage arrived, you could feel your heart thump against your chest, all the time you spent longing for the woman, and now she had only been a few feet away. You hoped she meant every word she wrote in the letters; the purest form of hope was set upon your shoulders as you waited anxiously by your family's door. You anticipated for her to step out of that damn carriage, nibbling on your lip. You were excited to spend every moment you two had left together, hand in hand as she promised.

But, when Wanda stepped out, she was arm and arm with a man; he looked important enough, he looked expensive. The dress Wanda wore must've cost a fortune; you had never seen such luxury up close. Wanda's lips were painted red; they held a smile until she watched the way yours dropped. You felt like a fool at that moment, staring back at the young couple who stood tall. You couldn't understand the meaning behind all this, so you turned back into your family's home, leaving Wanda and your family to greet each other as you raced to your bedroom.

You were alone, drowning in your thoughts for a moment before a soft knock sounded by your door. You yelled for the person to go away, but they had not listened; instead, they pushed open the door. Your breathing was sharp when you met her gaze, your frown deepening.

"My love, what's troubling you?" she questioned, her voice sweet and gentle. There was a moment when all your anger melted away, and all you could see was her, dressed up all lovely. "what's troubling me?" you scoffed, your eyes watering and your lips quivering as you took a step towards her. "that man!" your voice raised as bitter tears leaked from your eyes.

"darling," she hummed quietly, her hands coming up to hold your cheeks. "It's not like that with him." she smiled down at you, her hands caressing your reddened cheeks, wiping away the droplets that pooled over and damped your cheeks. "He's like us," she reassured, causing the pound in your heart to subside. "oh." you breathed out; a soft giggle burst past her lips.

"I can't exactly travel alone." you knew that women couldn't take a trip without the assistance of a man; you hated that it never crossed your mind; you should've never assumed the worst. "I could never cherish another," she whispered before you could utter out anything else; the woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It silenced all the nagging thoughts that made your head spin; all you could feel and focus on was her.

Wanda relentlessly broke the kiss, her hands caressing your face for a moment longer before she ultimately moved away, a tender smile taking over her kiss bruised lips. "We can't stay long; the others would wonder." you stood tall on your tippy-toes, catching her lips in a shorter kiss. It was almost painful to break away from such pleasures, but you knew deep down, wanda was right. You feared the idea of your family finding the two of you; you knew you'd be ridiculed for committing such acts.

----

Your mother was determined to find you a suitable man to marry you off. No matter the number of times you fuzzed and yelled at her that you weren't ready, she never listened. She was prepared to find you anyone to pass you off to, which is why the meetings and dinners occurred. You figured with Wanda as a guest, she'd push aside the thoughts of marrying you, but the idea that wanda found herself a man only encouraged her to find you someone quicker. It'd be a shame to the family name if she were unable to find you a partner.

The man was sweet enough; he was charming even. You knew deep down that he wasn't the problem, but you felt emptiness as you looked at him. It felt like nothing, unlike the swirling fits of emotion you felt for Wanda.

"I would like to marry you." he reminded, a grin taking over his pink lips; you cringed at the thoughts of being his wife, the mother to his children. You recoiled at the idea of having to spend every night of your life sleeping next to him. "I wouldn't." you spat out, giving him a sarcastic smile before taking a sip of your piping hot tea. It burned the tip of your tongue, and as you swallowed down the flavorful liquid, it stung your throat. It brought some form of comfort, the remainder that you could still feel despite the void you felt engulfed you like the black hole.

"Why not? I could give you the life women could only dream of." you could roll your eyes, he had nothing to offer you, and no amount of fortune could ever fulfill you. "I'm in love with another," you stated bluntly, shrugging when you watched the smirk on his lips disappear in the blink of an eye. He could be a devilish shapeshifter with how quickly his emotions alternated.

"So why am I wasting my time then?" you did not have any words for him as you showed him out, grinning to yourself when you were alone. The silence was so pleasing, you could finally hear your thoughts, and they screamed so loud for Wanda. She was all you could think about; you dreamt of her every night, the concept of running off to live with her somewhere filled you with euphoria.

Your mother's nagging soon followed the silence, but you drowned her out, your mind so far away that you could hardly snap back into reality; you were happy in your head. There were no troubles in the paradise that lived within your thoughts.

------

Laughs filled the crisp wind as the two of you walked hand in hand around the field of wildflowers. Nothing could disturb the sanctuary that had been built around you and Wanda. The town was nosy; anyone could spread the news that you found love in a woman, but at that moment, you couldn't care. Wanda turned to you abruptly, her hands laced with yours. You leaned up against your favorite tree, one your great-granddad built in honor of your birth, and smiled up at the woman.

"I could die today and feel so complete knowing I have you." her words filled your ears like music, all too rich. You squeezed her hands, staring up at Wanda with adoration. "I love you." the words seeped past your lips; you had written it out to her so much before, but you never spoke of it.

"I love you a million times more." her words left her lips almost as a promise, a commitment for eternally. You reeled the woman closer until she was only a breath away, catching her lips in a passionate kiss that would undoubtedly leave you both gasping for air. Your jaw would ache, and your lungs would burn, but your heart would fill so full.

A gasp sounded, causing the both of you to break apart abruptly, your heart pounding against your chest, your eyes wide, and your breathing uneven. "Your mother told me to fetch you." the stranger stated, his gaze moving between you and wanda. "I was not expecting to see such heinous things; your folks will be hearing about this," he swore with a look of disgust; you could feel your heart in your stomach when he turned away and began storming back in the direction of your home. You called out for him, moving to chase after him to stop him in his act, but wanda caught your hand, preventing you from leaving.

"It's no use, my darling." she frowned, her hands lacing with yours. "We must try something." you cried for her to figure something out, fix this for the both of you somehow, but by the look on her face, she could not think of anything. The truth was out, and now you'd have to face the consequences of it all.

You dreaded the idea of having to walk into your home and face your family; you knew it would end so terribly. You swallowed hard; your hands shook; it was fear that washed over you; you were bound to face your certainty. You knew you would be told that your freedom to see Wanda was revoked, and they'd force you to marry a man of their choosing, or worse, the two of you would be burned for expressing your love for each other in public, none of this would end well.

The house was quiet, and for a moment, you could've been fooled into thinking the man had never returned to your home and spoke a word of your affair with Wanda. "It'll be okay, dear," she whispered into your ear, but then your father stern voice boomed through the quiet residence.

"What is this nonsense I've heard?"

"Father, I can explain." you tried, dropping the woman's hand and entering the home completely. You felt small under his gaze; you wish you could melt away into the floor and disappear from your father's glare, but you couldn't; you could only stand there in horror. "Wanda, you must leave," he uttered, you snapped your gaze over to look at wanda from over your shoulder.

"I'm not leaving without my beloved." she crossed her arms, standing tall and bold. She had not been afraid of the man; she was not frightened of anything. She'd never let anything stand in the way of her loving you.

"She's not yours to love," he growled; the woman huffed, taking steps forward to grip your wrist. "She's all mine, sir."

"If you do not leave this instant, I will notify the authorities." she scoffed.

"Call who you want; it won't change the fact that I'm in love with your daughter, and I will be until the end of time," she argued, her hand tightening with yours before she pulled you closer to almost protect you from him. "You can't,"

"I can, and I do," she stated bluntly, rolling her eyes when he turned and left the both of you, giving her one more warning to leave. You knew she wouldn't go, but you needed her to leave; she couldn't be here. She could be hurt or killed, and you'd never be able to live with yourself if something happened to Wanda.

"You must go!" you shouted, ripping your hand from hers, watching as pain washed over her expressions. "I will not,"

"He'll kill you," you yelled, causing her frown to deepen. "I'll be happy to die for your honor."

"Go, Wanda! Gather your things and go!" her eyes clouded with tears, and her plump lips quivered. Nothing could ever pain her more than leaving you behind with such troubles.

"But I love you."

"And I do you, but you must go." you reached up, your hands cupping her cheeks softly. "Go for me, my dear." The powers that Wanda tried so hard to conceal had been bubbling up inside her veins, but then you leaned up and left her with a chaste goodbye kiss, and it soothed her long enough to prevent anything from escaping.

"I'll write to you every day," you reassured, wiping away the stray tears that escaped her bright eyes. "That will never be enough."

"It has to be for now."

Watching Wanda leave stung, it felt like a part of your soul and heart had been ripped from you, and now you felt nothing but emptiness; you were alone. Wanda was the sun, and you were a flower; you could never survive without the comforting warmth and brightness that the girl provided; you were nothing without her, and every day until you could see her again, you'd feel as if you were already dead.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximov #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x you #wanda #marvel #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda x reader #wanda mcu #scarlet witch x you

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

Text

Happiness

Summary: A daughter of Thanos, Eija had grown accustomed to the isolated nature of life on the Sanctuary. Only when her father orders her to keep watch over an injured prisoner does she begin to realize how lonely it is.

Written for @lucywrites02′s Lucywrites19 Writing Challenge on prompt #6

Word Count: 4,078

Pairing: Loki (Marvel) x OFC

A/N: Lucy: *puts together a list of really nice, sweet, loving prompts that would make for some wonderful, fluffy fics*

Me: And I took that personally

Honestly, this turned into more of a separate challenge for me to see if I could take a fluffy prompt and write an angst bomb. I can say I’m both pleased and thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Happy Birthday, Lucy! I hope you don’t hate me too much after this one ...

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (it’s not super graphic, but it’s definitely there), blood/injury, character death

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“Are you happy, child?”

It wasn’t the type of thing Eija had expected the hulking warrior to ask a street urchin like her, especially not after catching her wrist in his pocket. Really, she should have known better than to try to steal from someone so clearly capable of crushing her skull within his fist, but his golden armor had glistened so temptingly in the sunlight and besides, she had never been caught before …

When he caught her wrist and yanked her in front of him, Eija was sure that this was the end. The penalty for stealing was steep to begin with, but stealing from a noble (and certainly this man must have been a noble) could lose you your head. But he said nothing of punishment. Instead, he curled his purple lips into a smile and asked her that question.

“Are you happy, child?”

No one had ever asked her that before. No one ever really asked her anything—the most Eija ever got were the curses spat at her on the street, on the luckless days when pickpocketing had brought her nothing and she was forced to beg for sustenance. No one cared enough to ask after her.

No, she told the warrior-noble, no, she wasn’t happy. She was hungry and tired and cold, and she didn’t have money to buy food.

The towering creature laughed, caressing the brilliant hilt that hung at his waist. “I thought not. Come,” he said, stepping forward and motioning her to follow. “I have something for you to eat on my ship.”

…

Eija tugged at the laces on her boot. She had tied and untied them three times already, but she could think of nothing else to do in this tiny room, so she went in for the fourth. Besides her, the Jotun sagged against his braces in the metal chair, his labored breathing the only sound to break the stillness. He didn’t look very Jotun. Lord Thanos had explained that it was some kind of enchantment—the AllFather had magicked away his blue skin when he was a baby to make him look more Asgardian. Eija didn’t really understand the reasoning behind such an action, but she didn’t need to. Her job was simply to make sure he survived the night.

It was a frustrating assignment. Eija wasn’t a healer—she had no idea what she was supposed to do if death came knocking for the prisoner. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly an assassin either, and so unlike the rest of her adoptive siblings her role on the Sanctuary wasn’t considered to be of critical importance.

So here she was. Babysitting.

The Jotun groaned. It was a soft noise, but it was enough to rip Eija’s attention away from her shoes. He shifted against his restraints, but there was no force behind the movements.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you awake?” She shouldn’t have been talking to the prisoner. Somehow, she knew Lord Thanos wouldn’t like it if he were to find out. Still, the metallic room housed a lonely existence, and Eija was desperate for any kind of distraction.

Although the prisoner didn’t exactly seem to be the ideal conversation partner. He flinched at the sound of her voice, his feeble movement falling still as abruptly as it began. Perhaps she should have gone back to her laces, but Eija was intrigued. She left her stool to stand before the Jotun, peering down at him through his shackles.

“Are you awake?” she asked again. He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply against his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just been rustling about. The thought of some grand Jotun (Asgardian?) prince trying to trick her by playing dead was so comical that Eija had to bite back her laugh.

“Hey,” she said instead, trying to add some of that Black Order sharpness to her voice as she tapped his arm. “Knock it off. I know you’re awake.”

He looked up at her then, his movement slow and labored. It almost made her wince, just looking at the way he struggled to open his bloodshot eyes. Lord Thanos had allowed Proxima charge of the Jotun today, and she had clearly made the most of it—his face was so swollen that she never would have recognized the man Corvus had pulled out of the depths of space only a week ago.

“What do you want?” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. He was making a valiant effort to control his breathing, but Eija knew the look of fear when she saw it. She had seen it in the faces of almost everyone who found themselves in the presence of Lord Thanos and his children, although those faces were never focused on her. This must have been the first time she was the cause of such terror.

It was an odd feeling. Eija wasn’t sure she liked it.

She shrugged, dropping the serious tone. “I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets very dull in here.”

The prisoner only stared at her.

No, not the ideal conversation partner at all.

Eija sighed. It seemed she’d be returning to her shoelaces in short time after all.

“Can you tell me your name at least?” she asked. No one had mentioned it yet, and Eija had been afraid to inquire. Lord Thanos hadn’t been particularly happy when he gave her this assignment—his anger had been more directed at Proxima, for nearly killing the prisoner, but Eija didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on her. She wasn’t often the target of the Mad Titan’s fury, but the few times she was were enough of a lesson for a lifetime.

But the Jotun made no response. “Is this a trick?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m just curious.” A strand of black hair had fallen into his eye. Eija was tempted to brush it away, but she held herself back. “I’ll tell you my name, if it makes you feel better,” she offered.

She waited a moment for him to give some kind of answer. He didn’t.

“Eija,” she said. “My name’s Eija.”

He inhaled. “Did he send you to kill me?”

The question caught her off guard, although perhaps it was fair. “What? No, no I’m just— no,” she stuttered. “I don’t … kill people.”

He eyed her, unconvinced. “Why are you here, then?”

“To make sure you don’t die,” she said. “They were worried, you know.” Proxima had been quite proud of herself. Eija had overheard her bragging to some of the others earlier in the day about how she had the little prince calling out for his mother by the end. They had been laughing about it, how quickly he had succumbed to childish instincts, but the thought intrigued Eija.

She had never known her mother. Before Lord Thanos had found her, she had had no one but herself, scrounging up what food she could from what she stole on the street. She never cried for anyone, no matter how frightened she was. She had no one to cry for.

She wondered what it was like.

“Are you truly not going to tell me your name?” she asked. It was a bit disappointing. She had hoped he’d be at least a little more interesting than this.

He swallowed slowly, painfully. Whereas before it seemed he was afraid to take his eyes off of her, now he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

“Loki,” he finally whispered.

“Loki,” Eija repeated. The name made her smile, although she wasn’t quite sure why it would. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki.”

She asked him more questions as the night went on—questions about his home, his family, his childhood memories. At first, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He’d just stare at her blankly as she posed her queries or whip his head away as if he couldn’t stand to be faced with the words.

So, she changed tactics. She told him about growing up on Knowhere, before Thanos found her, about how when she was not yet six years of age the man she had known as her father dumped her on the side of the road and flew away into permanent obscurity, and about how she taught herself how to reach into another’s pocket and pull out exactly what she was looking for by practicing on the other unsuspecting urchins who lived alongside her on the street. It was strange, to relieve those stories before an audience. Because he was an audience, like it or not. He was listening to every word she said, even more so, she suspected, than he wanted to let on.

When she left that morning, after Corvus came to take over for the day, her throat was so dry she could barely speak. It was a nice kind of dry, though. The Black Order never demanded her voice anyways, so it wasn’t a noticeable inconvenience.

It was worth it.

“You again,” Loki muttered when she slipped into the cell the following evening. “Eija.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “You remembered my name!”

“You talked a lot.” He blinked sleepily. “You had a nice voice.”

Eija stopped. She wasn’t certain she heard him incorrectly. “What?”

He yawned. “You had a nice voice.”

She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. It was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, as ridiculous as it seemed. Eija doubted her siblings could even recognize the sound of her voice—if they did, it would have been to scold her for stepping so far out of line, certainly not to pay her a compliment.

“If you’d like,” she said eagerly, pulling the stool across the room so she could sit next to him. “I can tell you more stories?”

It became the part of the day Eija looked forward to most—the moments where she could talk for hours about anything she wanted, without the ever-present fear of her siblings’ mockery or the Mad Titan’s chastening. It felt … safe, in a way that she hadn’t felt safe before. Warm. She always felt so alone on this ship, wasting away whilst awaiting orders. There were points where even her own thoughts seemed to abandon her to the darkness.

But not here. Not with Loki.

He seemed to enjoy it as well. Of course, she held no illusions that he was quite literally a captive audience, but he listened. He remembered the things she said to him. On good days, he’d even ask her questions, add in thoughts and stories of his own.

“You said you don’t kill people,” he asked suddenly, on one such visit. “Did you mean that?”

Eija shifted uncomfortably. This had always been an awkward subject. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t have the training.”

“What do you do here, then?”

She inhaled. “Steal things.”

“Steal things?” he repeated. “What kind of things?”

Eija shrugged. “Anything he wants,” she said. “Weapons, passkeys, precious gems—whatever.” She remembered that day, when Lord Thanos had taken her from the streets to his ship, what he had said as she devoured the soup his servant placed in front of her.

“I have more trained killers than I know what to do with,” he told her. “But perhaps I could use a sneak thief.”

Eija had agreed to everything he said— it wasn’t as if she was in any position to refuse him, and besides, anything had to be better than sleeping in a trash bin. And so, she became the Titan’s personal retriever, sneaking her way across the galaxy and returning with the treasures he coveted in her pockets. Her methods were straight and to the point. She was in and out before anyone even noticed her presence, and, unlike her adopted siblings, there wasn’t a trail of bodies left in her wake.

“But if your role is to steal things,” Loki asked. “Then what are you doing with me?”

Eija didn’t answer right away. Thanos had not ordered her to continue her night watch over the Jotun prisoner. He hadn’t said that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be pleased to find that she had. What was she doing here?

“I just like to talk to somebody, I guess,” she said. “Besides, somebody has to make sure you make it through the night.”

Although it became exceedingly clear with each passing day that such a task may be outside of her abilities. One night, she could hear his hacking all the way down the hall, rattling the walls as she rushed to his side. She found him sagging limply against his shackles, soaked in blood and sweat and goodness knows what else as he choked on his own breath.

Eija didn’t know what to do—she could only wipe the blood from his face and hold the bottle of water to his lips.

“What does he want from me?” he croaked, once he could finally speak. There were tears running down the creases of his face, although whether that was from emotion or pain Eija couldn’t be sure. “Why is he doing this to me?”

For once, she said nothing. She had no answer for him.

She tried asking Gamora once. It was no secret that the Zehoberei was Lord Thanos’ favorite—if he were to tell anyone his intentions for the prisoner, it would be her.

But the assassin gave her nothing. “He has a use in mind,” she said. “Don’t question him.”

“But,” Eija hesitated. “If that’s the case, why is he hurting him?” She gulped. “If he has a use for him, shouldn’t he be … using him?”

Gamora glared at her. “If he’s not strong enough to survive this, he’s not strong enough to do Thanos’ bidding.” Her tone lowered in warning. “Remember your place.”

Eija did remember her place. She was reminded of it with every passing moment—leashed to her lord’s beck and call, every day walking that delicate tightrope of anticipating his wishes without asserting herself too far in his eyes, living in fear of the day when the bottom finally fell through and he decided to unsheathe the blade at his waist.

Was this his plan for Loki as well? Torture him to death’s edge until it pleased him to make him yet another glorified slave? She thought of Loki, shackled to his chair, heaving and coughing up blood, sentenced to wither away until Thanos found use for him … for what? The mere crime of existence?

And here she was, letting it happen, watching as Thanos sucked the life out of him, simply using him as a receptacle to her own selfish need for attention.

She was just as awful.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Was there?

Unless …

The thought started as a hypothetical. Isn’t that how all treason began? A tiny what-if, buried under one’s daily worries? The hangers of the Sanctuary were hardly well-guarded. There was little reason to guard them, after all—few on this vessel had cause to sneak off of it, and those who did hadn’t the opportunity. And with the current position they had been holding the last few days, only a small way from the Krylor jump point, which could then take you down through one of the major galactical traffic-ways …

Stealing a ship would be almost too easy.

It wouldn’t work, she told herself as she stood amongst her siblings in Thanos’ court. The ship was one thing, the passenger was something else entirely. Loki’s chains were specifically designed by the Mad Titan to stifle the magic of that whom they held. They were the very definition of unbreakable. And the key—Thanos kept it on his person at all times, hooked to his belt alongside his blades. Any scheme was doomed to fail.

But sometimes, opportunities present themselves.

“And where are you going, child?”

Eija jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and nearly collided with the lord himself. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“To watch over the prisoner, as you ordered, sir.”

He frowned. “That was weeks ago. You’re not still doing that now?”

She bit her tongue, so hard it hurt. “W-with all due respect sir, you never told me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. Such action is no longer necessary.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “Apologies, sir.”

Eija stood there shaking long after he had continued down the hall. Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He had to have noticed. In a moment, he’d come storming back up the corridor, grab her by her neck, and crush her skull against the wall.

But he never did.

It was just Eija, alone in the hallway, clutching the golden key between her trembling fingers.

There was little time. Her theft could only go overlooked for so long. She didn’t have the chance to question herself as she rushed to Loki’s cell—any moment spent in doubt was a moment wasted.

Loki seemed to be unconscious when she first arrived at his side, but he popped up with a start the moment she reached for his chains.

“What—" he gasped, eyes wild. “What’s happening?”

The key clicked in the lock. He heaved a breath, falling forward as the shackles fell open.

“You’re going home.” Eija’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. They couldn’t steal a Q-ship—it was too big; they’d would be noticed immediately … “Can you fly a pod?” she asked.

He gulped. “Possibly?”

“Good enough.” She pulled him to his feet. It was at this moment she became aware of the fact that she had only every seen him seated. Loki was tall. Much, much taller than her, and when he sagged against her it took all of her strength to keep him from tumbling to the metallic floor. For a moment she feared that he was too weak to even stand on his own and nearly panicked, because oh goodness how was she supposed to carry him all the way to the hanger—

But he managed to stabilize himself, gripping her shoulder so tightly that she lost feeling in it, but standing on his own. Slowly, she was able to walk him into the hallway.

The hanger was only a few floors above them, but the elevator ride felt like an eternity.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …

If it stopped before they reached their destination, they were both dead.

Besides her, Loki’s breathing was labored. He hadn’t said anything since she had come to get him.

She squeezed his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel how she was trembling like a leaf. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly. “I assume you have a plan?”

“The pods are lined on the far wall of the hanger.” She inhaled. “When the door opens, we run like mad and get you on one. And then you take off for the jump point, and don’t stop until you’ve hit traffic.”

Loki turned to her, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you’ll not stay here?”

Eija gulped. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

The elevator doors clicked open to reveal a thicket of barbed shadows and twisted metal. The hanger was lifeless and barren this time of night, lit only by the glow of the cosmos streaming in through the glass. They made their way in perfect silence, the only sound being the pounding of her heartbeat behind her eardrums. Every dark shape seemed like a waiting figure. Now, it was Eija that clung to him too tightly, terrified that at any moment someone would jump out and rip him from her grasp. By the time they reached their destination, they were both wildly out of breath.

The pods were small, thin one-man transports. Calling them ships was really being too generous. They weren’t really meant for long term travel, but they could work for a few jumps—long enough to get to civilized airspace, which was all he needed. She helped Loki into the compartment, careful to keep him from hitting his head on the low ceiling. This damn ship had caused him enough pain already.

He sighed, leaning against the seat in one short moment of rest before turning back to her. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do.”

Eija hesitated. What could she plan to do? She had nothing waiting for her beyond this ship. As with all of his children, Thanos held a piece of her that he would never relinquish, no matter how far she flew.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “For now, at least. They might pick up on something if too much is out of place.”

“But—"

“Please,” Eija hissed. “You remember what I said, right? Take the Krylor jump, and just keep towards Xandar.” She inhaled so deeply it hurt, trying to bury the aching dread building in her chest. “Stay with the crowds whenever you can—he won’t bother with you if it means he has to go through heavy populations.”

Loki nodded, but she wasn’t certain he was listening. There was a sadness behind his eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. He squeezed her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank you, Eija,” he whispered. “May fate be kind to you.”

…

The alarm went off some hours later, when morning dawned upon an empty cell. They came for her only minutes after. Eija hadn’t been certain of what she would do—would she scream when they broke down her door? Cry for help? Fight for her life? But as the Black Order filed into her room with their weapons drawn, Eija felt only an overwhelming calm. It was good that they were here. The longer they spent with her, the more of a chance Loki had of getting away.

She went with her adoptive siblings willingly.

They took her to the same tiny room where this had all begun, shackled her to the same chair she had watched over so diligently. Eija barely registered it.

Surely, Loki was hundreds of star systems away from here now.

Surely he was safe.

When the pain did come, it filled every fiber of her being, burning through her body as if she were nothing but dry kindling. Her vision bled white. Her screams ripped her throat raw.

They asked no questions. She was relieved for that at least, because her every coherent thought shattered to pieces long before it could reach her lips.

She understood now why Loki had cried for his mother. She would have too, had she a mother to cry for. Instead, she just cried.

Eija wasn’t certain how much time had passed before he arrived. It could have been hours, it could have been months, but at some point when she dragged her aching head to look up she found Lord Thanos staring down at her, the stony weight of disappointment heavy on his features.

Gamora stood next to him. She spared a glance at her former sister, softer, sadder, almost sympathetic, before she turned back to her father.

“Sir, the Jotun is out of tracking range. There’s nothing we can do at this point.”

Out of range.

Eija thought of Loki, raven hair streaming in the breeze behind him as he pulled himself out of the craft, safe on some green, luscious, faraway planet that the Black Order could never reach. She smiled, blood dripping from her lips.

Thanos’ expression remained immovable.

“Well, child,” he finally said, looking down at her as he caressed the glinting hilt at his waist. “Look upon this mess. See what you have done. Are you happy now?” He reached out with his other hand, tipping her chin up towards him with a single finger, as if the mere thought of touching her disgusted him. “You look happy.”

Eija felt a laugh tickle her throat. It came out as more of a cough, blood and bile staining her tongue. Still, she could not bring herself to stop smiling.

“I am happy, sir.”

It was true. A beautiful warmth flooded her aching chest. She laughed again, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.

She was still laughing when the blade severed her throat.

#lucywrites19 #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #happiness #cozy writes

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

Text

BURN THE WITCH 3 (Miraculous Karma)

Lila Rossi had lived her life by the golden rule: You could get people to do anything if they thought you had gold. Honestly, anyone would be blinded by a glimmer if you made it seem it was worth something.

And Lila was very well versed in the allure of pyrite. As well as what people would be stupid enough to do for it. “All that glitters is gold”, after all. A little shine here. A sparkle there. With a few choice words, she could have anyone convinced she was gold.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Even when things were found out eventually, it never came back on her. They tended to make excuses for her so much that she didn’t have to bother coming up with lies half the time. Then by the time anything did start to fall apart, she was already moved on. A fresh start with no one the wiser.

Consequences were for other people. And this situation with Witch Hunter was no different. Annoying as it may be.

She just had to bide her time until Ladybug showed up to deal with the akuma like she always did. Lila could stay hidden until then. And even in the worst case, Hawk Moth considered her his ally and she still too valuable to risk. If Rose did catch her, he wouldn’t allow her to go through with harming her.

And if he did decide to try and cut her as a loss, she had suspicions and reasonable evidence as to his true identity to implicate him.

Lila had been in this game for years, after all.

Even now, despite where she was, she still had an edge. That was Lila’s true skill. She was crafty and clever and fully capable of turning any circumstances to her advantage.

While she cursed Marinette for shoving her in the supply room, even that ended up being more to her own benefit. It seemed that the supply closet carried within it a number of useful items. Cleaning supplies. A cart. Towels. And it seemed a couple of the staff had been using it to store their personal belongings, bags, and work clothes.

Clearly she needed it more than they did right now.

Within minutes, Lila had donned a disguise. The janitor’s uniform was big on her, though it allowed room underneath for extra padding to make her look more filled out. And apron on top of that to keep things in place. The shoes were old and clearly belonged to a man given the smell, but they were useful nonetheless. And then the hairnet and hat to keep her hair hidden.

She checked herself in a mirror…and promptly stuck out her tongue in distaste.

She looked horrible, but she at least didn’t look like Lila Rossi. And it might be enough to keep them off her tail for a while. People were stupid, after all. Especially when groupthink was involved.

Now disguised, Lila poked her head out of the closet. The hallway was empty. She could still hear voices further along, but it was better to be out and about now instead of letting them catch her in the supply closet or leaving the supply closet. That would just make them think she was hiding, and at least acting like she was “working” would give the sense that she belonged there and add to the illusion.

Lila started pushing the cleaning cart in the direction of the stairs. It would be closer to the exit for one thing, but there were also restrooms right nearby the stairs and she could make the excuse that she was heading there to clean the stalls.

Although she heard shouting, no one was in sight. Not even Marinette, whether the girl had disappeared to. No doubt she’d planned to trap Lila and lead the mob right to her.

Honestly, it’s what Lila would have done had their places been switched. Why would Marinette act any differently?

Of course, Marinette was a goody-goody. It made her easy to predict and manipulate. But really, Marinette was no different than anyone else. She’d drop the nice girl act once it inconvenienced her. It only made sense that Lila act first.

“Hey! You there!” Came a voice. Staying cool, Lila casually looked over her shoulder to see a man and woman walking towards her. Strangers. She hadn’t met them before, but from their countenance and the rope the man was holding, they were clearly part of the akuma’s thrall. “You didn’t happen to see Lila Rossi around here, have you?”

She cleared her throat before speaking in a voice as low and gravely as she could. “What’s she look like?” She asked, acting curious.

“She’s a teenager. Fourteen to fifteen years old. She wears orange and has her hair in this ridiculous style. Honestly, it looks like sausages are attached to her head.”

How dare you—!

“No, sir!” Lila replied with false cheer as she had to hold back her annoyance. “Just fixing to do my sweeping! Sweepy, sweepy!”

The man gave her a strange look. “Okay…”

The woman shook her head at him before turning to Lila. “Just keep an eye out if you see her. She’s a horrible liar and cannot be trusted. She has a good punishment coming to her.”

Like that would be happening.

“Sure thang! You give that little miscreant what for!” She replied before pretending to go back to her work. The two gave each other uncertain looks before shrugging and going back to searching the rest of the school.

Hah. Fools.

She carried on towards the exit, patting herself on the back for another crisis avoided.

Unbeknownst to her, the two watched her leave.

“Why was she talking about sweeping with a mop?” The man asked his partner.

“Who knows?” The woman replied, sending out a message on her phone. “Let’s make sure to keep an eye out for her, just in case...”

_______________________

The sounds of chanting distracted Marinette from her kwami, drawing her attention to the hallways outside of the room. It seemed that some of the marchers had started searching the school for where Lila could be hiding.

And it appeared that Lila herself had noticed as well, Marinette bumped into her shortly after hiding Tikki in her bag and leaving the classroom.

“Lila, what are you doing out here?” Marinette hissed upon seeing the other girl out of the closet. She was wearing a disguise of some sort that she must have lifted from the supply closet. Clearly an act of desperation, Marinette could tell. The apron hung loosely around her and barely held the blankets she’d stuffed underneath it in place. The janitor’s jacket was much too big for her. And she had gone so far as to put one of the hairnets over her head. The boots covering her feet were ill-fitting and clunky, more likely to trip her if she tried to run in them. Altogether, it was an attempt to give her the illusion of a different weight and stature, and make her appear to be one of the school’s janitorial staff. A good idea in theory.

But as it was, she just looked like a disaster bound to get more attention than deflect it.

“They started to check the rooms and nearly found me!” Lila hissed.

“Not if the door was locked!”

“They could have busted it down!”

“It was a SUPPLY CLOSET! If you’d stayed in place and kept quiet, they would have just moved on. All you had to do was stay hidden!”

“And then what?” Lila demanded. “Wait for you to lead the mob right to me?”

Marinette growled. “In case you’ve missed the memo, I’m the only one fully aware of just how horrible you and still NOT willing to sell you out to the akuma.”

“And that is ever so kind of you.” Lila said with false graciousness.

Marinette…just didn’t have it in her to try and fight. She was already anxious, paranoid, and on edge. The akuma was slowly taking over the city all for the purpose of hunting down one teenage girl. A teenage girl that Marinette could honestly say she despised more than any other, and would be ashamed to admit she would want to simply leave to her fate. Even her own kwami was advocating for it.

But Ladybug is better than that. And so is Marinette.

So despite her misgivings, nudging from Tikki, and temptation in general, Marinette took it upon herself to protect her enemy and try to lead her to safety.

However, since she was doing so as Marinette, it was only a matter of time before they were bound to run into a search party from the mob. Glancing around the corner of the school, Marinette counted…five…six of them? And sure enough, there was the akumatized Rose—Witch Hunter herself, scouring the streets and calling more people to her cause as she continued to read from her list with one hand and ring a bell with the other.

Was the scroll the akumatized object? It seemed too obvious. But the bell was questionable as well…

Nevermind that. Sanctuary was the priority right now. And the safest place she could think of was home.

But as it was, the mob was blocking the way to the Bakery. As loathe as Marinette was to let Lila into her home (and as much as part of her knew Lila would abuse the sanctuary to find something to use against her), it was the only place at this point she could think of to safely hide the other girl while she transformed into Ladybug.

Unfortunately, they had to find a way past the hunting party first.

Also unfortunately, Lila had her own plan on how to get around this obstacle.

Said plan involved shoving Marinette into the open. And hard enough to make the naturally clumsy girl tumble out from their hiding place and face plant onto the ground.

“Look!” Lila called out, cupping her hands around her mouth to make her voice echo. “A conspirator helping the Witch! Someone grab her!”

Marinette gasped and sent Lila a nasty glare from over her shoulder.

Curse her sudden but inevitable betrayal!

Marinette turned back to the mob, fully knowing she would have seconds to see them converge upon her before her untimely demise.

Only…they just stood there staring at her.

“Hey! That’s Marinette!” Came a cry—Alya, she recognized.

“She was shoved!” Someone exclaimed.

“But she’s an innocent!” Witch Hunter announced. “The sort to try and help someone no matter how horrible they are or how little they deserve it.”

Oh. Thank you, Rose. Kind of someone to actually notice.

“And someone shoved her and tried to make her a target!”

Gasps abounded. Marinette blinked in confusion.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Lila was clearly even more confused, given her bewildered and frustrated expression.

“Only the Witch would do that!” Witch Hunter proclaimed loudly, drawing more people to the area. She pointed to the poorly disguised Lila. “No disguise can hide your foulness! GET THE WITCH!”

“Wait…let’s not go with that!” Marinette cried out, but she was ignored as the mob charged at Lila with a multitude of battle cries and wielding various objects including but not limited to some branches, two hockey sticks, and somehow, a pitchfork.

“Oh come on!” Lila exclaimed, swiftly turning and making a run for it.

The mob chased after her with Witch Hunter at the lead. They all made sure not to trample Marinette as they passed, leaving her unharmed save for her initial tumble, so there was that at least.

Within moments, Marinette was left mostly alone, save for a few members of the hunting party who saw fit to try and check on her. She was still sprawled out on the ground. Less injured than she expected she would be. But alive! And not taken by the mob.

That...

That did not go as she expected.

Though it clearly didn’t go as Lila expected either.

So…win?

“It’s okay, Marinette.” Alya said, in a way that might have been considered comforting had it been a couple months ago and a mob-inciting akuma not been involved. “Lila is a horrible deceiver. You didn’t know any better.”

…She could swear Alya was patronizing her.

“Yeah. Sure.” Not like she had been the one trying to warn everyone else or anything.

Alya appeared oblivious to the sarcasm. Instead, she pulled out her cellphone and grinned at whatever was on it.

“No worries! I’ve already put out an alert to the Ladyblog. Everyone will know of Lila’s crimes, so there’s no way she’ll escape punishment.” She smiled at Marinette. “You go home and rest. You’ve been through more than enough from that Liar.” She spat out the final word like a curse.

Marinette…forced herself to weakly smile back.

“Thanks…”

She watched, wondering what weird morbid world she was in as Alya announced she would be going to rejoin the search so she could get Lila’s demise on camera. For prosperity.

Marinette just stared as the last of the mob trailed off.

“Did that just happen?”

Tikki popped her head out of the bag.

“I told you to just let the mob have her.”

“SHUSH.”

#ml fic #witch hunter #lila sucks #marinette dupain cheng #tikki #tikki no #evil tikki #rose lavillant

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years

Text

Save Me: Chapter 18 - Angel or Devil?

~Hey guys! Chapter 18 has just been released ❤️ This is a dark chapter, so I’m just forewarning everyone that if anyone is triggered by sexual assault/rape then avoid this chapter. As always, love you guys and stay safe ✌🏻~

Molly and Negan were unstoppable, inseparable. Or so they thought? With Molly being put into harms way because of Negan, will he ever be able to forgive himself?

A couple days had passed since Negan and I came out as a official couple.

He always joked that we were now the King and Queen of the Sanctuary but I just rolled my eyes every time.

I was nice though, seeing him this genuinely happy.

But, in my heart, I knew it wasn't meant to last. Things right now were too perfect.

I had officially moved into Negan's room and now my room was like an office.

I guess this was what he meant way back when, when he asked me to help him run this place one day.

Negan was still the leader of course but now people knelt when I walked by too.

It was a curious feeling, it felt dated and wrong but at the same time it was exhilarating.

I felt like I was worth something, like people depended on me, more so than people ever did back home.

Sure, some people talked, but I didn't care because the majority were happy for both of us and I think that a lot of people liked having me by his side to calm his moments of rage.

There were far less punishments after all.

But some would always blame me and call Negan weak, especially Simon.

This was made worse by Negan's decision to demote him.

'There's my girl' Negan said smirking and sauntering up to me in the main hall.

He wrapped an arm around my waist as I was taking inventory of the food stuffs.

'You don't have to do that' Negan said confusedly.

I sighed 'I know, but I want to. I can't just parade around here without pulling my weight' I said turning around to face him.

'Well, all I'm saying is that you won't have time to do that once you accept your new position' he said smiling excitedly.

I tilted my head in confusion, 'what position? I thought we talked about that' I said in a hushed tone so no one could hear, even though all eyes were on us.

'I know that you're my partner darlin, but I need someone by my side in all operations, and you'd be goddamn perfect for that' he said softly and still smiling eagerly.

I looked at him hesitantly.

'Are you asking me to become your right hand man...I mean woman?' I whispered, he just nodded while smirking.

I sighed, 'but I'm not a Saviour?' I said slowly.

'I know that doll and I get that this is a lot, but I can't trust anyone else' he said softly.

'Besides, I've already given Si his notice' he said nonchalantly.

My eyes widened at this.

'You did what?!' I yelled in a strained whisper which now people could hear.

'He already hates me enough' I said sternly.

'So what if the asshole's threatened by you, maybe it'll kick him up the ass enough to get back in line' he said scowling.

I sighed and asked 'can I at least think about it?'.

He nodded in response as I walked back out of the hall.

Negan stayed in the hall, people asking him questions as I left.

I thought we had agreed on my position, but apparently not.

I rubbed my neck in frustration as I walked down the hall which was dimly lit for some reason.

There was silence, you could hear a pin drop.

Only the sound of my footsteps echoing down the hallway, when suddenly a large arm grabbed me at the corner and pulled me against the wall.

It was darker now, but I could make out the face.

It was Simon.

He shoved me forcefully against the wall, I winced at his aggression.

'What the hell do you want?!' I shouted.

'You. It seems, that around here you have nine fucking lives honey, so I'm gonna teach you a lesson' he snarled as he pinned my arms by my sides.

He was far stronger than I was.

'Help!' I screamed as he put his hand over my mouth, he chuckled sinisterly.

'Don't worry, I've made sure that Negan is occupied. He won't hear you, no one will' he said grinning viciously at me.

Although he had my arms pinned down, my legs weren't.

With all my might I collided my knee with his balls.

He winced and weakened his grip immediately.

I tried to get away but he pulled me back by my hair and landed a punch straight to my face.

I crashed down to the concrete floor immediately, the impact of the surface colliding with my head knocked me almost unconscious.

He punched me over and over, in my stomach, my legs, my face he left relatively untouched.

I was weakened, floating in and out of consciousness, lying on the floor and blood gushing out of my nose and cheek.

The shock concealed my pain until after.

I heard him unbuckling his jeans and I knew what was coming.

He pinned down my arms, digging into my skin as his weight crushed me.

I was numb, frozen and unable to move. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

A short while later, he stood up and spat venomously 'now I get what Negan was talking about'.

He pulled up his jeans and said 'now, you tell Negan about any of this, I give the heads up to my guys to kill your sister Tara, might even let them rape her first. Depends how I'm feeling. Oh, and tell your boyfriend that you want me to get my position back'.

He chuckled as he walked back down the corridor, leaving me there in a pool of blood on the floor.

Even after he left, I still felt him on me like I was somehow infected.

I lay there, shaking as tears continued to roll down my face, mixing with my blood.

As soon as I heard footsteps getting louder and louder, I knew someone was coming and I remembered what Simon had said.

I couldn't tell anyone.

I tried to gather myself back up and scrambled at the ground to pull myself off of the floor when I figure stopped dead in front of me.

Sherry.

I quaked and shivered in front of her, my entire body revealing cuts and bruises.

Her eyes widened as she was stunned to silence, 'oh my god' she whispered.

'Oh my god, Molly. Molly are you okay? What the hell happened?' she asked rushing over to me frantically.

As soon as I saw her face, I broke down.

Tears rolled more ferociously down my face now, I stuttered and scrambled to make words come out of my mouth.

She hushed me as talking made me more nervous, instead she held me up and stroked my hair as she brought me to my room.

There was no one else down the corridor, just me and Sherry.

Her eyes were filled with tears like mine at my pain.

She held me up all the way to my door and laid me gently down onto my bed.

'Shhh, I'm here now. I'm here. You're okay. You're safe now' she repeated as she stroked my hair.

'I'm gonna get Dr Carson to check you out. I'll lock the door behind me, don't worry' she said calmly as she walked towards the door.

She knew exactly what had happened without even asking.

I didn't know whether that was comforting or worrying, thinking the same might have happened to her.

'No, please Sherry! No one can know!' I yelled in between tears.

'You could get an infection and I'm not losing you. I'll make sure no one is around okay? Trust me' she said calmly.

I just nodded slightly.

I lay there, still until the Doctor came.

When he saw the state of me, he was overwhelmed.

'Molly, Dr Carson is gonna take a look at you, okay?' Sherry said quietly as she guided the Doctor into my room.

He sat nervously on the edge of the bed as he scanned over my bruises and cuts.

'Molly, the Doctor will need to touch you, is that okay?' Sherry asked nervously, I just nodded while I closed my eyes tightly.

I hated the thought of anyone touching me after what I went through, but I just kept thinking that the quicker I healed, the sooner I could see Negan.

He checked for broken bones. There were none, just a sprained wrist.

He then disinfected and covered the cuts, stitched up the more open ones.

Finally, he slowly handed me a morning after pill. I looked at it for a second, so did Sherry.

That was when it hit me.

I took it with a sip of water and just lay there while the tears rolled down onto my cheeks which were burning from the bruises.

He left paracetamol for me, alongside some bandages and antiseptic.

I just nodded at him and he left.

Sherry could barely look at me, her eyes so full of sorrow.

'I-I am so sorry that this happened to you Molly' she said crying as she sat down next to me.

Her face now hardened with anger, 'who did this to you?' she asked sternly.

I looked away and took a deep breath.

'If I tell you, you have to promise me that you won't do anything about it' I said sternly as my voice was shaking.

'Molly...' she said softly.

'Promise me!' I yelled as tears continued to flow.

She just nodded softly, 'Simon' I said hesitantly.

She looked at me with wide eyes, in silence.

'But if you told Negan...' she said softly.

'No. If Negan finds out, Simon will kill my sister and I don't doubt that he has people ready to do it if he gives the word' I said softly.

'He has to pay for this' Sherry said, rage filling her body.

'He will, eventually. But not now and not soon' I said shaking my head.

'What about Negan? He'll want to see you?' she said worriedly.

I nodded, 'you'll think of something to tell him' I said seriously.

She looked at me with her eyes wider than before, 'what would I say?' she asked frantically.

'I don't know. But you have to promise me Sherry, that you won't let him see me. I need you to do this, for me and Tara' I begged.

She sighed and looked to the floor, 'The doctor won't tell and I'll tell Negan that you're ill, but you'll be fine' she said nodding at me in reassurance.

I smiled weakly at her and thanked her.

She then left me so I could rest.

I lay there, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. I couldn't sleep, I didn't feel safe enough to do so.

Suddenly there was a gentle knock at the door, my eyes widened as a rush of anxiety came over me at the thought that it might be Negan.

'Darlin, let me in' he said calmly.

My eyes teared up at hearing his voice.

I shut my eyes tightly and prepared myself so I sounded like I wasn't in pain.

'I'm just about to go to sleep' I shouted from the other side of the door.

'Darlin just let me see you, please. Sherry said that you we're ill. I wanna take care of you' he said softly.

I could hear the pain in his voice. Tears flowed down my face.

All I wanted was to just open that door and have him hold me forever and tell me that everything would be okay.

But I couldn't.

I wiped my eyes and sniffled as I composed myself.

'I’m pretty tired, I just want to sleep and I've got the flu so I wouldn't want to make you ill too' I said, pressing myself against the door frame, trying to feel him through the wood.

'In sickness and in health darlin. Just let me in' he said now with worry in his voice.

'I’m fine, I promise' I said sternly.

'I thought you moved into my room? Why don't you sleep there? You'd be more comfortable and I could be there for you' he said as his voice was breaking revealing the hurt he was feeling, not knowing why I was being distant.

I clenched my eyes tightly shut in agony. Tears flooded my face at his pain and mine.

I took a deep breath, knowing what I needed to do.

'I just need some space. The move was too soon and I don't want to be your right-hand guy. Please, just give me time' I said sternly.

He was silent on the other side for a few minutes.

'Do you love me?' he asked sternly as I heard him bang his head against the door.

I wiped away my tears.

'Of course I love you. I just need time to myself to think' I replied weakly.

'Goodnight' I said gently, which he didn't respond too.

I only knew he had left once I heard his footsteps get quieter and quieter.

I limped back into bed, scared because I knew full well that he couldn't give this up.

He would come to my door every night and beg me to let him in.

A week later...

After a week of trying he came once more.

'Darlin, you better move back from this door because I'm about to break it down' he said sternly.

I gasped as his men broke the lock and the door swung open to reveal Negan standing there in front of me with three of his guys.

My bruises had faded slightly but they were still visible.

He just stared at me, tears forming in his eyes at the pain I was in.

'Leave us' he said sternly to his guys who immediately nodded and walked away.

Negan shut the broken door somewhat behind him.

'What the fuck happened?' he said, rage filling his body as he walked slowly towards me.

I tried to hold back my tears and fear.

'Nothing, I was sparring with someone and got hit. I'm fine' I said cooly as I moved away from his gaze and pulled my boots on.

'You're not fucking fine. You have bruises all up your arms' he said as he tried to reach out to touch me gently.

I flinched and yelled 'don't touch me!'.

He looked at me in confusion and worry. 'Darlin...' he said worriedly, making me fight back my tears once again.

'I said I'm fine' I said sternly as I turned and walked out of the door.

He paced after me. 'I don't believe you. I know you, you are the love of my goddamn life so I know when you're not telling me something' he yelled after me.

'Did someone hurt you?' he said slowly as he stopped in front of me.

I looked into his eyes, trying hard not to cry.

'No one hurt me, it was an accident then I got ill okay?' I said as I kept on walking, trying not to look at him.

'I need you to leave me alone, please. I need space' I said as I walked faster.

He stopped dead and didn't respond.

Silence echoed through the corridor, he had let me go...

#negan x original female character #twd negan #negan #negan imagine #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #slowburn #thewalkingdead #jdm #twd #jeffreydeanmorgan #negan smut #slow build #twdromance

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olkarianprincess · 4 years

Note

Can you write a shiro x pidge and one-sided Pidge x loter were there on opposite sides of the war Pidge is Gaara and betrothed to Prince lotor shiro is a pilot of Voltron

Huff. Huff.

Shiro doubled over the moment he rounded the corner. Inhaling as deeply and quietly as he could, he attempted to catch his breath. He couldn’t relax, though. They were still on his trail. The dark alleyway was a temporary sanctuary from the alien police force, but stopping also meant losing his momentum.

All too aware of the sweat pooling beneath his armor—of the painful tension in every muscle of his body—he waited in silence. The footsteps grew louder. Closer. In one hand, he clenched his bayard, ready to strike. In the other-

The sphere was gone.

Suddenly, everything melted away. The pain, the sounds, the worry of being caught—all gone. After all, none of it mattered if he had lost the one thing it was all for. Frantically, he searched the small satchel looped around his torso, and then the ground. The sphere was nowhere to be found.

And then there were footsteps.

On instinct alone, he spun around, but he was unprepared for what he saw.

At the end of his bayard was a single, cloaked figure. No police. No guns aimed for his head. Just an entity shrouded in darkness.

“I think you dropped this,” the mysterious stranger said.

Shiro paused before he looked down to their extended hand. A reflection caught his eye. Barely visible, beneath the shadow of a hood, he saw a yellow visor. Behind the visor, two piercing eyes.

And in the outstretched hand was the sphere.

Realization, followed by relief, swept into his body as the air did in his lungs. Without hesitation, he snatched the sphere and tucked it safely into his satchel. His eyes were only off the figure for a moment, but when he looked up, his strange ally was gone.

When Shiro peered out of the alleyway in hopes of spotting them, he saw nothing but the bodies of unconscious, bruised police littering the ground.

Music filled the grand room and, although he was certain it sounded like a fanciful masterpiece to the planet’s resident aliens, it was utter torture for Shiro’s human ears and acoustical tastes. Still, he forced a smile on his lips and waited, eyes glancing around the ball.

The wine, or whatever deep purple liquid it was that swirled about in his glass, wasn’t half bad, and he did recognize a few of the attendees. But Shiro was still bitter. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission.

Lance was the one that suggested they make a covert exchange with their informant. Lance was the one that insisted it had to be at a diplomatic ball. LANCE was the one that emphasized how much he wanted to go.

And yet...

Shiro tried to push away the bitter thoughts that attempted to take over his mind. He knew Coran had his best interests in mind. He also knew that he and Coran had very different ideas of what a “much needed relaxing break of a mission” looked like.

With a sigh, Shiro abandoned that train of thought and focused on finding his contact. Unfortunately, being a super secret matter of intergalactic importance, team Voltron got very little information on what their ally looked like. There was but one clue: the contact would wear a flower pin. They’d at least been given a photo. If they hadn’t, Shiro was certain that Matt would’ve gone on a full out rant about how disappointed Colleen would be that a group of intelligent aliens didn’t recognize not only how common flowers could be in decorative attire but what variety of flowers there are across inhabitable planets. Fortunately, the green lion’s paladin had only done a mini-rant.

Two hours into the ball, Shiro had seen no flower pin. Awkward conversations were plentiful, as were suspiciously jiggly finger foods. But no pin. With a sigh, Shiro pressed his back into the column behind him. He was about to contact Allura to see if the plan was a bust when something caught his eye.

Across the ballroom floor, in a perfectly tailored Galra-equivalent to a suit, stood a handsome gentleman with a gold flower pin on his chest. Wolfs-bane, Shiro recalled Matt saying. That’s what the flower resembled. He stared for but a moment, and startled when brilliant yellow eyes stared back.

A genuine smile on his lips, he moved swiftly across the dance floor. On the other side, his companion awaited with an extended hand. Warmth bloomed in his chest, as did a different feeling. Familiarity. He felt as though this was not the first time they’d met.

“May I have this dance,” Shiro asked as he delicately took the other man’s hand into his own, pressing a soft kiss to the back.

“That’s what we’re here for,” the Galra replied.

“Oh is it?” Shiro asked.

He would never tell his friends, but he was enjoying the opportunity to flirt with a pretty stranger. The Galra had a short, slim body, but was clearly in good shape. His mess of deep purple, puffy hair reminded Shiro of Matt, although Matt didn’t have two soft cat-like ears hidden beneath his cut.

“I thought a gentleman like you would be here for something else,” Shiro continued.

“Perhaps I’m here to meet a friend,” his dance partner replied.

“That makes more sense. For some reason, you don’t strike me as the kind of person to voluntarily attend these events.”

A delightful laugh spilled from the Galra’s mouth, forcing Shiro to turn his head away. It was hard to hide a growing blush when in close proximity with another person. So he switched tactics. The conversation changed, ebbing and flowing with the melody that surrounded them. Until, at last, the song ended.

“I think you dropped this,” his partner remarked with a grin.

Eyebrows furrowed, Shiro tried to decipher the words, but was answered by warm hands wrapping around his own. His heart skipped a beat and then his mind took over. The Galra drew away, but left something behind. Grasping the small device firmly, Shiro moved toward the edge of the crowd. He had to let Allura know that the data had been delivered.

Please be safe.

Shiro’s heart pounded heavily in his chest. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the beat alone was shaking the cockpit of the black lion. They hadn’t been able to respond. The distress signal came just after Haggar’s forces launched a surprise attack. There was no way for them to respond.

Shiro prayed to whatever gods would help him that the city was safe. The Rodlians had been one of the first members of the Voltron Coalition. They didn’t deserve to be punished for that.

The black lion entered Rodlia’s atmosphere. As they descended, smoke obscured the lion’s screen, and Shiro’s heart raced faster. Prepared to launch straight into battle, he was overcome with dread when the city became visible and no enemy was spotted. The worst, it seemed, had already come to pass.

Landing roughly, Shiro sprung from his lion-ship, ready to do everything in his power to find survivors. But the streets were not littered with victims of war. Here and there, buildings suffered damage, but the citizens seemed to be in good health, if not tired. Spotting him, the city leader came forward.

“What happened? We were attacked and couldn’t get here in time. Did you defeat them yourselves?” Shiro launched into inquiry.

“It’s alright, son,” the older alien patted his leg.

Her head only went as high as his thigh, and yet her voice commanded respect. Instantly, he felt a little better.

“We’re alright. Lady Pidge came to our aid.”

A bony finger pointed in the direction of a cloaked figure, several yards away. Shiro thanked the leader and apologized once more (to which he got a gentle head shake in response) before heading over to greet the one called “Pidge.”

“Excuse me,” he called out.

The figure turned at the sound of his voice, revealing a familiar face.

“Lady Pidge?” Shiro sputtered, “Oh shit I’m so sorry, I called you a man before, I-“

Pidge, the handsome contact he had danced with at the ball, waved off his words with a smile.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t care.”

“Ah, alright. Well, what are you doing here?”

“The Coalition sent me. I’ll tell you more, but it’s going to cost you.”

Once again, the Galra had thrown Shiro for a loop.

“What?”

Pidge pointed and Shiro followed the direction of her finger...all the way to his metal arm.

“Let me take a look at it?” she asked, an intense sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh, okay,” he responded with a laugh.

Warmth filled his chest as he trailed after her towards a laptop (of sorts) situated at the base of a statue.

“No fair! How come Shiro gets a secret admirer?!” Lance whined.

“Yeah! How come Coran lets Shiro have two girlfriends and I get none?” Hunk joined in, a huge smile on his face.

“Hunk,” Keith shot him a glare, “That’s biphobic.”

“Oh, you’re right Keith, my bad. How come Coran lets Shiro have a girlfriend and a boyfriend and I get none?”

Keith collapsed onto the couch with laughter at Hunk’s response and even Shiro couldn’t keep himself from grinning. He scooped up the package Coran had deposited on the table and turned to make his escape, sparing Allura a brief glance before he went. She looked...done, to put a word to it.

In his quarters, alone and away from prying eyes, Shiro gingerly opened the heavy metal box. Of course he knew it wasn’t a present from a secret admirer. That whole bit of drama was entirely a product of Matt’s desire to stir up trouble. But he still didn’t know what it was or who it was from. All Coran said was that someone from the Coalition had sent it.

With bated breath, and a quick prayer that there was not, in fact, a bomb inside, Shiro pressed the buttons on either side of the box and watched as it clicked open. Inside, delicately wrapped, was a thin holopad. He activated and it glowed with life, displaying the message:

Thought you could use an upgrade.

(PS: I’ve included installation instructions.)

And below the message was a little icon of some cute gremlin face with swirly glasses.

Shiro set the device to the side and opened the compartment below the first one. He almost cried when he saw the gift.

Inside was a brand new, clearly custom-made, prosthetic arm.

“I’m still not comfortable going into the heart of the Galra empire, invited or not,” Shiro stated as they approached the massive space station.

“I’ve gotta agree,” Matt said, although his voice lacked its usual carefree tone.

“Relax,” Allura assured, “now that Lotor’s emperor, we don’t need to worry about the Galra attacking us. At least, not the ones under his command.”

“Oh yeah and what about the other 40% of Galra that aren’t?” he heard Lance mutter.

Apparently Allura heard him too, as was indicated by the thump and yelp that followed.

“Lotor is gaining more and more of the Galra’s allegiance each day,” Allura reassured them. “I’ve heard a large part of it is due to the support for his fiancé. Many of the Galra feel more comfortable about his rule knowing they’ll be married.”

“Must be some lady. Or dude. Or, ya know,” Hunk added.

“Quite right,” Coran chipped in. “Maybe you’ll get to meet them.”

Further conversation was cut off by their arrival. Boarding the station was tense, but otherwise uneventful. As they walked through halls radiating with purple light, Shiro couldn’t help but make a pattern of clenching and unclenching his fist. It was an uncomfortable situation for all of them, but Shiro would be lying if he said it wasn’t worse for him and Matt. In truth, there were several thoughts on repeat in his mind keeping him sane.

First was the knowledge that they’d receive valuable access to Galra tactical data and technological schematics. He’d be able to study it and come up with better plans to free the universe. Second was the thought of getting to punch Lotor in the face, should the emperor step out of line. It was an unlikely situation, but the fantasy brought him joy. And like that fantasy, his third thought, of potentially running into Pidge again, kept him going.

Lotor greeted them outside of the throne room and Shiro focused on taking deep breaths while his friends questioned the new Galra ruler. He could barely process what everyone was saying. It was just another mission, he told himself. It would be over soon. Hunk asked about culture and Lance exclaimed something that sounded like “a nanny,” but the full conversation didn’t register in Shiro’s mind. They were being swept into the throne room, Lotor monologuing some nonsense, and light flooded through the opening of the heavy doors as they stepped in.

Shiro blinked once, twice, and then his gaze locked onto a pair of familiar yellow eyes. Warmth flooded his chest. A smile danced on his lips. The tension melted away and suddenly he found himself able to focus. It was just in time for him to hear Lotor say:

“And I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé, Lady Pidge.”

The yellow eyes that had met his quickly looked away.

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cyborgsquirrel · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary: Chapter 7

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Thursday, 2nd September 1971, 10:44pm

Sirius lay in bed listening to Peter snoring on the other side of the room. The rhythmic rumble was the only sound in the otherwise silent dormitory, but the peace was soon broken by James' voice on the other side of his bed curtains.

'Sirius, are you still awake?'

Sirius sighed, he'd known this was coming. 'Yes,' he whispered.

James pulled back the curtains, climbed onto the bed uninvited, and pulled the covers over himself. Sitting back against the headboard, he looked down at Sirius where he was still lying with his head on the pillow.

'So, what was all that about earlier, with Filch? Why were you so scared?'

Sirius sat up and leant back next to James. Looking down at his hands, he sighed again.

'It was nothing, mate. Don't worry about it.'

James frowned and crossed his arms.

'No, Sirius. I'm not having that. I'm your friend, and friends help each other.' He sighed. 'Look, you don't have to tell me why if you don't want to, but at least tell me what I can do to help.'

Sirius glanced up and searched James' face. His expression was sincere. He was only asking so he could help. There was no sign of an ulterior motive in his eyes. Dare he tell this boy about the thoughts that worried him? That he felt there might be something vile and rotten in his family? Sirius had only known him for a day. Could he trust him? Something deep inside him, some extra sense, screamed that he could and that maybe James could help him.

Sirius averted his eyes before he spoke. The intensity of James' gaze unnerved him.

'What do your parents do if you misbehave?' he asked in a quiet voice.

James hesitated before answering.

'It depends how bad it is. Sometimes they tell me off, you know, explain what I did wrong, why it was wrong and what I should have done differently. They think it will help me "learn", but it's just annoying, really. They never bother to ask why I did it, so their advice doesn't help.'

James shrugged.

'If I do something really bad though, then they might take something away from me for a while. Like when I flew my broom through the house and broke my mum's favourite vase. They took my broom away for a month. Worst month of my life, I didn't do that again. I got them back though, put dungbombs in their bed,' James said with a laugh.

He looked over at Sirius, and his smile disappeared.

'Why? What do yours do?' he whispered.

Sirius hesitated, wondering how much to reveal to his friend. This boy who thought losing a treasured possession for a month was the height of harsh punishment. Who was so unafraid of his parents that he would dare retaliate with dungbombs when they punished him. James would be horrified if he told him the worst of it. Something small then. A single event in the life of Sirius Black, but something that wasn't actually done to him.

'When I was eight,' Sirius said. 'I asked my father for a pet. He thought it was an excellent idea. Thought it would teach me responsibility, so he bought me a dog. I named him Snuffles. He was big and black, and he was my best friend. He followed me everywhere.'

Sirius paused and looked up from his hands. He wanted to see James' face when he told him what happened next. He needed to know if it was as bad as he was beginning to think it was.

'When I was nine, I was rude to my mother. Answered her back when she was listing all the ways I'm a disappointment to the family. She killed him. She cut Snuffles' throat with a severing charm, and he bled to death in front of me.'

Sirius watched as James swallowed. His brown eyes filled with tears, but he didn't break eye-contact.

'Sirius. I am so sorry that she did that to you.'

James reached out and pulled him into a hug. Sirius felt something strange, wrapped up in James' arms. An odd warmth spread through his body, combined with a peculiar, fuzzy tingle.

'It's not right. You know that, don't you, Sirius? What she did. What she does to you.' He squeezed Sirius harder. 'It's not right. But you have me now.'

Sirius' eyes watered when he realised what he was feeling, and the tears spilled down his cheeks and onto James' shoulder. It was understandable that he hadn't recognised it because he had never felt it before.

He felt safe.

-o-o-o-o-

Friday, 3rd September 1971, 8:25am

Remus arrived early to Defence Against the Dark Arts and, choosing a desk at the back of the classroom, he settled into his seat before pulling parchment and a quill from his bag. With everything ready for the lesson, he turned his attention to examining the odd classroom.

The classroom was in the dungeon and had the usual set-up of student desks in rows, facing the professor's desk at the front of the room. In this classroom, though, the teacher had positioned his desk on the left of a raised stage area - rather than in the middle. At the back of the stage, there was a sizable pool edged with white stone. He could see the Black Lake through the window behind the pool. The water's surface was level with the lower edge of the glass. Remus thought there must be an opening in the wall, below the window, which allowed lake water to flood the pool, but why?

The Professor was sitting at his desk doing paperwork, his head bent low over the parchment, and Remus could see a bald spot in the middle of his short, black hair. When Remus had entered the classroom, the professor glanced up from his work long enough for him to notice a lined face and glasses but nothing more. All the teachers knew his secret; it was necessary so they wouldn't make a fuss about his absences and draw attention, but Remus was worried about this one. The Defence teacher would be the most aware of how dangerous he was. He just hoped he wouldn't be too obvious in his dislike of the werewolf in his classroom.

The rest of the class had trickled in while Remus was lost in thought, and when he became aware of the noise and activity around him, he noticed that Sirius and his friends had taken the surrounding desks. Sirius was to his left with James as his partner and Peter was in front of them sitting alone. His eyes met Sirius' and the other boy winked at him before turning back to James. Remus couldn't understand why he seemed so friendly now when he was so awful before. He shrugged, maybe he was misreading the signals. He had no experience with socialising, so it was a distinct possibility.

Remus was startled from his thoughts when the other chair at his desk was pulled out and Lily plonked herself down next to him.

'You don't mind, do you? The girls in my dorm have already partnered up, and I don't know anyone else,' she said, shuffling her chair a little further away from him.

Realising her movements were intended to make him more comfortable, he was flooded with affection for the girl. Perhaps it didn't matter that she was friends with Snape after all.

'No, it's fine. I don't know anyone else either.'

Remus turned his attention back to the front when the professor called the class to attention and introduced himself as Professor Hawthorne.

'I previously worked for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and that is the topic we will be focusing on this year. You will learn all about the various magical creatures you may encounter in your lives, their distinguishing features, traits, strengths and weaknesses. Most important, you will learn how to avoid encountering them at all and how to defend yourself if you do.'

Remus swallowed hard. His dad had worked for the DRCMC too, before the attack. If Professor Hawthorne held similar views, this would be a difficult class for Remus.

'I have recruited an assistant to help me with these lessons. Quite an unusual assistant. But before I introduce them, I will explain. On my arrival at the castle two weeks ago, it did not surprise me to find out that the Black Lake,' he waved his hand towards the window behind him, 'was home to several species of magical creature, but one in particular did catch my interest. I'm sure you have all heard of the giant squid, but I doubt any of you are aware that she is, in fact, a kelpie.'

Several students around the room gasped, including Remus.

'There is no need to be frightened. She is quite friendly, I assure you.'

'But, sir,' James said, 'kelpies are dangerous. They lure people into the water and kill them.'

'I'm aware of the stories. But answer me this. Would you be more likely to tell someone if you saw something dragging people into a lake, or if you saw some people sitting by a lake having a pleasant conversation?'

'Well, the first one obviously, sir.'

'Exactly. There are good and bad members in any species capable of higher reasoning. Unfortunately, people only tell stories of the bad, because the good don't create stories worth telling.'

He looked around at the class, his gaze pausing on Remus for a moment. Remus felt a fluttering in his stomach. Was the professor telling him he would give him a chance? That's what his words seemed to imply, any species capable of higher reasoning, that must include werewolves, he thought.

Professor Hawthorne continued, 'I spoke with Emhio at length. Her home was destroyed by muggles. A previous headmaster allowed her to make a new home here, where she would be protected. She has been living at Hogwarts for over a hundred years and has never harmed a student, but has rescued many that have found themselves in the lake. She is lonely though, and eager to help with your lessons. Please give her a warm welcome.'

Professor Hawthorne waved his wand, and the sound of stone scraping against stone screeched through the classroom. The surface of the water rippled and Remus watched as a young woman emerged from the pool. She had long brown hair and wore a pale pink robe which clung to her skin.

'Hello, students,' she said as she climbed from the water to stand on the stage. She waved and the students all murmured greetings in return, still a little shocked by her presence.

Professor Hawthorne spent the rest of the lesson lecturing on kelpies, and towards the end, Emhio demonstrated their shape-shifting abilities and invited the students to ask questions. Before dismissing the class, Professor Hawthorne instructed them to write an essay on kelpies for homework, due Monday afternoon. Remus groaned, he would have to get that done now if he wanted to hand it in on time.

'It's a free period next. Do you have plans?' Lily asked as they packed their things.

'Thought I'd go to the library, get this homework done so I'm free for the weekend.'

'That's a good idea. Mind if I join you?'

'Not at all,' Remus said.

-o-o-o-o-

'Guess we better get to detention then,' Peter said as they left the Defence classroom.

'At least we're already on the right floor,' Sirius said.

He was still nervous despite James' reassurance the night before. They had received their detention slips at breakfast, informing them they were to present themselves to Professor Slughorn in the potions classroom at 9:45 for an hour-long detention. Sirius had also received a ranting letter from his mother. The contents were no surprise, but they cemented his decision to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and Easter. Best to put off that confrontation for as long as possible.

'I think it's this way,' James said, pointing down the corridor.

Remus had been absent from breakfast again, Sirius mused, as they hurried down the corridor in the direction they hoped to find the Potions classroom. He hadn't seen him at a meal since the Welcome Feast. The boy must be starving.

They arrived at the right door and James knocked, loud, confident, and unafraid. Sirius wanted so much to be like that.

'Come in,' Professor Slughorn called from inside.

James pushed the door open and walked in, followed closely by Sirius and Peter.

'Ah, hello. Wonderful. You're here for detention, yes?'

'Yes, sir,' James said.

'Right, well. Since your crime involved making a rather large mess, your punishment is cleaning. I have twelve cauldrons in need of a good scrub, the muggle way mind you. They need to be free of any traces of magic.'

Slughorn led them through a door behind the teacher's desk and into a large potions lab. Along the back wall of the room were several brewing stations, complete with cauldrons, some bubbling with potions, others under stasis and a few empty. In the centre of the lab there was a vast work station for preparing ingredients. The ingredients themselves lined two of the other walls in jars, bottles and vials, and sealed behind glass doors. The fourth wall held a cleaning station and Slughorn herded them in that direction, where fifteen cauldrons were stacked in various states of cleanliness.

'Right, I'll leave you to it then. I'll be in the other room if you need anything.'

Slughorn left, and Sirius poked at the cauldrons. He felt relieved. Cleaning cauldrons was the most painless punishment he had ever received. It was barely even a punishment. There was nothing to fear. The Hogwarts teachers wouldn't hurt him and his parents couldn't reach him here. Something changed within him. Something significant. It was as if the sun had risen on his world for the first time; the shadows that had darkened his way for as long as he could remember faded, and he saw the vast expanse of life laid out before him.

Freedom.

The freedom to make choices.

The freedom to be himself.

The freedom to not hurt.

He turned to the others, his friends, and allowed a wolfish grin to spread across his face.

'Twelve cauldrons, three of us, that's four each. Shouldn't be too difficult.' He looked back at the cauldrons. 'How do muggles clean things exactly?'

James and Peter laughed.

'What? You've never had to clean anything before?' Peter said.

'No, we have house-elves for that.'

'Oh. Well, it's not difficult. I'll show you.'

Peter showed Sirius how to scrub the cauldrons, and they worked in silence for a while. Sirius was aware of James and Peter chatting beside him, but he blocked it out as his mind drifted back to his worry for Remus. As far as he could tell, the boy hadn't eaten for over twenty-four hours, and he didn't look like he could afford to skip one meal, let alone four. In Defence, he had looked even sicker than he had on their first day.

'Guys, have you noticed Remus hasn't come to any meals since the Welcome Feast?' Sirius said, interrupting their conversation.

'Huh, I think you're right,' James said. 'Do you reckon he's avoiding you?'

'Merlin, I hope not. It's bad enough that he thinks I hate him. I don't want to be responsible for him starving to death.'

'Maybe he has an eating disorder,' Peter said. 'He didn't eat much at the feast, did he?'

'No, just some rice thing. He didn't seem to enjoy it either,' Sirius said. 'Um… what's an eating disorder?'

'I saw it on TV. Sometimes people stop eating. Because they think they're fat, or they want control over something in their lives, or some other reason. They stop eating or they eat just enough to stay alive.'

Sirius stared at him. 'Okay. But what's TV?'

Peter laughed. 'It's a muggle thing. It's like a box with a window. The muggles record something, and everyone who has a TV can watch it through the window at the same time.'

Sirius blinked.

'That sounds brilliant. But are you sure? My mother says muggles are stupid. How could they make something like that?'

'Ever think your mother might be wrong, mate?' James asked.

'Every damn day, Jamesy boy. Every damn day,' Sirius said, putting his arm around James' shoulders and dropping a wet kiss on his forehead. 'So, if Remus has an eating disorder, what can I do?'

James wiped Sirius' slobber from his forehead and scowled at him, while Sirius just grinned back.

'He might just be avoiding the hall so he doesn't have to see us. We should test that first. Maybe take some food back to the dorm for him?' James suggested.

-o-o-o-o-

Remus strolled down to the kitchens for lunch, thinking about his last lesson. He had been looking forward to History of Magic; he had thought it would be interesting to learn about the past. When the Professor had arrived through the blackboard, he had been even more hopeful that the lessons would be good. How could a ghost teacher possibly be boring after all? Oh, how wrong he had been. Professor Binns must have been the most boring teacher to ever exist. His voice droned monotonously and had a soporific effect on the students. Half the class had fallen asleep, and the professor hadn't even noticed.

Remus had struggled to stay awake himself. It was only two days until the full moon, so he was drained, but he had managed to pull through and get down some decent notes. Near the beginning of the lesson, he had sensed someone's gaze and looked around to find Sirius examining him. That boy paid him far too much attention. He would need to be careful.

He arrived at the painting of a bowl of fruit and let himself into the kitchens. An elf scurried up to him at once.

'Good afternoons, Master Remus. Breen has prepared your lunch for you over here. Follow me, sir.'

'Good afternoon, Breen,' Remus said, following the elf to a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Teely, the elf in charge of the kitchen, had assigned Breen to Remus duty, and the elf had questioned him extensively on his likes and dislikes the day before. So, Remus was sure whatever he had prepared would be enjoyable. His stomach growled in anticipation.

He sat down and Breen presented him with a plate of steak and cheese sandwiches and a goblet of pumpkin juice. The steak was still warm, and the cheese melted, gooey and delicious. Remus thanked the elf and began eating, Breen stood to one side, waiting in case Remus needed anything else. Remus felt a little uncomfortable with the elf watching him eat in silence. He didn't even blink, just stared at him with those big, green eyes.

'So, Breen. I know the house-elves do all the cooking. What else are you responsible for at Hogwarts?' Remus asked, hoping conversing with the elf would make the situation less awkward.

'Oh, lots of things, Master Remus. We does the laundry and cleans the dormitories and common rooms. We fix or replace broken things and make sure the fires is all lit. I can show you if you wishes?'

Remus agreed, delighted. It would be interesting to see how the elves did things, since he never saw them in the castle, and it would make him feel less like a museum exhibit if he ate while Breen showed him around. The elf led him through the kitchen, the other elves moving to clear a path for him, and to a door at the end.

'This is the laundry room,' Breen said, pushing the door open.

Steam billowed out, and Remus stepped into it and looked around. There were over a hundred baskets lined up in rows against one wall, each labelled with a house name, gender, year and dormitory number. In the centre of the room were several vast buckets of steaming hot, soapy water, the contents swirling around of their own accord.

'We could clean the clothes with magic, but hot waters and soap does a better job,' Breen said, pointing at the buckets, 'so we use magic on the water instead.'

At the other end of the room, wet laundry was heaped on a long table and several elves were drying the items, folding them and sorting them into piles. When a pile got too big, an elf vanished it.

Seeing Remus watching, Breen said, 'We sends the clean laundry to the clean laundry basket in the owner's dorm.'

'How do you get the dirty clothes?' Remus asked.

'The students put it in the basket in their dorm room, when we is ready for it we calls it to the basket here.'

'Fascinating,' Remus said.

'Would you likes to see the storage rooms now?'

'Yes, please.' Remus said, popping the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.

Breen led him back out of the laundry room and through another door in the kitchen.

The storage rooms were much bigger than Remus had imagined. A network of rooms and corridors that housed every type of furniture you could think of, as well as fixtures and fittings, decorative items and soft furnishings. All of it was clean and ready for use despite most of the items appearing quite old. Remus was not surprised when Breen led him into a room where several elves were busy fixing broken furniture and sewing damaged curtains with enchanted needles. It was clear they preferred repairing to replacing. When he had seen everything there was to see in the elves quarters, Remus thanked Breen for the tour and left.

He climbed the steps to Gryffindor tower, beginning to wish he had been placed in Hufflepuff so there would be fewer stairs involved in his daily life. He needed to retrieve his Herbology equipment for fifth period, and there wouldn't be time to get all the way up to the tower and back down to the greenhouse after Transfiguration. When he reached the common room, he checked the time on the clock above the fireplace. There was only five minutes until class started. He was definitely going to be late. After dashing up to the dorm, he pushed the door open and was pleased to see an empty room.

Remus grabbed what he needed from his trunk at the end of his bed and turned to leave, when he caught sight of something strange out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to get a proper look and was surprised out of his rush for a moment. There was a sandwich sat on his bedside table. He sniffed the air. It was bacon. How odd. He stared at the out-of-place food for a few seconds before mentally shaking himself. He needed to get to class.

-o-o-o-o-

Saturday, 4th September 1971, 1:00am

Something was poking him in the side, and it had better bloody well stop if it didn't want to be punched in the face.

'Sirius, wake up.'

That was James' voice. Why was James speaking to him now? He was sleeping for fuck's sake.

'Come on, Sirius, we have to set-up the joke,' James whispered.

Right. The joke. How could he forget? It was going to be brilliant. Sirius forced his eyes open and blinked at James' face hovering above him.

'Okay, I'm awake. Go wake Pete,' Sirius mumbled.

'He's already up. Can't you tell by the lack of snoring?' James asked with a chuckle.

'I thought it seemed a bit quiet.'

Sirius hauled himself upright and swung his legs out of bed as James jumped back out of the way.

'Get dressed, we'll meet in the common room.'

Sirius grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom to dress. When he was finished, he tiptoed down the stairs to meet his friends for their first big practical joke. The first of many, he hoped. He felt much better about it all after serving his first detention. The punishment for misbehaviour was so mild compared to what he suffered at home that it was laughable. His anxiety about getting into trouble had vanished, and in its place was excitement and a sense of freedom. He was bubbling over with energy like an overheated cauldron.

'Here he is, excellent,' James said as Sirius rounded the last bend of the staircase. 'Are you both ready for this?'

'Yes, sir!' Sirius said, standing to attention. Peter copied him, and then they all giggled, their excitement overtaking them for a moment.

'Right, I have the balloons, and I have something else too. You remember the thing I took from Filch's filing cabinet?'

Sirius and Peter nodded.

'I had a chance to examine it earlier, and it's perfect for this joke, just you wait and see. Right, everyone get under the cloak, we don't want to be caught on the way there.'

They all crammed themselves together, and James swung the cloak over their heads. Walking with caution, they made their way down the stairs to the Great Hall. They saw no one along the way, the halls of Hogwarts were deserted and eerily silent.

Sirius and James left the cloak with Peter at the doors to the Great Hall and went inside. James pulled out the box of balloons, opened it and placed it on the nearest table, which happened to be Gryffindor's.

'Let's get started then,' he said with a cocky grin.

Sirius grinned back and grabbed a balloon. He pulled out the tag, and the balloon began to inflate. As it grew, its shape formed into that of a purple tiger, complete with lime-green stripes. The tiger expanded until it was three times its natural size. When it stopped, Sirius released it and let it float up to the enchanted ceiling, where it bumped against an invisible barrier.

'They're all different, you know, each one is unique,' James said, releasing a gigantic bright yellow mouse into the air.

They continued inflating the balloons for over an hour. At one point, Sirius had inflated a balloon shaped like a black and green striped pig, and it reminded him of the bacon sandwich he had left for Remus in the dorm. He hadn't eaten it. After a tedious afternoon spent learning the theory behind object to object transfiguration and planting wormwood in greenhouse one, they had returned to the dorm to find the sandwich still sat there, cold, stale and unappetising. Sirius had never realised that something as small as a sandwich could weigh so heavily before today.

When the hall was filled so tightly that they could barely move, James turned to him. 'Now for the finishing touch.' He pulled the door open a crack and hissed, 'Pete, get in here.'

Sirius felt the air move against his arm and then Peter appeared, pulling the cloak off.

'Right, watch this.'

James pulled a small vial from his pocket and held it aloft. Inside, turquoise smoke spiralled, creating intricate patterns momentarily, before swirling away into a new pattern. It was mesmerising.

'When I take the cork out, we need to leave fast. As soon as the smoke is released, it will start to animate everything it touches. By morning everything in this room will be acting as if it is alive,' James said with more than a hint of glee in his voice.

'How long will it last?' Sirius asked.

'Depends on the quality. Up to a week.'

'Excellent.'

'Ready?'

Sirius and Peter nodded. Both had their hands on a door handle ready to flee, and James placed the vial on the floor, holding it with one hand while the other gripped the cork.

'Three, two, one, now!' James yelled, pulling the cork out at the exact moment Sirius and Pete pushed the doors open and dashed through. James spun on his heel and hurried out, Sirius and Peter slammed the doors closed and they all breathed a relieved sigh and grinned at each other.

'We're not safe yet, still need to get back to the dorm,' James said.

Peter pulled the cloak out and swung it around their shoulders, making them invisible, and they crept their way back to Gryffindor tower.

Chapter 8

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #remus x sirius

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youllallriseintheink · 4 years

Text

A Symphony of Nightmares, part 1

This is a fanfiction meant to explore a thoroughly toxic relationship between Sammy Lawrence and Joey Drew. I hope you enjoy.

---

It was December 23rd, and Sammy and Joey were staying at the studio after hours to put together a little workplace Christmas party.

“Thanks for helping me with this,” Joey said as they finished up. “Usually I have Wally help me, but you know you’re always my first choice.”

Sammy blushed. Joey really knew how to make a man feel special. “No problem. It’s probably good damage control for my reputation, y’know, because...”

“Oh, stop bringing that up. Here, I brought you something.” Joey handed Sammy a lovely little present with powder blue and mint green wrapping- Sammy’s favourite colours. Inside of it were many things, the first being a matching green and blue card. The card read,

Dear Sammy,

In the past months since we started dating, you have been proven many things to me. You have proven that you share my artistic mind, as well as some of my more obscure interests. More importantly, you have proven, or at least, almost proven, that you’re someone I can trust with my heart and my vision. You are the perfect person for me, perhaps moreso than anyone I’ve ever met, and I think it’s time that I fully bring you into my life. No more distrust. No more punishments. Fewer rules. Just love. Please meet me at Joey Drew Studios tomorrow and we can discuss how.

-Your loving partner, Joey Drew.

Two keys were taped to the inside of the card, and the box also contained some candy and cocoa, a beautiful notebook with a musical note motif for writing songs, and a small bottle of ink with a note taped to it reading “bring tomorrow.”

“Wow. This is really nice. But, are you going to explain the ink? And the keys?”

“Well-“ In that moment, there was a knock at the door. “Oh, the guests are here!”

“Okay, I guess we can talk later. And then you can open your present.” With that, Sammy gave Joey a peck on the cheek and went to answer the door.

Before long, a few dozen employees had arrived, and were having a jolly good time at the party. Sammy Lawrence was enjoying himself as well, but half of him was concentrated on being good, making sure not to seem too warm to anyone Joey, had made off-limits. The wound in on Sammy’s arm still burned from last night, when Joey had taken a lit match to it as a punishment for making him jealous. On his surface, Joey was a man anyone would want in their lives, always full of inspiration and cheer. Behind closed doors, however, his temper and his fear of losing anyone he found himself attached to led Joey Drew to be... a very intense partner would be one way to put it. Sammy had found that out too late. And he felt addicted to Joey, and all the love and excitement and inspiration he brought into Sammy’s life. But Sammy was also deathly afraid of him.

Considering the ink bottle again, Sammy slipped out to head for his sanctuary. The motions of unlocking it, complicated as they were, were automatic to him by now. Finally alone in the dark, Sammy reflected on how this relationship had come to be.

—-

It had started about seven months ago, when Joey had first asked him out to dinner. They had essentially talked the entire night about their shared passion for the arts. At first, Sammy had thought it was stupid. Sammy couldn’t exactly say so in front of his boss, but Joey didn’t make art- he made stupid kid’s shorts. And even apart from that, Sammy had plenty of bones to pick with Joey as a boss. But as the night wore on, Sammy realized that Joey’s appreciation for art was genuine, and came to respect him a little more. He was pleasant enough when he wasn’t busy being a terrible boss. At Sammy’s door, he’d handed him an unlabelled black book. Sammy still remembered Joey’s exact words: “I want you to borrow this. Check it out a bit. I’ve tried some of the activities in it, and well, they really work! The world is wider than you can imagine Sammy, and I want someone to explore it with. You’re a man of passion. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

Well, Sammy did look into that tome of Satanic rituals. And he did go to Joey to see them actually work.

It wasn’t too long, maybe two months, before Sammy found himself waiting in an area of town he’d never been to before. It was a poor-looking area, it was getting dark, and he was getting nervous. Joey Drew had always insisted that they meet in a different place every time, for secrecy's sake. Joey had been late that night, and it was spitting rain. Even so, Sammy, normally irritable, was calm. He took another drag on his cigarette, looked over his shoulder for the hundredth time, and propped himself against the brick wall behind him in attempt to look like he belonged in the rough part of town. He was used to this.

Amazing. He, the wimpy, white-collared Sammy Lawrence, was used to waiting around in strange, quiet areas for the opportunity to practice the occult. What Joey had shown him that first night would have converted the most cynical heart. Sammy had never been an atheist, but nor was he especially dedicated to religion- just a churchgoer who seldom thought about the supernatural any time but Sunday mornings. That night, however, he had seen it proven before his eyes that powers beyond his imagination- indeed, beyond the imagination of Christianity or any other religion he knew of, were very real, and very much entwined with the mortal world.

How had that turned into this? Sammy couldn't answer that. Joey had invited him over a second time, let him help with a few rituals performed in his house. Then he lent Sammy a different book so that he could figure out what he wanted to do with his newfound powers. There was no point when his coming over had become an intentional weekly tradition, it just had. And then it came to the point where it wasn't just once a week, but generally multiple evenings that Sammy put into his new hobby. There were supplies to collect, secluded areas to find, and evidence to dispose of. Before he knew it, he was the one suggesting that the two of them go to the woods at night for the first spell involving animal sacrifice that either had ever performed. And beyond that, the candlelit dinners, the sex, the getting drunk and having deep conversations in the woods, the talk as though they were running the studio together- Sammy wondered at when on earth they’d become a couple, and when Joey had become such a big part of his life. Not that Sammy wasn’t enjoying it- Joey might have been a terrible boss, but Sammy was greatly enjoying his personal company.

There were things about Joey that bothered him, though, even then. Six weeks into their relationship, Joey had caught Sammy chatting warmly with Jack in the music room, and had grabbed all but dragged Sammy to his office, holding his wrist tightly enough to leave marks.

“What are you doing, making kissy eyes at the biggest fruit in the studio like that?” Joey had demanded. His fists were curled, and Sammy’s pulse picked up, even though he found the scenario ridiculous.

“I wasn’t making kissy eyes at him. We’re best friends, that’s it,” Sammy halfway snapped. Then, he felt a fist slam into his stomach. His back hit the wall, and Joey held him against it, fist cocked back for a second blow.

“Really?” Joey growled.

“Yes, really! He’s married, I promise,” Sammy cried. Joey let go of him.

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll be asking him to make sure, but if you’re telling the truth, I’m sorry. Can we still be partners?”

Sammy hesitated. This is the exact behaviour anyone would tell him to break up with someone over.

A desperate, touchy look fell over Joey’s face. “Keep in mind that it’s all or nothing. I’m not practicing Satanism or lending my books to anyone I can’t trust, one hundred and ten percent.”

“Yeah, let’s stay partners.”

“Good. Maybe we should set some rules so this never happens again.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Okay. Well, how’s about a rule about who you can talk to. Anyone related to you or married is fine, of course, or if they’ve been in a relationship for a while that’s okay. And so are straight men- don’t think you can cheat this rule, though, I always know. And I know you had a thing with Susie Campbell, so I don’t want you talking to single women, either, alright? And especially not Allison Pendle. I can tell she’s a total slut.”

Sammy found the whole thing pretty weird, but he wasn’t at the point of protesting just yet. Satanism meant to much to him. He and Susie weren’t exactly amicable exes anyhow. “Okay. And my rule is that you don’t hit me.”

“Deal,” Joey said, reaching out for a handshake. Sammy returned it firmly. “I love you, alright? I don’t want to hurt you, so keep up your side for me.”

“Right. I love you,” Sammy said, too much hesitation in his voice. “I love you,” he tried again. It was firmer but still didn’t sound quite right.

—-

When had been the next time Joey had hit him? Sammy couldn’t remember. His mind kept traveling back to his first real, hard beating, and that reminded him that he needed to get back to the party and give Wally Franks his present.

Sammy had been storing Wally’s present in his sanctuary all day, which made it pretty convenient now. Hopefully Wally was ready to forgive him. Back in the break room with everyone else around, Sammy tapped Wally on the shoulder while he was talking to Susie.

“Huh? Uh, hey Sammy... What is it...?” Wally’s awkward smile was reminiscent of a cringing puppy who’d been caught red-handed.

“I brought something for you.”

“Thanks.” Wally took the box and lifted its lid. “A chocolate cake. That’s real considerate.”

“Yeah. Remember the time you ate my chocolate cake right out of its box when I left it in my office?” Sammy took care to sound good-natured about that. “You looked so shocked when I walked in on you. We’ve has some pretty funny moments, haven’t we?”

“Ha ha, yeah, ah guess. Look, I don’t wanna offend you but I don’t feel comfortable takin’ this. Sorry for avoiding you, though. I’ll try to stop.”

Sammy’s face fell. “Okay, I get it.”

With that, Wally handed him back the box and walked (a little too fast) back into the crowd.

“Sorry,” Susie said. “He told me that he forgives you, but y’know. He was scared of you even before the... incident... and he’s having trouble being comfortable with you again. If it helps, I want to be friends again. We’ve been broken up for almost a year now, so why keep avoiding each other?”

Because Susie was high on Joey’s list of people he couldn’t talk to. “I’ll think about it, alright Susie?” Sammy said, businesslike, before going to look for Joey. All he could think was how pathetic Wally was. Really, avoiding him like this after one little punch to the face?

—-

It was early November, and Sammy was in his office, attempting to focus on songwriting. If he let his mind stray, it inevitably strayed to the night before, when Joey had beaten him until he bled. And yet, he didn’t feel scared or tearful. Instead, he was furious.

There were no two ways about it, leaving this relationship would be risky on multiple fronts, and Sammy wasn’t sure he could do it. The most obvious was that Joey could- and likely would- fire him. As well, Sammy was enthralled enough with Satanism that he was just about willing to be beaten if it meant he didn’t have to give it up. And, of course, there was the issue that Joey might beat him to a pulp for breaking up- maybe even kill him.

God, Sammy had been so stupid! Why had he thought that it was a good idea to be in a relationship with his boss? Why had he thought he could work the magic of the devil himself without becoming so intoxicated? Why was he allowing himself to be mistreated like this? Why was he such a-

A knock on the door interrupted Sammy’s internal rant. Probably some idiot needing to use the pump switch. Sammy got up and opened the door to see Wally Franks.

“Hey, Mr. Lawrence. You sure look angry.” There was a slightly apologetic tone to Wally’s voice, and Sammy immediately knew what he was there for: some keys to borrow so that could retrace his steps and find his own. Growling, Sammy snatched the keys from his pocket, threw them at Wally, and turned back to his desk.

“...You okay?” Wally asked hesitantly, slowly approaching the angered musician. “That’s a pretty dark-lookin’ bruise you got under your collar there-“

In that moment, Sammy lost all self-control and swung his fist into Wally’s jaw, knocking a tooth out and two others loose. The action shocked Sammy as much as it did Wally.

“Oh my God. Wally, I’m sorry! Can I take you to the infirmary?”

Wally whimpered a no and left Sammy’s office with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Sammy was frozen in shock. He knew he was in trouble, and he supposed he deserved to be. After a couple minutes of waiting for the other shoe to drop, he went back to his sheet music as a distraction. Sammy wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door opened and Joey took a seat opposite to him. Sammy couldn’t quite look Joey in the eyes.

“So, you hit him,” Joey began, his voice somber. “I’d be a hypocrite to fire you, and I wouldn’t want to do that to my main man, anyways. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to give a public apology to Wally, with me there to mediate. I’ve offered Wally a raise to keep his mouth shut about this to the police. Of course, if this does get out, I’m going to have to let you go for the company’s sake, but until then, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you hired and out of jail. That’s a promise.” Joey gave Sammy a pat on the shoulder, and Sammy winced. “Oops, did I hit a bruise?” Sammy nodded. Joey patted him on the arm instead before leaving.

Once he’d had the time to collect his thoughts, Sammy realized that there was no breaking up with Joey for now- not while this was still fresh in everyone’s memories and he still needed Joey’s protection. But by the time it felt safe to risk making Joey angry, Sammy didn’t want to break up anymore. By then, the beating seemed like an eternity ago, and his most recent memories of Joey were positive. I mean, yes, he did get the occasional punch, burn, or threat, but by then Sammy was used to it. And Sammy had hit Wally- maybe a bit of a temper was just something men of passion like them had. He’d even struck Joey once or twice, and Joey had handled it like a sport. Really, Wally was being such a baby over one punch. Sammy could remember Jack knocking on his door to ask for use of his keys several times in the past couple weeks, and he had no doubt that he was just fetching them for Wally. It was the only time Jack spoke to him now, and he, like a lot of Sammy’s coworkers, had gone cold on him. It had been kind of lonely, especially since a lot of Sammy’s old friends from outside the studio were now off-limits.

At least he had Joey. Maybe they were the only people capable of handling each other.

---

Sammy didn’t even know what Joey wanted from him, so he supposed the best way to figure out if he should agree to it was to go to the little meeting Joey had arranged and to hear him out. So, here he was, at the entrance of Joey Drew Studios with that bottle of ink clutched in his hand. Joey greeted him with a “Merry Christmas Eve!” and a kiss on the lips. They got into the elevator together and Joey sent them down to the very basement.

“So, Sammy. I know our relationship hasn’t exactly been perfect. And I want it to be perfect. I honestly do! I think you’re the perfect partner for me. I don’t want to have to tell you who not to talk to. I don’t want to hurt you. I just didn’t want you to leave me. So, it’s time that I addressed some problems in our relationship. First, I’m sensing that you have some resentment towards me at work, because of the ink machine.”

“Well, yes,” Sammy admitted. “I mean, it's a thorn in everyone’s side and no one knows what it’s for!”

“Well, I don’t want it to inconvenience you. One of the keys I gave you is for the finance manager’s office. You can switch offices with him after Christmas so you won’t have to deal with the pump switch anymore. And I can tell you what the ink machine does if you just make a promise with me.”

“I’m... listening.”

Joey slipped a small bottle of ink that matched Sammy’s out his pocket. “This ink machine could be the next step in our ventures into the occult, Sammy. We should both give ourselves over to it, see what role it chooses for us both. If you can do that with me, well, I’ll be able to trust you entirely. I’ll let you talk to whoever you want, and I’ll never hit you again. In a couple weeks or whenever’s convenient, you could even move in with me. What do you say?”

Sammy had heard the “I’ll never hit you again” line before, but he’d never heard Joey even suggest letting him talk to anyone. “You’ll let me talk to Susie?” Sammy asked.

“Why?” Joey spat, suddenly defensive.

“She forgives me for... you know, Wally. She wants to be friends again. That’s all.”

“Oh, okay. I suppose so.”

Sammy turned the ink bottle in his hands. The long nights they’d spent preparing spells that went horribly wrong, getting drunk, complaining and laughing about the other workers, the sex, the conversations. Was it worth the bad? Especially if it could get better? Sammy uncorked the bottle. “I’ll do it.”

Joey uncorked his bottle. “Thank you. And cheers!”

They clinked their ink bottles and threw them back. For Sammy, it was a bittersweet, salty, viscous liquid that he could barely choke down. For Joey it was as sweet as syrup. Immediately after they were done, Joey showed Sammy to the inside of the ink machine. Suddenly, Sammy wondered if downing the ink was actually symbolic. What would happen to him now? Would it be worth it? Joey loved him. Joey wouldn’t want harm to come to him. He’d have to trust that it was worth it.

---

I get that this one was pretty slow moving. Do you guys want a part two? I could just make it a one-off.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #a symphony of nightmares #joey x sammy #my fanfiction #joey drew #sammy lawrence #wally franks

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mitcheemarns · 4 years

Note

83. “If you want me, come and get me, motherfuckers.” (boeser and pettersson) kinda has a pissed brock defending petey vibe lol

disclaimer: this is a scarlet letter au! because im stupid! and i have no ideas or originality!

in this universe, people are very homophobic and it is outrightly viewed as a sin. there are no specifics in which there are derogatory terms used. however, there is a confrontational scene where homophobia leads to violence. (the violence is just swearing, but there are no derogatory terms used such as the f word.)

im sorry. but have the scarlet letter au :)

Elias is new to New England. He cannot deny that. The colony is chafing and restrictive, nothing like the wondrous sanctuary that his mother and father once thought it was supposed to be. The climate is harsh, probably not as harsh as Sweden, and the people are stifling. The land and surrounding vegetation are telling of the colony’s future, with its powdery and infertile soil and a multitude of weeds sprung up throughout the area. It will be bleak and miserable. It was nothing like what his parents intended.

At first, New England seemed to be an adventure worth living to experience. The settlers had convinced his family with bold fantasies of a life away from claustrophobic Europe to a place where a new community was to be made; a new religion, a new society, a new start. His parents had believed it, and so had he.

The journey there had been rough; the toiling ocean had been an angry god. The waves had crashed upon their ship ceaselessly, ramming upon the oaken wood with the harsh force of a thousand bulls. They had lost a large portion of their people—their, Elias laughs to himself, he cannot believe he thinks he is a part of this colony—, including his parents and his brother.

Elias was no stranger to death. It seemed to follow him like an evil fiend, one that was ready to take from him everything except his own life.

But even after his family’s passing, he thinks he would have been able to push on and make a living for himself. Yes, he definitely could have lived in this New England society, if only it were not for the mindset of the people. If only he had not journeyed with this specific group of people. If only…

_________

“This boy! This—this wretched wisp of a sinner! How dare he trample upon our consecrated soil that we have just come to bless with our settlement?” a woman exclaimed haughtily, standing near the makeshift scaffold. Her face was wrinkled in an unattractive manner, the shadows draping across the creases in her skin and creating harsh concavity to her visage.

“And with another man!” another woman gasped, her eyes filled with anger and fear.

“Now, now, he wasn’t ever part of our community. Remember, he came to us with his parents from Sweden. We can all discern what type of people are born and bred in those areas.” The woman who made this comment seemed to be wiser, yet her wisdom seemed to strangle its receivers rather than placate and inspire them.

“The nerve for him not to reveal the identity of the other sinner. He should be thankful that the punishment wasn’t dictated to be harsher,” one of the older women huffed, still managing to maintain an air of dignity about her despite the repulsion she felt.

“Hush, ladies! Are we not women of proper breeding and state? We shouldn’t bow down to the boy’s level and consecrate ourselves. Look! Here he comes!” The young woman who spoke pointed her finger at the prison door, which had been pushed open to make way for the young man. She held her child in her arms as the group of spectators diverted their piercing gaze to the iron door.

The young man walked out with disdain in his footsteps. His gaze was cool and sharp, surveying the rest of the community with ice in his light, blue eyes. He was tall and lanky in a way that introduced a sense of elegance to the people who laid eyes on his figure. It could be seen that he came from a line of high standing, not necessarily in royalty but certainly in human nature.

“He thinks he’s better than us!” the first woman shrieked again, holding an affronted hand to her chest.

The young man, having climbed up the stairs to the scaffold just then, turned his long neck and stared into the eyes of the woman who had shrieked the statement aloud. His gaze instilled fear into the woman’s heart; a type of fear that seemed to pierce all the way into the marrow of her bones. She averted his gaze, instead focusing on the black letter S that had been inked into the centre of his chest.

The young man’s gaze followed the woman’s down to the mark marring his skin. The action seemed to shake the man up, as he clenched his jaw and whipped his head away from the group of women, leaving the first woman to smirk inwardly.

Elias seemed to have no place in this godforsaken community.

_________

When Elias is rid of the stupid criminal sentence that the community forces him to endure, he moves to a cabin near the sea. It’s a nice, cozy place close enough to hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs. Most days, the seagulls cry out and keep Elias company. It’s pretty lonely, but at least it’s a place where he doesn’t have to suffer under the scrutiny of the community.

In Sweden, he had aspired to be an artist, because he was the second child and his family were supportive. But here, in this small, close-minded society, there was no place for frivolous pleasures like art. So, Elias sets out to find a job that maybe he’ll be able to hold for a while so he doesn’t starve and die.

He ends up working as a carpenter under a man named “Bo”. Bo is his saviour. Bo doesn’t mind Elias’s sin or the letter upon his clavicle or the fact that he slept with a man. Bo helps Elias when he struggles, often sending him home with extra food that would have gone bad if Elias hadn’t taken it or giving him an advancement on his pay because Bo just “felt like it”. Not to mention that Bo lets him paint on the walls, when they work on a religious or decorative building, sometimes instead of calling for another specialized worker.

Elias thinks he might’ve fallen in love with Bo if he hadn’t met Him.

Elias thinks he might’ve left New England if it wasn’t for Him. Or else, why would he take the shitty ostracizing from the community?

_________

“Come ‘ere fellas, look who we have here,” a man calls out, “the sinner himself. In the flesh.”

Elias groans inwardly and glares, huddling into himself.

“It’s him, huh? Didn’t your mom teach you to stay clear from unsafe places? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one anymore,” the second man laughs, his features twisted from the malicious smile on his face.

Elias grits his teeth and clenches his fists. To a spectator, it only seems that Elias’s glare has become a touch deadlier. “Time for some new jokes. They are not funny.”

The first man has the audacity to laugh, further tormenting Elias. “You wanna go, foreign boy? What a shitty accent, don’t you think?” He nudges his partner.

“Oh yeah, just hearing it pisses me off.”

The first man smirks. “Took the words right outta my mouth! Think we gotta dispel our anger somehow, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” the second man chuckles darkly.

They stalk toward Elias with malice, fists balled up and muscles bulging in their arms. Elias backs away, sweat beading from his hairline. He doesn’t want to seem like a coward, but there is no way he can take one of these guys, let alone two.

There’s a rush of adrenaline in Elias’s veins. He’s about to run.

Another pair of footsteps thud across the soiled ground. The two men turn their heads toward the unknown personage.

“Brock!” the second man exclaims happily. “Glad you’re here. I thought it was someone else and it scared the shit out of me.”

Brock stops, his eyes surveying the situation. He freezes entirely when his gaze catches sight of Elias, his body still tense and prepared to flee. Brock’s eyes soften just a little before his mask is put on again.

“Yeah. What are you two doing?” he asks.

“Nothing much, just teaching the sinner a lesson. You wanna join?” the first man laughs.

A brief flash moves across Brock’s eyes. The two men wouldn’t be able to catch it, but Elias it does. The emotion brings more fear to Elias than the two men do. Elias shakes his head vehemently at Brock, pleading him silently.

Brock smirks back at Elias, making Elias’s heart thump, before shaking his head slightly to placate him. Don’t worry. It’s time I do this.

“Why are you guys bothering him, though? Pretty fucking dumb if you ask me,” Brock scoffs, crossing his arms.

The expressions on the two men’s faces change from surprise to confusion to anger.

“You calling us dumb?” the second man speaks up.

“You better not be starting shit, Boeser. Your dad won’t get you out of trouble all the time, you little bitch,” the first man sneers.

The muscles in Brock’s arms bulge through his clothing. “You think I need my dad to get me out of trouble? Fucking idiots. If you want me, come and get me, motherfuckers.”

Elias can only watch in horror as the two men swing their fists in Brock’s direction.

#fic stuff #ship: blonds have more fun #asks #anon #hockey rpf #thanks for the prompt anon!!!#my writing #ill be editing this (maybe expanding on it) and then posting it on ao3 #more romance!!!#theres no romance in this #i wrote this in a long time #i should be sleeping #guhasughasdf

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

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Beyond Broken - Chapter Three

A/N: The closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm. - is a quote from LOTR-Two Towers (Peregrine Took). Re. Playstation - I know the max PSN ID is 16 characters and ThorsMightyHammer is more but I give zero fucks on this one… I do what I want! (spoken in Cartman’s voice). Also… Mild Endgame Spoilers contained within.

Warnings: Angst and dark thoughts, loneliness, people are hurting.

Caught up on earlier chapters? If not, check out my Thor Odinson Mobile Masterlist

Hurricane Thor

“What are you doing here?” Thor grumbled from the sofa. He’d heard the assassin pick the lock and enter but until she was in striking distance he chose to ignore her in favour of online gaming.

“Heard about a perpetual storm wreaking havoc along the coast in New London. It’s got meteorologists baffled. We figured it was you.” She stepped into view, wearing casual attire; jeans and a fitted pea-coat. At least she wasn’t there to kill him. “Who moves to Connecticut anyway?”

“I’ll have you know I like it here. It’s very, ahhh, wholesome.” He was thumbing the PS4 controller like crazy.

Her reply was an eye roll.

He cursed heavily at the TV. Death by a pre-pubescent internet demon-troll wasn’t good for his mood. He hated losing.

“Why are you here, Romanoff?” He threw game controller down against the cushions and stood to his full height. “Surely you could have simply called.”

“Would have, but someone smashed his phone the last time we visited.” She held out a new communicator with a sassy flick of her wrist. “Talk to Steve, we need you back.”

“I don’t want to be back.” He grumbled, growing more ill-tempered. “We lost. Thanos won. What else is there to say?”

“Tony is out of rehabilitation.” She begged with her eyes. “At least come and see him now that he’s back in the lab and back to his philandering ways.”

“Oh that is good to hear. I always liked it when Banner would throw out his secret stash of candy.” Thor smiled weakly, pulling a beer from the fridge. “Want one?”

“Only if I’m celebrating a victory here.” She smirked. “Does that mean you’ll come?”

Thor grinned. He had missed the camaraderie between them all but they were also a constant reminder of his own failure. He’d had a chance to put a stop to Thanos and had failed spectacularly. Half of all life had been wiped out and there was nothing he could do. Even their second chance had come too late; locating his sanctuary, finding the planet defenceless, facing the mad titan himself only to find the stones gone.

“I used the stones to destroy the stones.” That purple monstrosity had said.

Thanos was so sure of his inevitability that he didn’t even put up a fight when Thor hacked off his head with Stormbreaker. There was no satisfaction in the act, only a solitary step out over the precipice to oblivion.

Thor’s grin was gone.

“No.” He rumbled so deeply it was almost a growl.

Thor chugged the bottle, feeling himself get sucked down under a tide of self-loathing. No amount of weak Midgardian ale could numb his pain.

“At least take the phone.” She softened her gaze. “We’re here if you need us.”

“Very well.” He huffed.

She was gone without another word. Closing the door behind her as she left. Thor knew she’d be back at some point, and if not her then maybe Stark. Once they found him they never stopped coming.

Thor had grown to like this town. He’d been here two months. He liked the sea and the solitude. Not many people in this town recognised him. He was free from attention, blame, and harassment. It was the closest to peaceful he could get.

Right back after the snap, he’d found a place with his people in a little fishing village in the remote north of a country called Scotland. The whole village had been wiped out on D-Day. He took the village and renamed it New Asgard. But even there, amongst his people, he found no peace, only guilt. They’d quickly found him there, The Avengers, asking him to return to the fight, so he had left New Asgard and went anywhere he thought no one would know him.

The closer you are to danger, the further you are from harm. He’d read that somewhere, wasn’t sure where exactly, but he’d decided that New London was just close enough to up state New York to put him under The Avenger’s Radar. These two months had been the longest he’d gone without them finding him. He cursed his storm inducing mood swings. Maybe he should have moved into Stark’s basement and brooded there instead.

Last night had been the first night in weeks that it hadn’t rained. He had been all set to let his mood bring more thunder but something had changed.

The girl. He thought.

She’d been a delicate looking thing, sleek and slender, with radiant skin and dark hair.

Fragile. That’s how he’d seen her the first few nights she’d passed him at his brooding spot. But there was a strength in her. She fought a great sorrow. He could tell, even without his bionic eye.

Thoughts of her drew his mind to the man she was with. The one who left her alone and out in the cold waiting for him. There was something unsavoury about that man. Thor didn’t much care for him but a woman’s choice in partner was none of his business. It must be his ring she wore on her finger.

Flopping down on the sofa again he turned his attention back to his Playstation.

“Right then, Noobmaster69, it’s time to meet your doom at the hands of ThorsMightyHammer!” It was a battle cry suitable only for a middle-aged nerd’s soundproofed basement, but he gave it with gusto regardless. Controller in hand, he set about the thrashing of one anonymous online gamer.

The gym at Ocean Beach Park was open all night. He’d been in there a few times when it was quiet. Early in the morning or late at night was better. He had basic weights there in the apartment but no treadmill, cross trainer or anything he could use to really punish himself.

No matter how much he distracted himself from it, the thought of the girl and her yapping dog wouldn’t leave his mind. There was something about her that he was drawn to, some innate quality she was possessed of that he sensed, and liked.

He told himself that he was going to the gym but instead he pounded the pathways of the park itself in a rhythmic and sweaty search for any sign of her.

She hadn’t been at the twelfth marker, nor anywhere along the promenade. He checked, running its whole length, twice. There were dog walkers still exercising their companions but none were her, and none of the dogs even looked similar to her little white and tan pup with the huge fluffy ears. He didn’t see her gentleman friend either.

Perhaps she had been scared off. Perhaps.

By the time midnight came around, he was dripping with sweat and extremely hungry. A jumbo pizza and some buffalo wings were just what he craved. Eating hastily on the walk home, he noticed the little café across from the park. The logo on the shutter triggered a memory of slender fingers grasping a paper cup with the same design. Smiling through a mouthful of pizza he carried on his journey home feeling peppy. He felt energised, contently full of greasy food and had another point of reference for his mystery woman.

There’s always tomorrow. He thought.

#Thor #thor odinson #thor fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #thor x ofc #kindred spirits #stalker thor #beyond broken #my writing #I write fanfcition #survivors guilt #post infinity war #avengers #pre endgame #thor fanfic #cloudy's writing

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lululawrence · 5 years

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Hi, i know that not many people like it but.. i really like the fics like enemies to lovers, something with bullying and ect. I just enjoy sad stuff that as time goes on it gets better. Like with the bullying, one is bullied, the other saves the day. Enemies to lovers, they hurt each other at first but then they heal the wounds. Lol this was long. I'm asking for those kind of fics.. if you don't want to answer i completely understand! Have a great day!

oh darling. listen. you are NOT alone. you are not. i love these fics and so does @londonfoginacup! i sent a screenshot of this ask to a gc when you first sent it talking about how i felt bad i wasn’t able to answer it right away, and emmu immediately said she could help. i didn’t look up anything myself from this rec, these are all ones emmu sent and outside of the...three maybe?...that i haven’t read, i cosign it! she even found some i read when i first joined the fandom and didn’t have an ao3 to save them to OR i had an ao3 and didn’t understand bookmarks yet. so basically, thank you for sending this, and here are the fics emmu recs and i say AMEN! i hope there’s some in here that are what you’re looking for that possibly you haven’t read yet.

they are kind of divided by enemies to lovers that ease into bullying fics as you go down the list, but to be honest i’m just sending them to you in the order that emmu sent them to me haha enjoy!!

Through a Mirror Dimly by @londonfoginacup / LadyLondonderry

Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate.

Driving On The Wrong Side, Thinking Of You by @dinosaursmate / dinosaursmate

“Marcel, darling, why don’t you take Louis to your room and play on your computer?”

Louis’ heart sunk. He would defend Marcel from an infinite amount of gay jokes but it didn’t mean he wanted to spend time with him. They didn’t exactly have anything in common.

“Um, okay,” Marcel said, sounding as reluctant as Louis and slightly miserable.

“If- if you want to.”

“Sure.”---Louis is the most popular guy in sixth form. Don't get the wrong idea, he's a good guy, and he absolutely won't stand for his friends teasing his neighbour, Marcel.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by @100percentsassy and @gloriaandrews / 100percentsassy and gloria_andrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

feel so foolish by @juliusschmidt / juliusschmidt

Louis and his friends keep laughing at Harry; he's sure of it. But he's not sure why.

Pour Your Heart Out by @hrrytomlinson / hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to.

Love Is a Kitten from Hell by youbeyou

Louis Tomlinson passes himself off as an arrogant prick at his new school to hide the fact that he's terrified of being bullied again. Just when he's getting tired of putting up walls, he finds himself in a local pet shop where he finds a sanctuary playing with the kittens in the front window.

Harry Styles is the popular football player who works at the pet shop, secretly watching the boy he thought was utterly unlikable prove him wrong.

Partnered together for a class project, Harry gets more and more hints that Louis is actually someone worth getting to know. But the real question is, will Louis let Harry in?

Loner or Lover? by @oops-lt / Vanniebean

An AU in which Harry is a junior who just moved to Doncaster and on his first day of school he makes the schools most popular and loved boy spill coffee on himself. Harry planned on going through high school under the radar, but that quickly changes when he bumps into Louis. Harry gets known to everyone else as the annoying kid who was "rude" to Louis, but to Louis himself, he's stuck on one question. Should he leave the boy as a loner, or become his lover?

Love is like this; not a heartbeat, but a moan by @angelichl /angelichl

"He hates this, more than anything in the world he hates this. His title, his rank, his DNA. Unchangeable. Fated.

And then there’s Harry, born to be unobjectively superior to Louis and all other O’s. Unlike other A’s, Harry doesn’t wear his alpha-ness very well. He’s clumsy with it, like walking around in a pair of shoes a size too big. His life is defined by uncertainty and tentativeness, and those are definitely not qualities alphas should have.

Sometimes, when Louis ponders it for too long, he thinks that maybe Harry resents being an A just as much as Louis resents being an O."

In which Harry loves Louis, but Louis has been cold to him ever since he presented as an omega at age fifteen. Eight years later, Louis approaches Harry with a request, and who is Harry to deny him?

Make It Work by fanshae

Prompt: Arranged marriage AU. Harry is an omega who has reached the age where he must be married due to his family's income status. Only the aristocratic omegas are exempt. His parents try to hide him but eventually the government gets word and in punishment, gives the omega to a spoiled aristocrat son of a lord, Louis. Louis is more than thrilled to have his own omega and once Harry goes into heat, he explores the boy with fascination and unintentionally impregnates him. This leads to a boy used to living carefree and drinking the day away with other nobles to having to face fatherhood.

Be with me so happily by @briannamarguerite / BriaMaria

Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated.

From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes.

Or ... the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn't so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them.

[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

say i hate you but i always stay by @liltinylouis / clicheanna

It was a nice thought, and he must have dozed off to it, because the next thing he was aware of was wet and cold.

Harry shot up in the bed. His hair was dripping, soaked curls hanging in front of his eyes. Droplets of water ran down his bare chest. The sheets and blanket were damp.

Louis stood next to the bed with a smug grin. In one hand he was holding an empty glass.

About thirty minutes later, Harry was parked outside the football pitch. Louis climbed out of the car, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

He waved at Harry and blew him a kiss as he walked away. Harry flipped him off.

Or the one where Harry hates Louis, he's almost sure Louis hates him, and they live together. Driving him to football practice everyday is not apart of Harry's plans, but Louis is pretty adamant if it means annoying Harry.

don’t believe me just watch by ariadne_odair

The thing is, Louis knows Harry’s name. Harry knows he does. Harry corrects him every time. Repeatedly. Politely. Slightly hysterically that time he’d walked in on Louis sucking a boy off in the toilets.

Uni AU were Harry strongly dislikes the footie captain that calls him Henry no matter how many times Harry corrects him and is unfairly gorgeous. Friends meet friends and somehow they end up alone at Niall's New Years Eve party. Louis says things he wouldn't sober. And do things.

Violets and Paper Airplanes by b0yfriendsinl0ve

Harry likes Louis very much a lot and Louis’ a bit of an arsehole.

Leave Your Mark On Me by @fullonlarrie / FullOnLarrie

When Chef Harry Styles’ unbonded Omega designation threatens to derail his career, he does the only thing he can, and goes in search of a black market bond.

just you wait and see by Orphan Account

In which Harry mistakes Louis' flirting as an attempt to steal his job.

a fully armed battalion (to remind you of my love) by @mediawhorefics / MediaWhore

“He was flirting with you by the way,” Niall says casually once he’s finished saying goodbye to Louis and he’s joined Harry outside.

“No he wasn’t,” Harry replies automatically, feeling his heart clench at the thought. Was he?

Niall simply raises a mocking eyebrow in response before wrapping his scarf twice around his neck.

“Not that it matters!” Harry says quickly, eyes widening. “I wouldn’t care even if he did because he’s awful and the worst.”

Everyone at Hogwarts knows that Professor Styles and Professor Tomlinson absolutely despise each other. It's too bad that they're in love.

#happy fic rec anon #i swear you are next!#my fic rec #bullying #enemies to lovers #hope these help!!!#Anonymous #asks #mine

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doctortreklock · 4 years

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An Ancient Place (the by his side remix) - December 32, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Full of History and Secrets (x)

December is a month of remixes and sequels!!!

Fandom: Good Omens

Title: "Night Vale is an ancient place. Full of history and secrets, as we were reminded today." Welcome to Night Vale, Ep. 4

Words: 4635

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If there was one thing Aziraphale hadn't expected from a brisk fall day in 1967, it was meeting Anthony J. Crowley.

He'd been doing his usual afternoon stroll through Soho, feeling somewhat more lonely than perhaps he customarily did, when he decided, on some whim that he would be forever grateful for, to pop into St. Patrick's for a brief visit.

Like all holy sites, he felt a pleasant warmth as soon as he set foot on the hallowed ground. Surveying the sanctuary with all the satisfaction of a job well done by someone else, he noticed a particularly striking man by the basin of holy water.

He was dressed in what Aziraphale had come to suppose must be the fashion of the day: an overly tight outfit in a somber black that looked out of place in the brightly lit church. With dark, round sunglasses and heeled boots to be precise. He found it a bit ridiculous, but was quietly aware that they must find him equally ridiculous for his own, more old-fashioned, apparel. Not that the thought made him anxious to match the current trend. Aziraphale had determined long ago that he would only bend to the latest fad if it was no longer the latest. It would hardly be worth updating his wardrobe for any style that lasted less than at least three decades.

Though most trends in human fashion were perplexing and often downright distasteful, Aziraphale couldn't help but note that this man seemed to wear the clothing with ease. The dark jacket flexed easily around his body as he carefully held a glass jar in the water to fill it. His black leather gloves were likewise somewhat jarring when compared to his otherwise brilliant surroundings, Aziraphale noticed. But, he admitted, to the contrary, they also seemed to fit him just as well as the rest of his ensemble, regardless of how out-of-place they seemed in context.

As he watched, the man pulled the bottle cautiously out of the water and held it nearly at arms' length, as if struggling to figure out what to do with it. Unbidden, Aziraphale felt a smile slip onto his face.

It quickly vanished, however, when the man seemed to discover an itch in the most inconvenient place, giving what could be overestimated as a full-body flinch. The general effect, however, was that the glass bottle slid against his leather gloves and began to fall.

Before he knew it, Aziraphale had reached out and caught the jar. He wasn't out of breath, which meant he must have employed a minor miracle to have made it so quickly. Hopefully Gabriel wouldn't audit his miracles any time this century. Either way, he didn't regret his slip in the slightest, as it made the man's face light up in the most relieved smile he'd seen in decades.

"Here you go," he told the man, surprised to find himself a little breathless after all. "Careful that you don't drop it again," he cautioned. "That glass would be quite a bother to clean up."

The man took the bottle back with a dazed nod, holding the bottle gingerly, close to his body this time. Good deed done, Aziraphale began to turn away, ignoring the hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. There was no reason for it, after all. He'd only just met the man.

"Would you like to grab a drink?" the man blurted, and Aziraphale halted in surprise. "As thanks," he finished.

The hollow feeling vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a warmth that Aziraphale couldn't quite attribute to the church, no matter how much he wanted to rationalize it away. "I would be delighted," he told the man.

The man adjusted his grip on the bottle, tucking it close to himself and reaching out with his free hand. "I'm Crowley," he said. "Anthony Crowley, but most people call me Crowley."

Aziraphale smiled and shook Crowley's hand, the leather of his glove soft under Aziraphale's fingers. "Ezra Fell," he said, introducing himself by his current pseudonym. "I sometimes go by Zira," he added on impulse. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him that this human, who he had never met before and likely never would again, address him by even a portion of his true name, but he could not deny that it did matter.

Crowley grinned at him, a wide smile of delight, and for a moment, Aziraphale was so distracted he couldn't have said if he was standing in a church or on the moon.

Anthony Crowley turned out to be the most fascinating person Aziraphale had ever met, and he'd spent time with everyone from Virgil to Arthur Doyle. They seemed to click instantly, almost as if Crowley had been made as his mirror, a perfect foil. If Aziraphale hadn't known, deep in his corporation's bones, that his Creator had never been so generous and would never forgive him for his arrogance, Aziraphale might have wondered if Crowley had not been made just for him.

He could picture Crowley everywhere, at every point in his own history. Cutting a dashing figure through ancient Rome, rescuing him when he'd been discorporated in France during the Revolution, even standing next to him at Eden as he watched the first thunderstorm. Even now, looking back at his memories, Aziraphale could nearly taste the empty spaces around him where Crowley would have stood, slotted in so neatly it would be impossible to tell he hadn't been there the entire time, warping the emptiness around his own solitary figure into a pair of companions, two partners, a binary star system in perfect balance.

"Packing is exhausting," Crowley proclaimed, flopping back onto Aziraphale's bed. Though, as of today, it was their bed, really. Aziraphale felt a flutter of joy at the thought. He'd only known the man a month, but already he knew that he wanted to spend as much of Crowley's life with him as the human would allow.

"It was mostly unpacking today, my dear," Aziraphale told him in amusement. "The packing was yesterday." He flitted around the room, tucking away more pieces of his solitary life that he hadn't quite managed to get out of the way yet.

"I don't care," Crowley told him firmly. "Packing, unpacking, it's all the same to me. Moving is exhausting, angel," he declared with a wide gesture in front of him. That he happened to be gesturing at the ceiling did not seem to put him out at all, Aziraphale noted with a burst of affection.

"Well, then," Aziraphale said lightly. "Maybe you should just never move again." He didn't pause, stuffing the detritus of the 1930s into the corner of another drawer. He also didn't look at Crowley.

"Maybe," Crowley echoed, and Aziraphale could hear the smile in his voice.

He chanced a look over at the bed, and Crowley was watching him with something like wonder and something like love in his gaze. "Maybe," Aziraphale repeated more firmly.

"C'mere, angel," Crowley said softly, sitting up and holding out a hand. Aziraphale went to him effortlessly, allowing himself to be pulled down next to Crowley on top of the quilt. "Zira, I--"

"What is it, my dear?" Aziraphale prompted when Crowley faltered. He reached out and gently tucked a lock of Crowley's hair behind his ear.

"I--" And Aziraphale had only known Crowley a few short weeks - though it felt like a thousand years already - but he'd never seen the man so vulnerable. "Zira, I've been alone for a long time," he said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, and Aziraphale's heart broke a little at seeing the tears well up around his eyelashes. "I never thought I'd meet anyone who would want to spend a month with me - me, as I truly am - much less a lifetime. And I just..." he fell silent, overcome with emotion.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale whispered to him, cupping Crowley's cheek with his palm and pressing their foreheads together until their noses brushed and their breath mingled and Crowley's face was too close for Aziraphale to see the tears in his beautiful, golden eyes. "I know."

He held Crowley close until the man's breathing evened out and Crowley fell asleep. Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to move if God themself had appeared and ordered him to. Instead, he expended a few small miracles on switching off the lights and repositioning them under the blankets instead of on top of the covers.

Aziraphale carefully lifted one of Crowley's hands from the sheets, kissed it gently, and held it, all night long. He didn't sleep.

The cool October winds whistled at the windows that night, but inside an angel kept watch over his slumbering partner and vowed to never let the man be lonely again for all the days of his life.

Sometimes Aziraphale wondered bleakly what he thought he was doing. Playing house with a human was never something that could be forgiven or overlooked by his superiors. It was only a matter of time before they found out. Even if his time with Crowley was long past by the time they discovered his infraction, it wouldn't stop them from issuing punishment.

Even if he managed to slide under the radar for another century, it wouldn't matter in the long run. Crowley's soul was bound for Heaven; Aziraphale refused to contemplate otherwise. But angels and human souls were strictly separated. Even if he discovered Crowley's location and broke a thousand rules and laws, he still wouldn't be able to find his beloved.

Somehow, though, when he watched Crowley coax another stubborn bromeliad into blossoming, a small, genuine smile on his face, he had to admit that it was worth it. If he lost Crowley sooner than anticipated, if he was demoted, if he Fell, if he was plunged into a column of hellfire, if he searched fruitlessly for all eternity... It would all be worth it for ever smile he could put on his dear Crowley's face.

They had just gotten back from Warlock's birthday party when Aziraphale got the message from Gabriel. It was clunky and awkward, the way Aziraphale could only imagine his own would have been if Crowley hadn't patiently dragged him into the twenty-first century.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel demanded. "What is the meaning of this? Was it not the point of adapting Heaven's communication system so that you could be easily reached at all times? We should have kept scrolls. I liked scrolls. Uriel liked scrolls too; I know they did. Michael liked telephones, though, so we had to switch. Ugh." It was around that time that the answering machine had run out of space and cut him off.

Aziraphale frowned at the telephone, but was distracted by Crowley's announcement that he was going out on an errand.

"That sounds fine, my dear," Aziraphale told him. "I need to go 'round the corner as well. I've got a message from a rare bookseller I know and he wants to meet with me," he lied. It was his standard lie for the Heavenly business he was still called upon to complete. He would have worried about how often he needed to be gone, but Crowley traveled around the country as well on technological consultations, so they could align their absences to each other's.

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how he felt about the fact that his bookshop, once a comfortable home for one, now felt empty without two. He settled on being very thankful for Crowley's entire existence.

Once Crowley was gone, Aziraphale locked up the bookshop and walked a few blocks over to his favorite sushi restaurant. Well, third favorite sushi restaurant and his favorite to go to without Crowley. Crowley adored the conveyor belts in Aziraphale's first and second favorite restaurants, but Aziraphale preferred the chirashi from the third. The other two never seemed to get it quite right.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel boomed. Also, Aziraphale's third favorite sushi restaurant was the only one Heaven knew about. Which was why it was so ideal for these sorts of meetings.

"Gabriel," he greeted, not quite meeting the same level of excitement as the other angel. "Why did you need to meet with me so urgently?"

And then Gabriel told him about the Apocalypse.

It was all he could do to nod in the correct places as Gabriel extolled the virtues of the coming End of Days. "Right, right," he agreed at the end. "And what's my role in all this?" He was desperately hoping his role was to tuck himself into a corner somewhere and come out when it was all over. At least that, he could do with Crowley.

"You are to take up arms alongside the rest of Heaven!" Gabriel told him cheerfully. "Come back with me and prepare for the Great War!"

No! Aziraphale's brain screamed at him. "I've got a couple things to talk care of," he prevaricated. "Earth things, you know. Principality duties and the like. I'll pop up when I've got a minute," he promised.

Gabriel didn't seem to like that very much, but he did accept it, and a moment later, he vanished.

Aziraphale immediately collapsed back into his seat as if all his strings had been cut. "Oh my," he whispered to himself. "Oh my word."

Aziraphale had once been a Guardian of Eden, with the sword, rank, and title to go along with it. He had seen six millennia of human history unfold before him and had held his beloved in his arms for fifty years. He had anticipated watching human history for another six millennia and holding his beloved for as many years as he had left.

So now, to see the world dwindle, that future history cut short, was devastating. But not as devastating as realizing he wouldn't have the millennia after that he had planned on.

Human lifespan was limited by design. But just as Aziraphale had imagined Crowley beside him for the first six thousand years of his life, he had hoped to imagine him by his side for the next six thousand. That once he'd lost Crowley standing beside him, he would still have the painful, bittersweet memory of Crowley as his companion for the rest of time, lingering in the space around him, in the empty spot that Aziraphale knew he would now reflexively compensate for for the remainder of his existence.

Which now seemed lingeringly brief. His breath caught in his throat as he had sudden visions of Crowley cut down by flaming swords or beset by hellhounds. "No," he whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it. There were more casualties of war than the loss of his eternity, Aziraphale knew.

He threw a few bills on the table and rushed back to the bookshop, abruptly desperate to retreat behind her familiar walls. Maybe Crowley would be home soon, he thought longingly. Then he could hold his dearest partner tight and pray and try not to become swamped by the despair he could already feel rising inside himself.

There was nothing he could do to stop the Apocalypse. It was ineffable, after all.

Every once in a while, when Crowley seemed surprised to find another birthday at hand, or when he cursed under his breath at the arthritis creeping through his joints, Aziraphale would excuse himself and sit in the corner of their bookshop, staring at his own hands until they stopped shaking and his vision had cleared again. Then he could wipe his face, breathe for a few minutes, and go find Crowley, a smile on his face.

His hands were never the aching, swollen mess that Crowley's became as they aged. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of his hands hurting too much to hold his books, so he had simply introduced weaknesses into the bones, sapped the strength from the muscles, allowed the skin to thin and age until it was almost like the vellum pages of his favorite tomes. He had hoped Crowley wouldn't think it an unusual sign of age.

Once, when they were younger men, when Aziraphale had found the first of Crowley's grey hairs, curled just above his ear, when Aziraphale's stomach had dropped for the first time at the inevitability of time, of aging... Once, Aziraphale had sat next to Crowley on a park bench in St. James and remarked quietly on the shortness of the human lifespan and then, quieter, on how happy he was to have the opportunity to spend any of it with Crowley.

Once, Crowley had frozen, then abruptly curled closer into Aziraphale's side and had asked Aziraphale in a rough voice to emphatically "never bring it up again, please, angel." And Aziraphale had simply curved himself over his dear, dear friend and carded a hand gently through Crowley's still-mostly-dark hair and assured him gently that he never would. It had broken his heart enough to say it the first time.

There was a book. Oh, thank his Creator, there was a book.

Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure where it had come from, given that he had an encyclopedic knowledge of his collection and The Nife and Accurate Prophefies were decidedly not in it, but he had elected not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were. Maybe the appearance of the book was itself ineffable, he thought giddily. Maybe it was a sign.

Crowley had been wound tighter than a particularly high-pitched harp string the past few days, but Aziraphale couldn't blame him. He knew he had been fraught with tension himself ever since the conversation with Gabriel. Even the tender moment with Crowley that evening hadn't dissipated his lingering dread.

He had finally deciphered the identity of the Antichrist and the location of the Apocalypse's commencement, when Aziraphale's thrill of discovery trailed off into hesitant contemplation. What was he going to do with the information? If there was anyone else he could trust to definitively wish to halt the Apocalypse...

Crowley sprang to mind instantly, but Aziraphale discarded him just as quickly. Crowley was the love of his existence, a deeply sarcastic man with a heart of gold, but he was still only human. In a battle of angels and demons... Aziraphale had to keep him safe.

The next best option was Heaven itself. Surely the angels would want to stop the Apocalypse. Surely they would. And then Aziraphale and Crowley could have the remainder of their happily ever after. So he called them.

Unfortunately, it appeared Heaven itself did not have quite the same view on Heaven's role in halting the Apocalypse as Aziraphale did. He had only just managed to extract himself from his conversation with the Metatron when the Witchfinder Sargent himself burst into the bookshop. Aziraphale only had a fleeting moment to be thankful that Crowley was out before he vanished in a beam of white light.

The next few hours were harrowing for Aziraphale. He had needed to get to Tadfield as quickly as possible, and so had ended up riding shotgun with Sargent Shadwell's - ahem - lady of the night. All the while, he had fretted to himself about whether Crowley was alright and how frantic he was going to be when he returned to the bookshop to find Aziraphale missing and he'd left a chalk circle on the floor, oh dear, and was he going to call the police and file a missing persons report or was there a minimum amount of time Aziraphale had to be missing for that?

So he was understandably a little distracted from the actual Apocalypse itself. Once he was himself again, it took him a moment to realize the vision of Crowley running towards him was not actually a stress-induced hallucination. For one, Crowley's skin was pale under dark soot and when he hugged Aziraphale, he smelled of smoke. For another, even Aziraphale's imagination couldn't accurately conjure up the feel of Crowley's arms around him, no matter how many times he tried to memorize it.

Then he and his partner had to introduce themselves to the Antichrist. And what a bombshell was dropped. It did oddly remind Aziraphale of a bomb strike. Or perhaps one of those grenades he'd found himself on the wrong end of once or twice. The inciting event. A moment of ringing silence. And then an explosion.

Only this explosion didn't bring rubble or fragmented metal shards. It brought--

"Me, too," Crowley said, eyes wide in astonishment.

And that didn't make sense. "What?"

"I'm immortal too," Crowley said with hushed awe. "Neither of us is going to die."

Aziraphale's world ground to a halt. "What?"

"I get to keep you," Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale could see something like wonder and something like love in his gaze, just the same after so many years together.

Then they were rudely interrupted by the attempted continuation of the Apocalypse. After a spot of encouragement, Adam sent Gabriel and the accompanying demon away, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone once more.

"Let me introduce myself again, properly this time," Aziraphale said, excitement bubbling up. Crowley was immortal. He wouldn't have a shade of Crowley, he would have Crowley by his side for the rest of eternity. All that was left was to discover the shape that eternity would take.

"My name is Aziraphale, a Principality of Heaven, formerly Guardian of the Eastern Gate," he told Crowley, holding out a hand. "I have been stationed on Earth since Eden, and I am desperately in love with you," he added, just in case it needed saying. And now, laid bare with words, he stripped off the layers of miracles that had been keeping him aging apace with his so-called human partner.

Crowley reached out and took his hand. Aziraphale gripped as tightly as he dared. The arthritis was still running through Crowley's hands, but Aziraphale needed Crowley to understand one thing: he was not losing Crowley. Not now. No matter who Crowley was, angel or demon or other, Aziraphale was not losing him.

"Crowley, Serpent of Eden and the First Tempter," he said, losing layered illusions as well. Aziraphale could feel the fingers beneath his strengthening, straightening, and slimming, and he gripped all the tighter. "I was assigned to the temptation of Earth six thousand years ago." He cleared his throat. "I have been in love with you since you saved me from accidentally destroying myself with a jar of holy water."

All Aziraphale's half-recalled stories of the Serpent of Eden vanished abruptly. For a heart-stopping moment, all he felt was cold terror at the thought that Crowley might have died the day they met, that Aziraphale might have lost Crowley before he ever really got him.

If Crowley had needed circulation, Aziraphale might have been concerned by how tightly his was holding his partner's hand now. "Was that-- What were you doing with holy water, Crowley?"

Crowley looked surprised at his concern. It was the same look he got when Aziraphale reminded him point-blank to take his medications, and that more than anything told Aziraphale that Crowley-the-demon and Crowley-the-human were still the same fundamental Crowley.

Then Crowley told him about Ligur, which he seemed to think would be reassuring. Aziraphale was most definitely not reassured. Spine-chilling terror was not, in fact, more fun to experience for the second time in ten minutes.

Fortunately for Crowley, Lucifer decided to show up shortly afterwards, saving him a long, twenty-seven point lecture on personal safety.

At long last, however, it was over. Finally. For good. The Antichrist and his friends went their way; the young couple went theirs; and Shadwell and Madame Tracy set off for London as well.

In the light of their escape from certain doom, Crowley seemed to have forgotten how he'd come to arrive at the air base. He stuttered to a halt outside the gates, and Aziraphale was going to ask him what was wrong until he caught sight of the same thing and stopped just as abruptly.

"Is that..." he trailed off, because he knew exactly what it was. "Oh, my dear," he murmured, putting a comforting hand on Crowley's shoulder. The demon swayed into the contact, so Aziraphale slid his hand around his back to his other shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. "What happened to her?" He knew as well as anyone who had ever met Crowley, that the Bentley was his most treasured possession.

"I--" Crowley faltered. "I thought Hell might have gotten you. And then the M25 was on fire, and..." he trailed off. "This," he finished, gesturing half-heartedly toward the shell of his precious Bentley.

Aziraphale couldn't begin to touch on all the ways that made him feel. "I love you," he told Crowley firmly. "Wait here."

It didn't talk too terribly long to track down the Antichrist, even if he did have to invoke a minor miracle or two to catch the bicycles. After a rambling explanation and a tentative question, Adam looked surprised and fixed the Bentley with a thought. Apparently he'd thought he'd undone everything already, and the car must have slipped through the cracks.

Aziraphale thanked him politely and went to find his partner.

When he arrived back at the Bentley, it was to find Crowley already tucked inside the cabin, running his hands over the steering wheel and cooing at the dash. "All right?" he asked.

Crowley looked at him. "I love you," he said. "So very much, angel." And then he kissed his hand and his cheek and his forehead and drove them back to London, holding Aziraphale's hand the entire way and using miracles to compensate for being a hand down during shifting.

The drive itself was quiet, as if neither could bring themselves to give voice to the revelations surround their, well, revelations.

At last, Crowley broke the silence. "So many years, angel," he said quietly. "So many years we could have known each other."

"I like to think we made up for it," Aziraphale said lightly. "Quality, not quantity, my dear. I can't imagine we would have been as we are if we had met as ourselves."

Crowley hummed. "You may have a point there, Zira."

"Besides," Aziraphale continued, ignoring the fluttering in his belly at the nickname. Zira was something of himself that only Crowley had. No one else called him Zira. He found he was quite content with that even now, when Crowley had the option of his full name. "It's hardly as if our paths never crossed. The Tower of Babel was yours, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Crowley admitted, glancing at Aziraphale before turning back to the miraculously reconstructed M25. "I was quite proud of that one, actually. Got me a commendation for original thinking."

"I can't say I enjoyed it as much," Aziraphale told him. "All those new languages meant more rules to learn. And the translations!" he exclaimed. "I had never imagined they could be so terrible."

Crowley snorted. "Should I be apologizing for doing my job?"

"Never," Aziraphale told him warmly. Then, "I pictured you there, you know," he said quietly, holding Crowley's hand tightly. "With me. Every lifetime, every city. You slotted into my memories as if you had always been there."

Crowley exhaled. "I never could," he confessed. "Not because you're so modern, angel," he teased, "but because I couldn't imagine you having lived and died so long ago."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just held Crowley's hand. "I'm here," he settled on. "Now and for always, my dear."

"I know," Crowley said, meeting his eyes again. They were full of warmth and love. "I'm so glad for it, you have no idea, Zira." Then he continued, lighter this time, with a familiar, curious smile. "I've been wondering. Did you ever met Virgil?"

#Resolution19 #Good Omens #A/C #Ziraley #Ineffable Husbands #Remixes and Sequels #playing fast and loose with canon #...holy crap guys it's over #like...that's all of them #56 fics #over 80k words #and 2019 is over #holy crap

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write-mywayout · 5 years

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You asked for fic prompts and if you would, the Umbrella Academy kids picking names and Klaus getting his from the "A Series of Unfortunate Events" novels would be great. Or anything fluffy and Klaus related, honestly. (Have a nice trip)

here you go!! hope you enjoy it, please send me more prompts!!

The lives of the Hargreeves children were less than normal. Everyone circumstance beginning from their birth had left the seven siblings vulnerable to imaginable amounts of grief, pain, and danger. Each one of them had their way of escaping, if only for a time, from the grim reality that was their lives. Number One found that running drills and sprinting miles helped to clear his head, channeling the emotional exhaustion into a physical one. Number Two liked to sit and watch Grace cross-stitch, the threading of the needle in constant and precise movements serving almost as a type of hypnosis. Number Three enjoyed painting, everything from a canvas to her fingernails to the makeup on her face; she liked the feeling that she could create something out of nothing and had the power to change it whenever she pleased. Number Four loved to design clothes. He would never be able to make or wear any of them considering his forced profession and uniform (not to mention the fact that sewing was not an activity approved for boys), but that didn’t stop him from filling sketchpad after sketch pad with drawings that would rival the runways in Milan. Number Five found solace in cooking, whether this was convincing Grace to let him help with her preparation of meals when he wasn’t training, or simply standing beside her and watching (this happened more often than not since trainings left him generally fatigued). Number Six was an avid reader, he found a kinship in tales of sorrow and monsters, allowing himself to momentarily project into a world where these horrors were not his own but someone else’s. Number Seven drowned herself in music. Once she picked up her father’s old violin, her fingertips itched for new pieces to learn and songs to play.

It is no surprise that these great escape artists would cross paths in their endeavors. Number Seven would bake cookies with Grace while the others were on missions, getting tips from Number Five on how to make the edges crispy while keeping the inside gooey. On their rare days off, Number Four would dress up Number Three in daring outfits, playing music on Number One’s record player and having her strut down the hall to show the others the costumes he had put together for their little fashion show—at the end of which Number Four would come out and bow, giving a small wave with fingernails freshly painted by his runway model. Number Two liked the quiet serenity that followed Number Six when he was tucked away in the corner of the library, enthralled in his latest novel, and would often come and just sit and share the silent peace.

Most of the children eventually followed suit in regards to this specific activity. While Number Two and Number Six still shared their private, hushed reading time, the others gradually began to gravitate toward the calm presence that surrounded Number Six when he was reading. This led to a Sunday night tradition amongst the kids, in which they would all drag pillows from their rooms and curl up next to the fire place in the library after dinner to listen to Number Six read books aloud. It was unspoken that no one talked during this time, unless to ask for clarification or for a part to be repeated. It was a sanctuary away from competition and petty disputes, granting each child the escape that it was.

They tore through every genre. Number Three and Number Four thought Crime and Punishment was a little dense, Number One loved Catch 22 in all it’s confusing wartime glory, Number Five enjoyed the wit and sarcasm of Hamlet, and Number Seven reveled in anything written by Vonnegut (she used to say that “he writes the way music would sound if it were made of words”). The fan favorites, however, were the Series of Unfortunate Events books. To no one’s surprise, all the children felt a connection to the trials and tribulations faced by the Baudelaire orphans. They commiserated the loss of parents and a normal home life, the presence of overbearing and wicked adults who refused to listen, and the overall feeling that their life was indeed the result of a series of terribly lamentable factors.

They were gearing up to finish the third book in the series the night their father announced at dinner that they would be allowed to choose their own names, per approval from Grace. They were allotted twenty four hours to decide. While they all habitually gathered around Number Six near the fire that Sunday night, story time was recklessly abandoned with the excitement and approaching deadline regarding the choosing of their names.

“Should we try to do some sort of theme?” suggested Number Seven.

“Are you kidding? I have waited way too long for this to not make my own, very individual decision,” Number Three said, twisting her curls into a large bun that sat on top of her head.

“I don’t get why we have to be the ones to choose,” grumbled Number One. “I’m just gonna let Grace pick mine, she’ll know what Dad prefers anyway.”

“Sounds about right. Why think for yourself when you could have someone else do it for you?” Number Two mocked.

“Hey! No arguing during story time! You guys know the rules,” Number Four interjected with a disapproving wave of his hands in their direction, subtly scooting himself between the two to act as a physical barrier.

“Six isn’t even reading anything,” Number Five pointed out.

“Well it’s the principle.”

“Ben,” Number Six said softly.

“What?” Number Two asked.

“I think I like the name Ben.”

“That’s so boring,” Number Three laughed. Ben just shrugged.

“I think it suits you,” Number Seven offered with a small smile. Ben returned it with a shy grin of his own.

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, if we’re getting to choose our own names I’m gonna do something cool. Like Storm or Panther or Rocket,” Number Two said excitedly.

“You do realize that all those names just sound like the ones the magazines already give us?” Ben pointed out.

“So what? They give them to us because they think we’re cool.”

“They think I’m cool, but definitely not you,” Number Three teased. Number Two stuck his tongue out in her direction.

“Alright your majesty, so what’s your name gonna be?”

“Hmm, I was thinking something stylish but not too outlandish. Like classy, in an elegant kind of way.”

“Maybe Charlotte?” Number Seven suggested.

“Nah, I don’t want people calling me Charlie. I am so not a Charlie.”

“While you workshop that, I will be naming myself Klaus,” announced Number Four.

“Klaus?” Number One questioned with a subtle look of condemnation.

“Yeah! It’s different, it’s memorable, and it’s…” Number Four mumbled the last part.

“It’s what?” asked Number Five.

“It’s the name of my favorite book character ok?” Number Four said, eyes fixated on the fireplace as his cheeks burned red. Ben smiled next to him.

“Really? Klaus is your favorite character? I would’ve thought you resonated more with Count Olaf. I mean, you do have a similar taste in fashion and flare for the dramatic,” Number Three jabbed.

“Hey! I am not Count Olaf! And his outfits are way tacky, I am honestly offended that you would compare the two of us,” Number Four feigned hurt. “And I like Klaus he’s… smart. He uses knowledge to figure things out and create stuff. And he doesn’t get scared, because he knows he can always find a way to escape, and that he has his family to help him out if he can’t.”

Number Four didn’t want to say it out loud but Klaus was kind of his hero. He dreamt of being as smart as he was, desperate to offer some sort of offensive skill to their team. He knew what the others thought about him sometimes when they went on missions. Sure he was no Number Seven, he did have certified powers after all, but his abilities didn’t really serve in stopping bank robbers or rescuing civilians. And secretly, Number Four always admired Number Six, or Ben now it seemed, for his intelligence. Sometimes he would ask questions while he was reading just to hear him explain the intricacies of some military term or seventeenth century city he didn’t care about simply because he liked to hear someone who knew things talk about them. And, unbeknownst to the others, the two of them would sometimes sneak into each others rooms at night and go under the covers with flashlights to read ahead in their story time books. It never bothered Number Four to hear the chapters again on Sunday, and Ben didn’t seem to mind telling them for a second time.

The rest of the group sat silently for a moment taking in his words. It wasn’t often that Number Four seemed to think something through this thoroughly and then decide to share it. As loud and outgoing as he could be, he never really talked about things of substance. They all knew that he dealt with issues they didn’t—it’s hard not to hear him scream in his nightmares when it reverberates through a silent mansion in the dead of night—but that part of Number Four is always tucked very far away from the sunlight and from the others. Whether that was by choice or necessity, no one was really sure.

“I think it’s perfect… Klaus,” Number Seven encouraged, placing her hand lightly over his and giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you! You can be my Violet Seven,” Klaus smiled and squeezed her hand back. The gesture, both physical and metaphorical with the naming of her as his partner in crime, lit Number Seven’s face with joy.

“Maybe I will be Violet,” she agreed, almost in a whisper.

“Whatever. I’m going to be named Rocket,” Number Two boasted.

Number Two was not named Rocket.

Grace met with each of them the next day before dinner to discuss the choices they had come up with and to make sure that they would be Reginald approved, as they were to announce them at the close of the evening’s meal.

Because Number One arrived bearing no opinion on the matter, he picked a name at random from a pre-approved list that their father had drawn up. He felt smug, knowing that this would likely please his father since he was sure that none of his other siblings would dare give up the chance to not let their father decide something. His name, second row and third from the bottom, would be Luther.

Number Two was not happy when all of his name choices were shot down by Grace. He argued that she should be on his side and say screw it to what their father wanted, to which she replied that there were no sides and that he should not use “screw” in that context. He refused to pick from the pre-approved list, so the two of them workshopped a few choices before landing on something Number Two felt was cool enough and that Grace thought Reginald would sign off on. Number Two’s name would be Diego.

Number Three had spent all night going back and forth between names. She was flipping through a magazine when she landed on a photo of a smiling girl, teeth white and head thrown back in laughter, with a quote about how much fun she was having with her friends at this summer’s newest water park attraction. Her fingers stalled on the page, locking eyes with the girl in the photo and wishing that she could trade places with her. She couldn’t help herself from choosing the name scribbled across the model’s photo in bright pink, and so Number Three would be Allison.

To his surprise, Number Four’s name choice was approved without much debate. Grace felt the name was robust and reasonable, which would make Reginald happy, and that it was just as unique as Number Four himself. Without much fuss, Number Four was granted his request and would be Klaus.

Number Six faired similarly to Number Four. His choice in name didn’t spark much concern from Grace, other than the modification that his name must be officially documented in its full version. And so, Number Six would be Ben (officially Benjamin).

Although Number Seven proposed the name Violet to Grace, she was shot down as their father had apparently ruled against the use of colors as names. After seeing her disappoint, Grace compromised by agreeing to let her keep a V name. Number Seven had always loved languages, her favorite being Russian, so Grace decided to choose a name to match. Number Seven would be Vanya.

Number Five would disappear that night during the dinner at which they were all to announce their names. When he didn’t return by the meal’s end, Reginald decided to proceed without him. The children all presented their names, Vanya having to prompt Ben as he had left a customary place for Five to speak in between him and Klaus. When Number Five failed to return late into that night, the kids all snuck into the library one by one, each finding the others waiting for them in a mutual state of insomnia, feeling the need to return to a place of solace and escape. They lit a dim fire and huddled close together, leaning in to hear Ben as he read the book in a whispered tone. Their day of happiness had been overtaken by one of fear and loss, and as each child revelled in their new names they couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing that somewhere out there, Number Five was still just a number.

#i had so much fun writing this thank you #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #grace hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #tua #prompts #my writing #moderngenius94

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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10/01/2019 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 62:6-65:25, Philippians 2:19-3:3, Psalms 73:1-28, Proverbs 24:13-14

Today is the 1st day of October. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it's great to be here with you. It's fun to step into a new month together and we’re stepping into the final quarter of the year. So, three months ago and in my experience, it's crazy how fast these three months can get going, but it's also profound what we'll find in the Scriptures as we move through this three months. So, welcome to the final quarter of the year. I don’t know if I’d call this the home stretch because it's a whole 25% of the year, but we’ll take it day by day, step-by-step together in community as we continue our journey. And our journey this week has us in the book of Isaiah. We’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week. And today, Isaiah chapter 62 verse 6 through 65 verse 25.

Commentary:

Okay. So, as we were talking about when we began our time together today, this is…this is a new month and this is also the final quarter of the year, and this is actually kind of important because it's gonna get busier. Like, this year’s only gonna get more busy from here and we’re out in front of it right now. But the truth is, three months from today is January 1, right? The years over and we’re in a new year. And what I have found about finishing…finishing anything…but finishing the Scriptures in year is to finish strong, or to finish at all we have to be committed to finishing. And, so, we’re entering this fourth quarter of the year and we've made it this far. And, so let's commit together to finishing strong, which…which is pretty much the opposite of what Asaph was feeling as we read from the 73rd Psalm today. He wasn't feeling strong at all. He was frustrated, he was angry, he was bewildered because of what he was seeing in the world. And we could just pause there and in some ways, we could just go, “yeah. get it. Feel the same way.” For Asaph, and we’re going back thousands of years here, about 3000 years here, it just seemed that everywhere he looked, the unrighteous were really the prosperous and blessed people and the people that were trying to be true, the people that were trying to live into their faith, they were the one struggling, they were languishing away. So, he’s like, “I almost lost my footing. My feet were slippering”…no…slipping…slipping…“my feet were slipping.” I don't suppose he wouldn’t mind that he put slippers on his feet. His feet were slipping. “I was almost gone. I envied the proud when I saw them even in their wickedness be prosperous.” And, man again, we gotta go, “I kinda know what that feels like. Like that's been me at one time or another in my life.” And that’s probably been all of us at one point or another in our lives because all of our efforts to live upright before God, you know, that’s…it’s a difficult path. It’s a narrow path. And then we look around and see everybody else who doesn’t even think about it, like isn’t even paying attention to their spirituality as a category in life and they just seem to be having easy. And, so, we get frustrated, we get to bewildered, right? Our hope takes a hit. So, let’s listen to Asaph's words from several thousand years ago and see if they don't describe this. He says, “did I purify my heart and wash my hands in innocence for nothing? For I am afflicted all day long and punished every morning. If I had decided to say these things allowed, I would've betrayed your people. When I try to understand all this it seemed hopeless.” So, if you’ve ever felt like that and maybe…maybe you feel like that now, it's important to know that this is a crossroads because…because when we find ourselves in that place where we are frustrated and angry and hopeless, the very next decision may very well dictate the direction of the rest of our lives. Like the next choices that we make are for sure going to dictate the short-term path ahead. And if the short-term path ahead is to descend deeper into anger and hopelessness, well I guess the Bible has already been clear about where that paths gonna lead. We can…we can throw our hands up in disgust. We can walk willingly into sin. But it's not gonna work and we know it. And Asaph…Asaph contemplated the same thing, but he made a different decision. So, quoting…quoting Asaph, “when I try to understand all this, it seemed hopeless until I entered God's sanctuary. Then I understood their destiny.” So, a lot of what Asaph had been saying in this Psalm was pretty passive-aggressive stuff and he’s contemplating where to go because it seems like a hopeless situation. So…and…and we…we can relate to all of this. So, rather than stepping into like passive-aggressive sin or wickedness, Asaph chose to go back into God's presence. In God's presence is where he realized there's a lot more going on than we know and that's something that the Bible has been showing us all along. Asaph realized that this foundation that was apparently there for the wicked wasn't really there at all. It was nothing, when considered from an eternal perspective. Whatever security they may seem to have in this life will not protect them in the next where they will have no protection at all. So, what Asaph began to understand is that what was tormenting him really wasn't…wasn't about whether the wicked prospered, it's that they were prospering as compared to him in his own mind. So, it was his envy, it was bitterness that came from comparison and he confessed it to God. So, quoting Asaph again. “When I became embittered and my innermost being was wounded, I was stupid and didn't understand. I was an unthinking animal toward you, yet I am always with you. You hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me up in glory.” So, this 73rd Psalm gives us incredibly powerful and usable counsel, but it also gives us a posture as we move into the final quarter of the year. Comparison and envy, they…they are all over this quarter of the year, this final quarter of the year as things get materialistic as we move toward the holidays. And so here we are. If you find yourself like battling that as we go into this season, as we go into this final quarter of the year, bookmark this, write it down. Psalm 73. Like, come back here and follow the path of Asaph again. Remembering that you're comparing yourself to somebody else or how well somebody else may be doing as compared to you is not interesting and is not the point. God is the strength of your heart and that is very interesting and very much the point.

Prayer:

Father, we come into Your presence again because You’ve brought this up again and this is something that…that comes up is a recurring theme because it's a part of our lives. We are continually trying to figure out how well we’re doing as compared to someone else and it's…it just…it doesn't get us anywhere to compare our story to someone else's story. Our story is ours and we’re living it and their story is theirs and usually what we know of each other's stories is what we’ve curated to expose and reveal to other people. It’s not the whole story. And yet, You are here involved in the whole story of our lives, all of it, the highs and the lows, the clean and unfortunately the times when we step into the unclean. You are invested into this story fully. And, so, our question is, “Jesus, how do You see us” because we’ve been looking for those answers by trying to figure out what everybody else thinks and what we think of everybody else. But what do You think because that's the only thing that matters? And Your word has shown is pretty clearly what You think, that we are Your beloved children. And, so, we’re sorry for the comparison, we’re sorry for the…the way that we've diminished ourselves and haven't lived fully into all that You are leading us into because we’re too busy comparing. Forgive us Father we pray in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

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zirawrites · 6 years

Note

How do interested companions react to finding out sole has attempted suicide?

This reaction has been sitting in my inbox for awhile and I’ve just now worked up the nerve to tackle it. Self-harm/suicide is literally my ONLY personal trigger, and I’ve always deleted these messages on-sight when roleplaying. However, I think doing a suicidal Sole isn’t far from canon. It’s a side of Sole the game didn’t really explore, so I’m glad I can add that new dimension to our hero.

Obviously the trigger-warning is self-harm and mentions of suicide. I was going to do a generic suicide scenario to start out with, but decided to tailor it more personally to each companion. If you’re having suicidal thoughts, please reach out to a loved one or professional.

Cait: Cait wasn’t a stranger to self-harm. It seemed easier to punish herself over how little her parents (or anyone, for that matter) loved her. But her stoic Sole? Cait’s first reaction was disbelief when she noticed the scars on Sole’s wrists. They were faded and pink, but still noticeable when Sole’s sleeves rode up their arms. The two friends made eye contact from across the table, and Sole immediately tried to make up an excuse for why their wrists were scabbed over.

“Yer not that good of a storyteller,” Cait said. Her voice was soft, but concerned. Sole had never seen her eyes so dark. “Look, I know you’ve been given the short end of tha’ stick lately. What, with yer son turn’n up the leader of the boogeymen and losen’ your husband/wife. But… I remember when I used to do the same thin’.” Cait turned up her wrists to show even lighter scars. “I stopped shortly after ya rescued me. I guess you showed somethn’ in me I didn’t know was there. I was someone worth savn’ once I got those chems outta me.” She took Sole’s hand, and tried not to let her watery eyes spill over. “Sole, I’m clean now. And lookn’ at you… yer someone worth savn’, too. So please, jus’ talk to me if it gets that bad again.” Sole promised, cross their heart.

Codsworth: Codsworth had no idea Sole self-harmed until they let it slip in conversation. According to his master, they hurt themselves when they felt the burden of losing Shaun weigh too heavy. Codsworth was crushed. He would have tended to Sole night and day if they had just told them how bad their mental health was getting. “It’s because you found me such a mess when we reunited in Sanctuary,” Codsworth groaned. “I would have never went blabbering on about my own shortcomings if I had known what a heightened state you were in. Please, mum/sir… forgive me. You needed me and I… I FAILED you!” If Codsworth could cry, he would be inconsolable.

Sole assured her Mr. Handy that their past actions had absolutely nothing to do with him. They were responsible for their self-harm and no one else. It took Sole nearly an hour to convince him they weren’t suicidal anymore, especially thanks to how close Codsworth held them in his heart. Even so, Codsworth guarded Sole at night just in case his master woke and needed him by their side. He’d always be there for them, even if it meant another 200 years of getting nuclear fallout out of vinyl wood.

Curie: Curie was reading a new textbook Sole had nabbed them on a recent mission. The book was on soldiers returning from war with PTSD. However, parts of the pages were ripped, and Curie was struggling to fill in the blanks. She asked Sole if they knew anything about the symptoms of PTSD, which Sole apparently knew plenty about. Since entering the Commonwealth, Sole had been so overcome with stress that they even once found themselves at the edge of an overpass. Sole didn’t jump, but in that moment they knew they had to seek mental health, and here they were now after those first grueling nights finding Shaun.

Before Curie knew it, she was crying. It was only a few shuddered hiccups, but Sole’s story touched her. “My dear friend,” Curie said. “I had no idea you were struggling with your mental health. And here I am priding in to your personal life. You do not have these thoughts now, do you?” Sole assured Curie that was in the past. “Either way, I insist you come to me if you ever need to talk. I am well-equipped with the medical training to discuss such matters objectively. And also… you mean a lot to me, madame/monsieur. I would never want harm to befall you.”

Danse: He didn’t want to believe the rumors, but the medical history of Sole Danse happened upon in the sick bay of the Prydwen didn’t lie. Sole awoke to heavy knocking at their door, and opened it to see Danse clearly distraught. His brows furrowed together, and his lips were more pouting than usual. Danse asked to come in, and then sat at the edge of Sole’s bed. He struggled to find the words at first, so Sole encouragingly placed their hand on his back.

“First off, please don’t think I was prying,” Danse said. “Knight-Captain Cade needed assistance organizing files in his office, and yours just happened to be at the top of the pile. It was open on your mental health examination, I swear.”

Sole dismissed Danse’s words with the wave on their hand. They knew exactly what was in that document. When Sole first entered the Brotherhood, they had to talk about a history of drug abuse. When Sole first found out Shaun led the Institute, they had tried to overdose. It wasn’t anything they were proud of, but Sole didn’t want to lie to their brothers.

“That’s understandable,” Danse reassured. “Admirable, even. I just never expected someone as levelheaded as you to do something as risky as that. But I suppose we all have our demons.” A sharp inhale. A shaky exhale. “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you, you know. You have my complete trust in battle, and loyalty as your friend. Not to sound cliche but… I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

Deacon: It wasn’t every night Deacon asked Sole to cut loose with him. He liked to keep all his faculties alert, but they had just picked up an important dead drop and even Desdemona said the two partners needed a break. Instead of going out in goofy disguises like Deacon always suggested they do one day, he used his personal stash of caps to buy him and Sole the best middle-tier wine he knew. Not too good, not too bad. He knew Sole would appreciate the symbolism in his sentiment.

Deacon leaned against the wall and listened to a drunk Sole ramble about their favorite missions. They could barely keep themselves up on the desk, so Deacon kept himself within arms’ reach in case he needed to catch them. “R-remember when we-we-we dressed like raiders to save that synth underground?” Sole slurred. Deacon answered with a soft mhmm. “And… and do you remember w-when I was a body-double for Magnolia to spy on that safe house leak? And you accidentally spilled wine on me so I had to SLAP you?” Another mhmm. “I SLAPPED you, Deacon! Hows that feel, buddy?”

“I lie awake every night thinking about it, boss,” Deacon chided. “Not a day goes by where I don’t remember shaming my family name.”

“I shamed my family name when I swallowed that bottle of pills.” Sole took another long drink of wine, then dramatically smacked their lips. “I don’t know how Codsworth didn’t find me the next morning. I’m g-glad though, ya know? I really got my shit together after that. Haven’t thought about checkn’ out since.”

Deacon was floored. He watched Sole stare down at their empty wine glass, then say something about shaking him down for more caps. He wasn’t really sure the specifics because his ears were ringing. Sole had always been his role model. They were perfect in every way. If someone as strong as them could get that desperate, who was he in this world? He tucked their hair behind their ears as then drunkenly smiled up at them. “I really need you, pal,” he said. “Honestly, I had no idea things had gotten that bad. Can you give me a heads up next time so I can cheer you up?” Deacon knew suicidal thoughts ran deeper than whatever half-assed jokes he could cure them with, but if he got any more personal he was afraid he’d cry. “We look out for each other. Hell, we’re family. So please… just…” Deacon ended his rambling with a lopsided smile.

Gage: “What fuckn’ cowards,” Gage seethed. He and Sole stood at an abandoned outpost. They were trying to track down rouge raiders that had defected from the Operators. However, the only people left in the ruins were a handful of people who had shot themselves. They either knew Sole and Gage were closing in, our they were done with the raider lifestyle. “Bunch of complete wastes of space,” Gage continued. “Anyone who ain’t man enough to deal with their fuckn’ problems doesn’t deserve the resources they suck dry while they’re here.”

Sole had no idea why Gage was so opposed to the idea of suicide. As he grit his teeth and began to loot the camp, Sole hung back. Sole knew Gage looked up to them as a leader. How would he feel if…?

“You okay, Overboss?” he asked. “If this sight is a little too gruesome for ya, there’s no need to hang around. I can come back with some other men and finish the clean-up.”

“I could have been one of these people, Gage.” Sole crossed their arms, determined not to break eye contact. Gage asked what Sole meant. “When I first realized my son was gone, my wife/husband was gone… I put a gun to my head. I didn’t know it was empty. But if it had been? I’d have been just like any of these raiders.” Sole sucked in a deep breath when they saw Gage tense up. “Be angry that these people broke their codes and left our ranks. But not that they couldn’t face their demons. They weren’t wastes of space.”

“Shit.” Gage took a step forward. Sole noticed he went to reach for their arm, but he stopped himself at the last second. For the first time ever, Gage actually seemed remorseful. “I had no idea, Sole. I’m sorry I said all that. If someone like you can struggle with those thoughts, then anyone can. We’ll… give ‘em a proper burial here. Promise.”

Hancock: “You know, sometimes I think you want to overdose.” Sole was talking to Hancock who currently lounged back on the couch. He was absolutely defenseless where he lay. It was adorable. Just to make sure the mayor was as incapacitated as he seemed, Sole grabbed his favorite hat and placed it on their own hat. It took Hancock over ten seconds to register what happened. “That’s sad,” Sole said. “I’m keeping this.”

Hancock reached his arm out with the most pathetic look he could muster. “I’m hurtn’ here, sweetheart,” he moaned. “It’s been a long day and I’m a tired ghoul. I deserve to get this high. But I can’t complete the ensemble without that hat.” Sole rolled their eyes and gave it back to him, then laughed as he put it on backwards. “There. Now I’m as handsome as ever.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Sole said. They were trying to look serious, but failing. How could you stay mad at Hancock? He got under your skin in all the right ways. “It’s dangerous to take that much at one time. I took just a little more than that when I found out Shaun was gone hoping I wouldn’t wake up. I can’t believe you do all this for fun.”

Even in his stupor, Hancock registered exactly what Sole was getting at. “You did what?” he gaped. Sole looked down at their feet. “You’re telln’ me you tried to kill yourself not that long ago? Holy shit.” Hancock sat up with some inner strength he didn’t know he had. Even though the world was spinning, he managed to take Sole’s hand in his own. “Please tell me you ain’t thinkn’ about doing something like that again. I couldn’t bear to lose you over the fact you think no one cares. Cause I really do, and there ain’t no dose of chems that’d ever be more important to me than you.”

MacCready: He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. MacCready had opened up to Sole about losing Lucy, and the suicidal thoughts thereafter when he figured life wasn’t worth living without her. Sole told him their similar feelings after losing their spouse, and he felt his stomach knot. MacCready thought he was just some trifling gun-for-hire who fell ass-backwards in to a marriage he didn’t deserve with a son he couldn’t provide for. But Sole was… the complete opposite. They were thrown in to this apocalypse, not born in to it like he was. They took everything in stride. Placed their friends’ safety above their own. Passed up well-deserved caps just so families had the extra money. So as Sole told MacCready they had once tried to take their own life, he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. A gust of wind would have been able to topple the merc on the floor.

“Please don’t talk like that,” he said. MacCready’s voice cracked at the end, and he was worried if he spoke again tears would spill out. “Sole, you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to the Commonwealth. The greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend. I’m so sorry your spouse passed away, but you’ve showed me there’s still a life beyond all that sorrow. So if you can stay strong… I guess… so can I.”

Preston: “Excuse me, General?” Preston had been waiting for Sole all day. His expression was tense, which let Sole know he had something weighing on his mind. “Can we talk somewhere privately? I’ve got something bothering me.” Preston led Sole to the picnic table behind Sanctuary. After stumbling around his words for a while, Preston finally looked up with worry in his eyes. “I know we talked recently about my past with the Minutemen. How I lost all hope and… tried to end my life. Lately I’ve been feeling really guilty laying all that information on you. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it and that I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, I know what that feels like. I’ve done the exact thing before. For different reasons. Reasons I don’t really want to get in to.” There was a pause that followed. Sole watched Preston’s eyes widen. They knew he was too polite to speak his mind. “I’ve never felt closer to you, Preston. So don’t think you made me uncomfortable. If we both take this a day at a time, maybe we can help each other get through these feelings, you know?”

“I… Sole, I had no idea.” Preston honestly didn’t know what to say. He looked up to Sole as a role model. Their past didn’t change his admiration towards them, he was just surprised. “We will get through this. I just know it. And when we finally make the Commonwealth safe, we’ll know it was worth sticking around for.”

Piper: Piper hated writing obituaries. Whenever someone in Diamond City passed away, she wrote about them in a small paragraph on the back of her latest issue. Since not many settlers died of old age anymore, the stories were about parents succumbing to radiation poisoning or little kids who got too close to feral ghouls. This particular story was about a mother who took her own life when her daughter drowned in the water filtration plant in the back of Diamond City. Piper’s newspaper was selling out, but she knew it was for a depressing reason.

Sole picked up a copy like they usually did, and thumbed through it dramatically to show Piper they really did read the whole thing. When Sole got to the obituary, they paused. “You forget how to read just now or something, Blue?” Piper asked. “I can smell the smoke from over here.”

“I’m sorry,” Sole said. “I just got to the obituary section. That’s so sad. I remember when I tried to kill myself after losing Shaun. I’d never wish that on anybody I knew.”

“Oh god,” Piper whispered. “Blue, I had no idea. I wouldn’t have given you a copy if I knew…” Sole set the paper back down, and met Piper’s hand. Piper squeezed Sole’s fingers reassuringly. “I think I’d just about lose it if I lost Nat. I couldn’t imagine what that feels like. But you’ve just gotta stick around. A lot of people depend on you. So if you get those feelings again, you talk to me, alright? I love you, woman/man out of time.”

Nick: As a detective, Nick Valentine had seen some unusual cases come through his door. Most of the ones in Diamond City involved the suspicion that someone was a synth, and watching a distraught racist try to tip-toe their way in to getting his Gen 3 self to help them was always amusing. However, he knew Sole’s case was special the moment he met them. Sole didn’t see him as a robot, they saw him as his own man. That is why Nick respected Sole so much, and why seeing the marks on their wrists hurt so badly.

“Do you mind explaining those?” Nick asked when he noticed Sole sheepishly trying to pull down their sleeves. “Unless you bought a feral cat recently, I have feeling you did that to yourself.” His expression softened. “Do you need to talk about something, kid?”

“I’m sorry that worried you, Nick,” Sole said. They were being honest. Seeing Nick’s yellow eyes widen like that… it broke Sole’s heart. “The last thing I want to do is hurt somebody, which is why I hurt myself. But that’s all in the past, I swear. These scars are old. And I have friends like you to thank for that positive change.” Nick believed Sole, but for good measure he checked up on them more than usual. They were his favorite troublemaker, after all. What kind of detective would he be if he didn’t watch out for his own partner?

Strong: Strong still didn’t understand what Sole was telling him. He understood the concept of Suiciders. They charged in to battle knowing they would die, but it was in the name of battle and bloodshed. When he learned Sole had tried to talk their own life just to die, it physically hurt his brain. “Human is good leader. Good leader want to live. Strong not understand why human do that.”

Sole took a deep breath, regretting telling Strong about their past at all. “Sometimes when humans don’t think they can do something, they don’t see a point in leading or trying anymore. It doesn’t make the human a bad person. It means they are tired and need some extra help.”

“Strong thinks he knows what human means.” Sole doubted that, but let him continue talking anyways. “Human had bad fight. Didn’t think human could fight again. Then human remembered they are leader, so they kept fighting anyways.”

“That’s…” Sole folded their arms. “That’s actually very right, Strong.”

Strong scoffed. “Of course Strong is right. Strong is smarter than human thinks Strong is.”

X6-88: Sole had a flag on their mental health evaluation? X6 thought it had to be a mistake. Father obviously wanted to make sure his mother/father had the capacity to lead the Institute, which meant doing a written report on Sole’s past. X6 overheard several scientists talking about Sole being mentally unfit in the hallway because of what came up in their papers. The first thing X6 did was defend Sole. He reminded the scientists that they were speaking about the future director, and that Sole had proven time and time again to be a worthy ally on their side. To drive home that point, he reminded them the hell Sole could raise if they were enemies.

X6 then headed straight to Sole’s private chambers to dispel the rumor. Sole was reading on their bed, which seemed like perfectly sane behavior from his obviously sane companion. “Ma’am/Sir, I regret to inform you that there is a rumor circulating the infirmary that your mental health evaluation did not come out clean. Apparently someone flagged it for review. I put those scientists in their place, and I doubt they’ll cause you any trouble if you run in to them again.”

“It isn’t a rumor,” Sole said. “Shaun asked me to be honest, so I was. I used to self-harm, X6. A lot. I didn’t want to live in this new world. But since I’ve seen the Institute and what it can do for humanity… I feel hope again. I don’t intend on having those thoughts any more. And Shaun set me up with a fantastic psychologist.”

Awkward. X6 stood in the door-frame knowing Sole wanted him to join them in the room. However, his legs felt like lead. “Well then I’m sorry I assumed. I am certain you will still make a superb director for the Institute. And I have no qualms remaining your companion out in the Commonwealth.” Three compliments in a row? That was high praise from the same courser who once threatened to bludgeon Paladin Danse to death for scuffing his shoes.

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crystallinecrimsonmoth · 3 years

Text

Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 13

‘So, let me get this straight. You hopped down all these stairs just because you were so worried I was dead?’

Negan tightened his grip under Carl’s thighs as they ascended the stairs, the teen perched comfortably on his back with his arms clung tight around his neck.

‘People on the radio were saying Riverton was on fire, I had the right to be worried!’

Negan chuckled as they reached the room and he let Carl down onto the bed, turning to face him only to find he was being dragged by the neck into another kiss.

Stumbling into the teen’s hold, he settled himself so that he was hovering over him, arms on either side of his small head and dark eyes boring into his blushing face. With his eye socket exposed, Negan thought Carl looked like the most beautiful painting of suffering and strength, his heart laid bare in one pale blue eye for him to steal away.

‘You’re so perfect.’ He whispered into the space between them, watching the kid’s face burn a darker red and balancing on one arm, using his gloved hand to stroke his cheek.

The younger looked up at him with such awe that it made Negan’s heart melt. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, full of affection and slow like they had all the time in the world, and Negan knew he’d stay alive as long as possible to take care of the stubborn shit underneath him. He would protect him for as long as he was able.

Carl let out a little whimper when he pulled away, glaring up at him.

‘What the hell?’

Negan chuckled, pecking his nose.

‘Such a dirty mouth, but we need to talk about those people you heard on the radio.’

Carl huffed but reluctantly sat up for him, letting Negan pull him into his lap as he sat down. The man kept his leg steady, so nothing was pulled or stretched, putting it up on a pillow once the teen was comfortable and stripping off his leather jacket. He wrapped his arms around Carl’s waist.

‘Tell me what they said, my little killer.’

The teen glared at him from his head’s resting place on the man’s shoulder.

‘Fry was one of them. I didn’t recognise the other voice. They were talking about a lookout near Riverton, and apparently the lookout hadn’t seen your van on the road. Something about Riverton being on fire and they were glad about the idea of you being dead. I think they’re starting a revolution, Negan.’ He explained and Negan frowned at the sight of tears in Carl’s eye, cupping his cheek.

‘Why are you crying, baby?’

‘I don’t want the Sanctuary to be ruined. I feel safe here, with you in charge, I don’t want that to change. And… my leg really hurts.’

Negan’s eyes widened somewhat at the admission of pain and he moved quickly to shift Carl’s leg into a better position. Once he was more comfortable, he sighed, stroking through the teen’s hair with gentle movements.

‘Carl, no one’s going to ruin the Sanctuary. We’ll snuff out the revolution plan by killing Fry and the other guy on the radio. We’ll make a big demonstration of it, I’ll even let you use Lucille on one of them.’ He smiled at him, trying to get the boy to stop crying.

Carl looked at him, his eye watery still, and Negan kissed him soft and slow, tangling his fingers in his long hair.

‘I promise you, nothing bad will happen.’

The teen nodded after a moment, leaning his forehead on Negan’s, and letting the man pull him closer to his chest.

‘Promise nothing will happen?’ Carl asked, quiet and meek so the words were barely noticeable.

Negan nuzzled his nose against his, stroking through his hair with gentle fingers.

‘I swear on my life.’

He waited a moment before the teen was nodding, shifting forward in his lap to get a kiss. Negan relaxed at the touch of Carl’s lips and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, glad he was feeling better after panicking that Negan was dead. The man was ready and ripe to kill every bastard who threatened the stability of the Sanctuary and making Carl cry had only made their punishment worse.

‘Can we have dinner now?’ Carl’s voice was timid in his ear and it made the Saviour grin and nod, pecking the boy’s cheek.

‘Of course, we can, baby.’

Knock, knock.

Carl was startled out of sleep at the sound of someone knocking on the door. He didn’t open his eye, opting instead to stab Negan’s stomach with his elbow to get the man to answer it. When he jabbed at the hard muscle against his back, his elbow came upon nothing.

‘Bastard.’ The teen growled to himself when he realised his partner… lover… boyfriend… fuck, he didn’t even know what to call him, had left him in bed alone.

Alone with his injured leg and scarred face. Bastard.

Knock, knock.

He groaned, figuring he’d have to get out of bed and answer the insistent person by himself. Carl sighed and shifted to prop up on his elbows, dragging himself to the edge of the bed. Then he stopped, looking down and realising he had no jeans on anymore. He narrowed his eyes at that fact before noticing the note on Negan’s pillow, picking it up and scanning the contents.

Hey baby, don’t panic, I’ve just gone to take care of some stray dead guys. I haven’t left ya. The walkie is on the nightstand if you need it, call me for anything you need. I left you my jacket if you get too cold.

p.s. I took off your jeans so that you’d sleep more comfortably, no funny business. You’ve got a cute ass though xx

Carl rolled his eyes at the last part of the note, but it did give him some relief. He looked to the end of the bed where Negan’s leather jacket was sitting and gnawed on his bottom lip, considering it, then grabbed it, slipping it on and huffing at how small he was in it.

Doing his best to ignore his small stature compared to Negan, Carl relished in the scent of the man’s cologne before opening the bedroom door, yawning.

‘Nice underwear.’

Carl glowered at Ada when she said that.

‘I like sharks, sue me. Why are you here?’ He yawned, rubbing his eye, and standing back to let her in.

Ada walked in and flopped down onto the bed, looking at him from her laid down position.

‘I wanted to hang out! Well, technically I’m here in an official capacity to examine how well your leg is healing, but Doc is letting me off for an hour after this unless an emergency comes in.’ She grinned, eyeing the jacket around Carl’s shoulders.

‘You two didn’t take long to start fucking, huh? Can’t believe you slapped him yesterday.’

Carl’s eye widened momentarily, and he shut the door, wandering over to the bed.

‘Well first, we haven’t fucked, and second, I didn’t realise you saw that.’ He muttered, shy as he got on the bed beside her, hugging Negan’s pillow to his chest and looking at her.

Ada had an eyebrow raised as she stared back. Carl noticed her eyes observing the way he hugged the pillow and huffed, burying his nose in it without shame before questioning her gaze.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You just… you look different to when I first met you. You seem happier, which is confusing because the reason you were so sad when we met is that Negan killed your entire family. Now his leather jacket is wrapped around you like a security blanket. There’s something wrong about that.’

Carl considered her words for a moment, thinking about his dad and sister and everyone else he lost for the first time in a few days. Negan really had distracted him from what he’d done, he’d even convinced him that using Lucille would feel good, the weapon that murdered two of his friends…

‘No!’ He snapped out loud, shaking a little as he hugged Negan’s pillow tighter and inhaled the manly scent that was so perfectly Negan, trying to calm down.

‘Carl?’

‘He’s not a fucking bad guy! My dad was putting us in danger, they had to die to prevent more death. They weren’t my fucking family; Negan protects me more than they ever did.’

‘I don’t think that’s true-’

‘Well you didn’t fucking live with them, did you? My dad was insane, he was more of a danger to us than Negan. He was leading us into a fight we wouldn’t win.’ Carl argued, wrapping Negan’s jacket tighter around him to stay calm before offering his leg to Ada carefully.

‘You said you were here to check my leg. Check it and leave, I’m too tired to defend my fucking life choices.’ He sighed, keeping his gaze hard as Ada nodded, unwrapping his shin to inspect the wound.

Carl looked at it too, grimacing at the sight of the gash in his leg.

‘Looks fucking disgusting.’

‘It’s healing. You should clean around it but don’t submerge it in water if you bathe, it’ll get into the wound and might infect it.’

Carl nodded, whimpering under his breath when Ada wrapped the wound again and carefully moving his leg back into a straight position so he could sleep.

Ada stood up and tucked her hands into her pockets, looking around Negan’s bedroom.

‘So, you’ll live here then?’

The teen nodded again, speaking up before she could.

‘I’m sorry that Negan hit you.’

The young woman looked at him for a moment before nodding as well, scuffing her foot on the carpet.

‘Thanks, I guess. I’ll leave you to sleep.’ She smiled and Carl managed a smile back, lying down to rest his head on Negan’s pillow again.

‘Tell Daniel I said hi.’

‘Will do, cripple.’

Carl let out a laugh at that, waving as his friend left and then nuzzling into the pillow underneath him, drifting off into sleep easily with the exhaustion he still felt.

#cegan #future serial killer #chapter 13 #carl/negan #carl x negan #negan x carl

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