#Blister: Angela | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stegrossaurus · 2 years

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Burn the Witch

by Angela

I didn’t say anything. I just stood my ground and looked into the eyes of the traitor.

“Angela, you are seriously overreacting,” Ash said. I admit I was hoping for an apology, but Ash just barely looks embarrassed. “You can come join us if you want.”

“Join you?” I laughed. “So what, you’re part of the cool kids’ inner circle now? You know you’re just a novelty to them, right?”

“Stop being so sensitive,” he sighed. “Seriously, Ange, what’s the issue? I can have other friends and still be friends with you.”

He was supposed to be my friend. Ash and Angela, two misfits against a world full of conformists, jerks, and basic bitches. But then Ash started tutoring Ahti Khatoon in math and now he’s been seduced by the dumb side.

“You sure Miss Blister won’t mind you hanging out with a commoner?”

“What is your problem with her?” Ash asked, looking at me like I’m crazy. As if he wasn't griping about them right alongside me three weeks ago. “Bernadette and her friends are a little cliquey, but they mostly just ignore us. They never really pick on us, do they?”

“But now that you’ve taught her boyfriend 2+2, you’re suddenly BFFs?” I still couldn't put this together. My best friend with his piercings and dark clothes and perfectly morbid jokes was friends with a brain-damaged track star? “If you had to make other friends, did it have to be with the enemy?”

“Enemy?” Ash repeated incredulously. “Ange, we’re not in a war and they’re not supervillains.”

“But we hate them, Ash.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. Hating everyone and everything is exhausting, Angela. And be honest, does it actually make anything better?”

He gave me that pitying look out parents and counselors gave us plenty of times. I never thought I’d see it from him.

“Hey, Ash, you coming?” Bernadette Bliss wandered over to us, the queen bee of our school ready to usher her new subject to her lunch table. “Hi, Angela. Want to join? Plenty of space.”

I let out that snort Mom said she hates and said, “No thanks, Bernie. I’d hate to crowd your table.”

Honestly, I’d have liked to sock her in the jaw for stealing my best friend. But even though Bernadette’s the epitome of pretty, pink, princess privilege, she’s also captain of the Flytrap’s co-ed football team. So instead, I just stalked off. I spent the rest of the school day and the walk home stoking my anger for Miss Blister and her crew. It won’t work without it.

Maybe Ash was right that they mostly just ignored people who weren’t in their group. But ‘mostly’ isn’t ‘always’. And none of their smug, obnoxious, privileged behavior is any better than the assholes who made elementary and middle school hell for us. Ash may have forgotten about the name-calling and pranks and rumors but I didn’t. Just because Miss Blister and the others were too lazy to victimize us didn’t mean they weren’t garbage.

Once I got home, I was brimming with anger and the black book on my desk was practically vibrating. Ash and I were always on the lookout for books on magic and the occult. We’d found this one at an estate sale and knew right away that it was special. Its black enamel cover shone green and brown in the right light, like something rotting and the spine creaked like an insect’s nest when we opened it. We had fun trying to cast the spells inside, even if they never worked. But Ash had been unnerved by the inside of the back cover, paneled in skin and stitched with gold thread. He hadn’t seen the movement under the skin or heard the whispering. Maybe that was the first sign that we weren’t on the same page.

“Hello, Angela,” the voice from the book reverberated in my head. “I can feel your anger boiling over.”

“And I want to use it,” I said.

“Nothing easier,” the voice said smoothly. “Tell me what you have in mind and I’ll tell you what we’ll need.”

The voice had offered to help me with these types of spells before and I’d always refused. I didn’t want to risk doing something I couldn’t take back. And with Ash by my side, I didn’t need revenge. So I stuck to spells to keep my car running or to ace a test; things that didn’t require fury and vengeance. But Ash had betrayed me and Bernadette Bliss had to pay.

I mixed about 10 toxic chemicals and plants into a bowl with a glyph written in my own blood on the bottom, baked it in the microwave with a few live insects and centipedes, and put the resulting sludge in front of a homemade ouija board. I set a few black candles around. I took a picture of Ahti from the school’s website, painted sludge on the back, and pasted it to the planchette.

“Now spell out what you want to happen,” the voice instructed. “May I suggest C-A-N-C-E-R?”

“Nothing like that, thanks,” I said. I’d already decided on nothing fatal. “I don’t want them dead, just to suffer a bit.”

Instead, I spelled out F-A-I-L-S N-E-X-T T-E-S-T on the board. Then I cleaned off the planchette, stuck the picture fully into the sludge, and started again with the rest of the pictures.

W-E-I-G-H-T G-A-I-N

H-A-I-R L-O-S-S

C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T F-L-A-T-U-L-E-N-C-E

B-U-G B-I-T-E-S A-N-D S-T-I-N-G-S

I gave everyone in Bernadette’s entourage their own personal punishment, including Ash. When I got to Bernadette herself, I spelled P-A-I-N-F-U-L B-L-I-S-T-E-R-S.

I went to bed that night excited and empowered in a way girls like me never get to feel. We’re always on the wayside. It’ll do the in-crowd good to see what it’s like.

I practically skipped to school the next day. The effects of my spells were almost immediate. Mercy Chang was sent to the nurse during homeroom for her unending farting. Jack Porter kept his jacket zipped up over a newly found gut. My heart actually skipped a beat when I overheard him talking about his girlfriend missing school to go to the oncologist. Had the voice misinterpreted my words? Then I remembered Jack’s girlfriend was Yasmin Delgado, who woke up this morning with her hair falling out. Everything was turning out perfectly.

I cornered Ash in the hall on the way to lunch.

“So how’d the math test go?” I asked. “Did they flunk Ahti back to kindergarten yet?”

Ash glared through a field of purpling welts. He’d been getting bitten and stung since sunrise. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to know.” He didn't sound very confident about Ahti’s chances. “I’m happy someone else’s misery can help you feel better.”

“It used to make you feel better, too,” I snapped. “Don’t act like you’re any better than me, Ash. You’re not.”

“At least I’m trying. You’re just bound and determined to be miserable and nasty forever,” He sighed. “Sooner or later being an asshole to everyone isn’t going to work anymore. Where are you going to be then?” He shook his head and walked away from me. Again.

My mood soured and it didn’t improve during lunch. Bernadette was covered in red, yellow, and even green blisters and boils, some the size of golfballs, and the bitch was laughing. She was doing a Phantom of the Opera bit with Ahti and getting a riot out of everyone at the table. Lana Chambers was laughing the hardest despite her perpetually gassy girlfriend and the broken nose she got in gym. Even Jack was smiling a bit. He thought his girl had cancer, he should have been miserable.

“Jesus, I should have given them cancer,” I muttered to myself.

I couldn’t believe it. All the work I did for nothing because Miss Blister and her friends were too stupide and self-centered to even understand when they were being punished. And why should they? Everything just falls into their laps so they don’t know what pain is. Well, I’d show them.

I did the spell again that afternoon, but this time, I used more poisons and a few dead rats from the traps in the basements. All for Bernadette Bliss. I stuck her picture to the planchette and spelled out C-A-R C-R-A-S-H.

I went to bed that night angry, but I woke up guilty. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. What if someone died?

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” I lied to myself. “Maybe she’ll just hit the mailbox on the way out of the driveway.” Or maybe it wouldn’t work at all since I hadn’t talked to the voice.

At school, I noted my spells were already wearing off. More than that, they were reversing. Ash’s welts and Lana’s nose were healed by lunch. Jack showed off his six-pack and said that Yasmin was being discharged that afternoon. I should have been annoyed, but I was just relieved.

When I got home, the book’s voice called out to me, which had never happened before without me opening it.

“You seem in a good mood, Angela. I trust you’re satisfied with the results?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, not trusting myself to say anything more. Every time the voice had offered a lethal revenge surfaced in my mind. The fear I was starting to feel may have been long overdue.

“Good. then we can discuss payment,” the voice said. Payment? The voice hadn’t mentioned anything about that. “Vengeful spells require a vengeful soul. I’ll be taking some of yours.”

“You never told me that!” I cried, backing away from the book.

“I didn’t? I could have sworn I did at some point,” the voice crooned. “Oh, well. Nevertheless. Place your hands on the book and I’ll do the rest. It won’t hurt too much.”

I froze. What would losing a piece of my soul feel like? I didn’t want to find out.

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t,” the voice warned. “You don’t want me to come out of this book and get you.”

I didn’t think, I just grabbed my comforter, wrapped up the book, and threw it out the window. I’d run away. I’d go somewhere no one, not even the voice, would find me. I was about to toss all the magical instruments I’d used out of the window, too; the candles, the bowl, the ouija board. Before I could touch it, the board ignited. Neon pink, red, and orange exploded out of the board in a pillar before twisting in on itself and extinguishing. A few pink embers on the otherwise black wood spelled out I’LL FIND YOU.

I fretted and panicked and catastrophized myself to death for an hour. Then I started packing. I grabbed every book on magic I’d read before finding the book that spoke back. Wiccan, paganism, shamanism, Seiðr, cunning, anything. Then I got candles, incense, crystals, salt, and more. After a second of hesitation, I included the charms to unlock doors and shut off security cameras that the voice had helped me make a few months ago. If I was going to cast a protection circle and fight this, I’d need an open space with no one around.

Hours later, close to midnight, I unlocked the door to the school gymnasium. I made a circle of salt, lit some white candles, and opened a book for more instructions. I didn’t get further than a page before the candles flared pink.

The voice had found me!

I spun around looking for whatever terrifying, inhuman shape the voice took outside of the book. But all I saw was…

“You!” Bernadette shouted. She marched towards me, slamming the door to the cafeteria shut. “I should have known! You little bitch! Do you have any idea what you almost did?!”

I was dumbstruck. “Bernadette?”

“Yeah, it’s Bernadette! And this,” she pointed to a mark on the side of her face. “is the scar you gave Bernadette when you crashed Bernadette’s car!” The candle wicks surged with heat and the wax melted to puddles in an instant. “You know I was at the hospital, right? I was giving Jack and Yasmin a ride home after what you did to her. My little brothers were in the backseat. People could’ve died if I hadn’t cast protection spells.”

I could barely form a sentence. “You’re a witch?”

“Yeah, a real one, not some wannabe Hot Topic ho like you,” she scoffed, casting a withering look at my magical supplies. She nudged a book on chaos magic with her toe. “Makes sense, I guess. Those hexes were powerful but not woven very tight. And no wonder, you’re using like fifty deities. I’m surprised they worked at all.” She snorted a laugh as she crushed an amethyst under her heel. “Let me guess, my call-out spell reached a Magic 8-ball or something? Ametuer.”

I just stared at her. Bernadette Bliss, the prissy perfect prom queen, was talking about magic like she was critiquing a second-grader’s potato clock project. Then she turned a set of glowing, furious eyes to me and I remembered the danger I was in.

“But I guess you need as much help as you can get.”

“Bernadette, wait,” I said, backing away to the door outside. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“Well, someone’s about to,” she snarled. The back of my neck prickled as heat began to rise off of the metal doors. They wouldn't be safe to use.

“Ash warned me about this, you know? He said you like to pretend that you’re the plucky, misunderstood underdog when really you’re the biggest bully around.” Did I hear her right? “Don't give me that look! You think we can’t all hear you ragging on everyone? You think we don’t know who posted all that shit on Mercy’s account last year or started that rumor about Finn? And oh yeah, the vengeance curses? What is your damn problem?”

“You stole my friend!” I shouted back, forgetting for a second that I probably shouldn’t do that. “You have everything in your life handed to you, including magic apparently, and you took Ash from me anyway!”

For a second, Bernadette didn’t say anything. Then she whispered, “Stole” and “handed to” under her breath like she didn’t understand those words. Then she glared and the temperature skyrocketed.

“Let. Me. Tell. You. Something, Angela Krossnic,” she hissed between her teeth as the air shimmered.

I didn’t wait to hear what she had to say; I bolted past her through the doors connected the gym to the cafeteria. The lights flickered and the PA squealed as I ran. I tried to keep as many upright tables and stacked chairs in between me and the gym as possible. Then Berandette’s voice sounded through the speakers.

“Unlike you, Angela, I can’t just pray to my moon mother magic goddess or whatever when I want something and I can’t just sit around bitching out everyone either! I had to practice for years before I could levitate so much as a chair!”

Electricity crackled from the speakers into the room, bringing the smell of ozone and burnt copper just as I gained on the door to the hallway. The room filled with neon pink, red, and orange heat as a stack of chairs next to me exploded. I cleared the doorway just in time to avoid a burning table smashing into the floor. I turned and saw a burning hurricane of chairs and tables. If I had been just a little slower…

I sprinted for the nearest door, but Bernadette wasn’t done.

“I spend hours every day studying!” she ranted through the speakers. “Training! Practicing! Doing drills! You think that shit comes easy?!”

The GO FLYTRAPS!!! banner hanging above the exit ignites, allowing something glowing red to emerge from the wall behind it and flow down. Vines. Thick, strong vines ending in wide, flat heads. They stopped in front of the door, blocking the way out, and drooled hot pink napalm from between their footlong teeth. I turned a corner and kept running before they could lunge.

“I have watched EVERY damn Marvel movie and played as EVERY damn Overwatch character so that Ahti and I have something to talk about! It’s called effort, Angela!”

Lights exploded and linoleum sizzled with every syllable. A blaze emerged at every exit. The mortar between cinder blocks glowed orange and started to dissolve. I couldn’t escape her. I tried doors frantically and barged through the first one that wasn’t locked: the principal’s office.

I cowered behind Principal Fuentes’s desk, begging for it to stop and knowing it wouldn’t. I was going to die. The PA rant ceased with a burning drone and the speakers got fire, but I still heard her voice.

“Ash left you for a reason,” she said, just outside the door. “You’re pissy and exhausting and more interested in blaming me than in buying some zit cream and improving your life.” Pink fire glowed from underneath the door. “Well, now you won’t have a life to improve, so that fits perfectly.”

I closed my eyes and waited for the final explosion. But the burst of fire that came was followed by several more. And screaming. Bernadette shouted and cursed, but not at me. The explosions moved away from the door, but I could see, even from my vantage point, that not all the fire was pink, red, or orange. Some of it was black.

Then came the final, ear-splitting scream from Bernadette. After that, everything went quiet for several minutes.

I chanced a look out of the room and saw melted linoleum, crumbled walls, and large but normally colored conflagrations. But no Bernadette.

I had just enough presence of mind to retrieve my stuff from the gym so the damage couldn’t be blamed on me. But I knew it was my fault. The voice wanted a soul filled with vengeance. I gave it a reason to leave the book and find it and I gave Bernadette a reason to feed it. I hadn’t meant to, but I had gotten my revenge on Bernadette Bliss.

For obvious reasons, school was canceled the next day. I stoked the fire pit once my parents left for work, eager to get rid of every bit of magic in the house. I didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. The book was first. I tossed it into the flames the second they looked hot enough.

“Good riddance,” I hissed to it as the fire ate at the pages. I’d been afraid that it would try to resist in some way, but the leather, paper, and skin burned like anything else.

Until it didn’t.

The fire rose up, neon pink and fetid black flames battling for supremacy. Scorched pages fluttered out as the two colors tried to smother or displace each other. I don’t think either won before the fire went back to normal a minute later, but I could tell the fight wasn’t over. A scrap of paper drifted in front of me and I caught it instinctively.

Coming back, it said.

I read some more scraps littered around the patio. Find you. Kill you. Can’t stop me. Payment. Revenge.

I gathered up my books and ingredients and brought them back to my room. I may not want magic but I’ll need to survive what’s coming. Because Bernadette Bliss is still alive and still fighting the voice. If she escapes, I’ll have a vengeful witch and a debt-collecting demon breathing down my neck.

I started studying. This was a test I couldn’t afford to fail.

#short story #witch #demon #got_the_idea_from_that_song_Girl_Next_Door

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purplesurveys · 2 years

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1490

Do you have a bad reputation? I dunno. It would depend on who you ask.

Have you ever gone through a bad breakup? Yes, though I’d say it was largely bad on my end. I nearly self-destructed to death, while on the other side of things I watched that ex looking happier and freer than ever after driving me out, as if we weren’t best friends in the last decade, and in a relationship for more than half of that decade. That was the lowest, and the littlest I’ve ever felt. But everything’s good now! I’m back to being grudge-y, which has always been the main course of action for me anyway lmfao. Forgiveness isn’t in my vocabulary.

Do you believe in Jesus? Nope. I think I’ve always innately doubted him and the entire concept of Christianity because religion class always confused me. I didn’t know what it was for, and I didn’t understand why I should do nice things because a man got nailed to a cross. Anyway, I decided on my own to let go when I was like 10 and have been atheist since.

Has anyone ever used a cheesy pickup line on you? Uh probably, most likely in my previous relationship.

Are you hard of hearing? I struggle to a certain extent. Like I hate getting on calls because signal is always unpredictable and I get anxious about the possibility of going “What was that?” 100 times.

Would you ever want a statue made of you? Please never do this for me.

What's the name of your best friend? Angela is the name of one. Andi is the other.

When did you last go for a run? I don’t run, but the last lengthy walk I did was last Thursday when I walked from Rockwell to Poblacion. I did NOT expect to walk that day and thought we were gonna get to our destination by car – ended up with bleeding blisters all over both feet because I wore the most walk-unfriendly shoes lol. Luckily both Kata and Bea both had band-aids and helped me and my feet out.

What is something that gives you good vibes? Being in a bar with just the right lighting, ambience, music, and drinks.

How many bones have you broken in your life? I’ve never broken anything, fortunately. I’ve only had sprains, and for both instances it took place in the same spot - my left foot.

What did you last search for? I looked up the Tumblr of my favorite fanfic author to check if she’s posted any new Tae-focused stories. She hasn’t, but I might start the ongoing series she has which revolves around Jungkook lol. What color are your lampshades? It has a white cover and a brown base.

Where are you currently? In my room, at my workspace.

Has anyone ever called you dumb? Yes.

Do you have any cats? Nope.

What were you doing last time 3am came around? I was already asleep by then last night. I might stay up that late tonight though considering it’s already nearly 1 AM.

What's your favorite love song? Hmm. I don’t listen to a lot of romantic songs, but I’d say Yellow by Coldplay is an exceptional classic.

What all did you do last night? It had been my first unbusy Friday in a month and was ecstatic as all fuck about it, so I stopped work at 6, made my associate stop work at 6, didn’t make any plans to go out with anyone, and stayed cooped up in my room while I passed level after level on In The Seom, hahahaha.

What last let you down? Redditor Armys being less than enthusiastic about More when I went through the r/Bangtan subreddit this afternoon.

How many lights do you have on? I don’t have any right now. Normally my night lamp would be turned on, but I don’t feel like illuminating my little survey space at the world at the moment.

Have you ever had vertigo? Eh, I wouldn’t say so. Has your house ever been robbed? No.

Are you currently tired? I should definitely start turning in now but it’s already the latter part of the weekend and I want to hold out and stay awake for as long as I can.

When did you last get a haircut? Nearly a year ago.

Do you ever use the slang "sheesh"? I do.

Have you done a breathing exercise recently? No. Those have never worked for me.

What food/drink did you last waste? The savory crepe and hot chocolate I had earlier at a restaurant. I didn’t get to finish them.

Have you ever had collard greens? Idk how that translates to Filipino but I’ve probably had them since we do put tons of veggies in our dishes. I’m sure I’ve encountered it at some point.

Do you or would you ever live on a coast? No, and I honestly wouldn’t. I prefer to be in the city.

Are you a cry baby? There are scenarios and thoughts that make me tear up easily than others, but I wouldn’t call myself a crybaby. I’ve definitely learned to harden up in the last year.

If you have a partner, do you have a song? I don’t have a partner. Have you ever dug a hole? What for? Only in the sand, at beaches. I’ve never really had a reason other than wanting to see how deep I can go.

Do you spend too much time in your room? I do, only because I work from home and my room is the quietest area I can be productive in. I certainly wouldn’t stay cooped up here for days on end if I didn’t have such a setup.

Have you ever fainted? What from? Yeah it used to be a semi-regular occurrence especially when I was younger. I was horrible at staying hydrated back then.

What is something that is "just like heaven" to you? Late night drives. My favorite thing.

Who is someone you know who is gorgeous? A schoolmate of mine. She’s an influencer now and I totally get it, she’s super pretty.

Do you know a Chelsea? Several people. It’s a fairly common name where I’m from.

Would you rather kill or be killed? That’s an awful question.

What's a good habit you have? Setting up a to-do list every single day. It’s really helped me meet my goals more efficiently and easily, and it’s kept my accounts moving at a steady pace.

Would you rather have 12 fingers or 12 toes? Toes, because I barely show them off anyway unless I’m home.

What's the sweetest, best pie you've ever had? Oooooooh this is tricky; I’ve never been a sweet pie person. My alma mater does have a signature tart recipe that I’ve always loved, if that counts? It’s pie crust slices with guava jam/jelly spread on top, and it’s always held a big tart-shaped place in my heart.

What did you last try to do? Applying for this new job. I’m a couple steps in the door at this point, but it’s been frustrating so far because part of the process was a timed exam wherein I had to craft an entire deck for them in an hour. I took it last Friday and it was stressful and that entire time I was just thinking if such a test was necessary.

Have you broken anyone's heart? Yep.

Do you have brown eyes? Really dark ones, yes.

Are you currently barefoot? Yes.

#survey #surveys

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hummingzone · 3 years

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How stranger’s kind words turned tide on Covid anger

Like so many, Angela Mollard has been angry about the latest Covid lockdown and extremely sad because her cat had to be put down. But a barista’s kind words helped shift her mood. I was ordering a takeaway coffee. “How are you?” he said. And then I looked at him properly, the young man taking my order, and noticed his soft brown eyes above his mask. “I’m OK except tomorrow we have to have our…

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rikebe · 7 years

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here’s some dank pics I took at Gamescom! I had a lot of fun and against all odds my costume actually held together :D

A loooot of people asked for pics which was really cool! The other Mercy in the last pic is another cosplayer I met randomly near the Blizzard stage, and we stayed there for about half an hour because people kept asking for pics with the both of us :’D They probably thought we were paid to be there because we stood in front of a big Overwatch wall. She let me hold her gun!! It was great

#ow cosplay #mercy cosplay #overwatch cosplay #mercy #ow mercy #angela ziegler #gamescom #gamescom 2017 #sorry for how uglie my smile is sdhfskjdfh #i'm going back to nursing my horrible blisters now because those boots fucked up my feet #brows cosplay extravaganza #also i asked the other mercy if it's cool to post the pic of both of us!

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

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Soulmate Shenanigans

So, lucky me, I found this list of prompts!

Unlucky me, it was for a September event. Surprise, surprise, this is not September

That isn’t going to stop me from doing this, though!

So, without further ado, prompt number one!

Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm

Warnings for death mentions galore and drowning, as well as something that isn’t drug use, but if drug use is a triggering topic for you I wouldn’t recommend you read

Not as angsty as these warnings would suggest, but there is still Angst

I don’t know how it got angsty I just work here

World building

The first recorded instance of a palm mark was when Lady Natalia of Venice nearly drowned in a canal

She’d been on her way home from a party alongside her fiance when she “tripped” (the word “tripped” here means “Was pushed by her fiance for financial reasons”) into the river. Her husband-to-be quickly exited the scene, leaving her to be weighed down by her skirts and die.

Angela (forger of swords and mixer of poisons, just happened to be in the neighborhood when she heard a scream and a splash) had other plans. She dove into the water, saving Natalia and cutting her hand in the process.

The two women spent a good deal of time together after that, the scientific Natalia claiming that she only wanted to know why her name was on Angela’s hand.

Some historians claim that the two were platonic soulmates. While this is possible, and platonic soulmates have a long and wonderful history, no one with common sense believes this to be the case

They exchanged love letters that were quite clear that the attraction was a romantic one.

Some historians also claim that there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that they killed the fiance.

Those historians are wrong.

Anyway, in modern days 97% of the population has a palm mark with the name of their soulmate

The tattoo industry has never had so many illegal opportunities

When your soulmate dies, the name doesn’t scar. It doesn’t blister, burn, or black out. All that happens is a thin, impersonal line crossing their name out. Some people don’t notice who they lost for days.

There’s a process to remove palm marks. However, it’s illegal and possibly fatal for the soulmate being removed.

Our Characters

Roman: Roman was confused by the name of his soulmate.

Who names their kid “Janus”?

Am I soulmates with a roman deity? The heck?? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO LITTLE ANSWERS

Roman was so excited to have a soulmate. He kept entire journals filled with things he wanted to tell Janus, part diary, part scrapbook, and part love letter. He would doodle hearts around his palm mark.

One night, in April, Roman went to sleep. In the morning, there was a line across his palm.

His soulmate had died, and he hadn’t even seen the line drawn. He broke a little.

Enough said.

Roman took the passion that he’d had for his Janus and channeled it into his acting. If he couldn’t get love, he’d get a fucking Tony Award.

Remus: Remus had been annoyed by his brother’s complaining.

“Oh, boo-hoo, my soulmate has a rare name. That means that as soon as I meet him, I’ll know exactly who he is! Roman, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE NAMED LOGAN”

Remus was annoyed that his soulmate had the audacity to have a common name. In theory, he could date all of the 18,000 Logans in the country, but does he really have the time?

He and his brother bicker about this for a solid seven years, until the argument abruptly ends. Ever since then, he’s been on his brother’s side in everything he can.

Logan: It made total sense for Logan to not have a soulmate.

His soulmate would have been unlucky, being stuck with a know-it-all like him, at least according to most of the people he knew.

This was a simple solution to the puzzle.

It wasn’t helpful to waste time wishing for a different one.

Janus: Janus had a whole plan for when he met his soulmate.

He wrote it down in 10th grade

Step 1: Wear gloves

Step 2: Find Roman

Step 3: Say something witty

Step 4: Remove gloves, revealing palm

Step 5: This little mystery is over and done with, and hopefully my soulmate isn’t boring

This was how a lot of Janus’s plans would work. Solid ideas, but missing bits and important pieces. This includes his heist plan he scribbled out on a napkin on an April day.

Step 1: Find local con-artists

Step 2: Pretend to be a person with money (which I obviously do not have)

Step 3: Scam them

Step 4: Don’t get murdered on the way out

Step 5: Profit

He pulled off steps 1-3 with ease, but step 4 proved to be a sticking point.

As he escaped via the river, with money in his hands and a “so long, suckers!” on his lips for drama, he thought nothing could go wrong

Fun fact: It’s rather common for con artists to fatally give away their positions by yelling “so long, suckers!”. Just ask Odysseus as he sailed away from the Cyclops.

The con artists shot wildly at his boat, blowing it to pieces. As he went down with the ship, he barely had enough time to think this can’t be happening, and fuck this and I’m going to die at the same age as Philip fucking Hamilton and I really don’t want to go to hell before his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped.

And Janus died.

For a solid two minutes.

Technically, death is when your heart ceases to beat. Even though people have been revived after their hearts have stopped, it is death, and enough to draw a line across a sleeping Roman’s hand.

Janus, however, was saved by an old man, who dragged him out of the river and forced the water out of his lungs. The old man took one look at the teenager and decided that he needed better role models, which is how Patton took Janus under his wing and saved his life in more ways than one.

The Actual Plot

Roman is in a city production of Hamlet. His brother is in the audience, his friend is fixing the lighting, and he’s ready to go.

It’s a pretty good performance, by all accounts, but especially according to Janus.

He’d already been watching the main actor intently, smiling from the mezzanine, but he was even more intrigued when he read the playbill and realized his name was Roman. He could barely pay attention to act five as he planned out the lies he’d tell to get backstage.

Somehow, he didn’t get caught sneaking around, and managed to catch a glimpse of Roman’s hand in a mirror. Janus. He really is his soulmate!

Janus walks over to Roman, says something that isn’t as witty as he would have liked (but not as bad as it could have been), and removes his glove.

Now, he expected his soulmate could have a variety of reactions. He didn’t expect Roman to yell “Not today, ghost!”, throw a prop skull at him, and sprint out of the theater. Janus caught a glimpse of the line through his name.

He was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dead? He could see his reflection in mirrors, he could consume salt, people tended to notice his existence!

Jan didn’t have much time to mull over this, as he was about to be forcibly removed from the greenroom. Logan just wanted to fix the lighting and live his life, but when strangers break into the backstage and upset Roman...

Jan skedaddles as Logan chases him out of the building. The nerd has almost caught the intruder when he runs directly into a man in a green jacket holding a coffee cup full of ketchup

Why did he have a coffee cup full of ketchup?

Remus and Logan bicker as Janus escapes. When Remus realizes Logan’s name, he asks a few questions, but Logan quickly shows his two blank palms, and the matter is settled.

Everything seems over and done with.

Meanwhile, Roman is freaking out. His mind is essentially in a loop of The fuck? The fuck? The actual fuck? He’s completely unsure of what to do. Is he seeing ghosts? Does he only believe he’s seeing ghosts? Is he sane or not?

Remus checks up on his brother at around 3 am, only to find him, exhausted, and writing in his old soulmate journal. Roman tries to explain what just happened, but the narrative told isn’t exactly coherent. All Remus can gather is that

1. His brother thinks that his dead soulmate is alive

2. This is because some guy snuck backstage and told him that he was the dead soulmate in question

3. This was probably the guy Logan was chasing

Remus convinced Roman to go to sleep, and walked out of the apartment with blood on his mind. He was sure that his brother was being manipulated.

This guy might not be dead now, but he would be soon.

Meanwhile, Janus proves that he can, in fact, cross a salt circle, so he must be alive! Right?? He also can’t get a certain actor out of his head, and wonders what his next move should be.

Remus recruits Logan to help him do some investigation in case Shady Liar Dude shows up. They go on several stakeouts together, in equally improbable locations. Maybe the two of them got too far into the secret agent aesthetic. Logan had always wanted to be a detective as a kid.

They fall for each other, and fast

Roman is spiraling, and a chat with Remus has him convinced that he was wrong, and Janus really is dead. He curses himself for believing in the pretty fairy-tale. Yes, because love wins in the end and they all live happily ever after. He has a performance tomorrow.

And it’s really time he got rid of the old scar.

You don’t hang around Remus without knowing where the black market locations are. It’s relatively easy to find the cure for palm marks.

He paces around backstage, holding a journal in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The warning that destroying the palm mark destroys the soulmate causes terror to rise in his throat, even though he knows that Janus is dead and can never read his love letters no matter how many stars he wishes on.

He finally makes his choice when Remus and Logan visit him before the performance. They give him looks of pity. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

According to the label, effects should take place over the next several hours. So, he waits for Janus’s name to disappear from his hand.

Janus managed to hustle someone with orchestra seats for their tickets. Despite not getting off on the right foot with his soulmate, he isn’t going to let him go that easily. And Roman’s brilliant performance that night just reinforces that. If he was good weeks ago, he was a star now. Janus was transfixed.

When the curtain call came, Janus was the first on his feet for a standing ovation. Remus and Logan noticed him, and pushed their way through the applauding audience. Both of them almost hoped that he’d get away again so they could continue spending time together.

Roman notices him. They lock eyes. Janus waves as though to say Hi, I’m here, apologies for the awkwardness of our meet-cute, but coffee? Roman gives him a look of disdain, as if to say I can’t believe I thought you were my soulmate, you con artist. He intends to look away and bask in the applause, but before he can do that, Janus collapeses.

Roman is confused at first, and then it clicks. That’s his soulmate. That’s his Janus.

And he killed him.

Pandemonium breaks out. Roman leaps off the stage, Remus freezes in panicked comprehension, the crowd scatters, and several people try to reach the dying man.

Logan gets there first. His mind scans memories of hours spent in libraries, researching everything there is to know about palm marks. Why didn’t some people have them? How did you lose them? How could you get them back?

He instructs Remus and Roman to help carry Janus to the greenroom.

They race him there, everyone in a state of panic (including Logan, but more importantly he has a job to do). Logan tells Remus to run and get a few basic ingredients, and they wait. Time moves much too fast and much too slow, until he comes back.

Logan works chemical wonders, piecing together Roman’s hand until everything is stabilized.

A vicious scar, the type you’d except if your soulmate was really gone, forms on Roman’s palm, and it will stay there for the rest of his days.

Janus comes back from death’s door for the second time.

After The Drama

Logan and Remus eventually move past the “but I don’t have a soulmate” “and yet I still am in love with you” dithering and go on a date that isn’t for the purpose of stalking a supposed stalker.

They go to the aquarium.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot to work out between Roman and Janus. From “wow, you’re not dead” to “wow, I nearly murdered you”, we don’t have time to unpack all that.

But they do get coffee. And they talk.

Soulmate stuff! I really like soulmate aus, despite not liking to write straight up romance

It’s weird

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

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jjoutermaybanks · 4 years

Text

With You In My Head || Rafe Cameron x Reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight

summary: it’s going to be a long summer. living in the Outer Banks with your trailer park mom and fancy mansion dad, you know it’s going to be a tough three months. things only get harder when your best friend’s brother, the notorious Rafe Cameron, begins to complicate your life even more. but will the island’s biggest wildcard successfully steal your heart, or leave you more broken than before?

an: I know Rafe isn’t the best character in OBX, and this fic will definitely feature a different version of him. I just loved Drew’s performance so much and thought that Rafe had interesting potential, so this is my portrayal of him in a different (less psychotic) way.

word count: 3k

warnings: none yet

(but can we talk about this gif I mean dear lord this should have its own warning)

*not my gif, credit to owner*

PART ONE

It had to be one of the hottest days of the year. The sun had been glaring down on your back for hours now, and if it wasn’t for the laborious application of sunscreen you were sure you would’ve been burnt to a crisp. Not even the sunglasses over your eyes could shield the bright sun streaming onto the beach, and the blue ocean water glittered like diamonds under the rays. The warm, wet sand you strolled across was a welcome relief from the blistering pathway to get onto the beach, and as the waves lapped at your ankles you let out a contented sigh.

You and Sarah Cameron, your best friend, had been at the beach all day. Alternating between tanning, swimming, and walking, it had been the most relaxing day you could remember. Conversation with Sarah was easy, and observing the other beach-goers was just as entertaining. You could almost feel the stress leave your shoulders and seep into the sand at your feet, washing away with the water. It was about time; you deserved a little rest and relaxation after such a stressful move.

“So you’re sure you don’t want to live with your dad?” Sarah asked. “He lives so much closer to me, you know.” You smiled at her attempt to sway you, but nothing she could’ve said would change your mind. Recently, the messy divorce of your parents had left a sour taste in your mouth when it came to your dad. He’d been particularly brutal to your poor mother, so the idea of joining him in his fancy Figure 8 mansion was not something you felt like doing.

Shrugging, you answered, “I want to keep my mom company, you know? And I don’t mind the trailer--it’s cozy.” While your dad owned a huge house with a waterfront view, your mother lived in a cramped trailer in The Cut. You knew it meant a lot to her that you tried to make the place home.

Sarah frowned. “Cozy, right. Because walking two feet from the bathroom to the kitchen is “cozy.” You sighed; Sarah would never understand. Even though she was one of the nicest, most sincere people you’d ever met, she was a Kook after all. She had never known anything other than her giant house, so naturally she looked down upon your trailer. It didn’t really matter to you, though. Sarah helped you in so many other ways, you let this one area slide.

As you walked, you noticed some dark-haired guy watching you both. He got to his feet and jogged over, eyes glued on Sarah beside you. Raising your brows, you held your breath in anticipation for what this would turn into.

“Hey,” the guy said, trying too hard to be smooth.

Sarah’s smile was fake as she said, “Hey!” You couldn’t help but chuckle; this happened a fair amount when you were with her. Something about Sarah was mysteriously alluring, and it was like a magnet to desperate guys everywhere. You were never jealous, because half the time the guys were pretty gross. This one was borderline cringey, and you saw how hard he was trying to flex his entire body.

“Tired of walking? We’ve got cold beer and a volleyball net.” The guy put his hands on his hips, probably to accentuate his “abs”, but in reality he just looked stupid.

Snickering, you watched Sarah’s smile pinch tighter. “Gee, what a tempting offer,” she told him, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “Gonna have to pass, sorry.” Hooking an arm around my shoulder, we scurried away from the guy and giggled into our palms, glancing back a few times to see his mortified expression.

“God, what is it about you that turns men into meatheads?” you wondered aloud. Sarah nudged you, rolling her eyes.

“It’s nothing, just guys being horndogs.”

“They’re never like that with me,” you pointed out, and she sighed.

“Come on, Y/N, you’re gorgeous. You get your own fair share of horndogs, trust me. Besides, being approached like that gets really old really quick.” You shrugged, deciding to agree with her. You certainly didn’t consider yourself unattractive, but you’d never been the girl everyone paid attention to.

You and Sarah walked about a half mile more, approaching your bags and towels up on the sand. Three guys stood by your things, shoulders squared and smirks wide as they seemed to judge everything that moved. The boy on the left was looking at Sarah like she’d skinned his puppy, so you guessed that one was Topper. Sarah had told you how ugly their relationship had ended, and that Topper had yet to move on. Clearly he was just as angry today.

Sarah groaned, storming over to her bag and snatching it out of the tallest boy’s hands. “Rafe,” she snapped, and you recognized her brother’s name. Rafe Cameron was rarely home when you were over at Sarah’s house, and when he was he was shut away in his room. Seeing him up close, you noticed his sun-bleached brown hair and easy posture, the way his tan skin stretched over lean muscles. His smirk was what put you off, though; it was twisted and arrogant, even more so than the two guys next to him. He also had a cigarette balanced in his hand, the smoke curling around you as you wrinkled your nose. Who smoked these days?

“Sarah,” he answered formally, giving a little bow. “Who’s your friend?” His blue eyes slid over your body, taking in your bathing suit and tanned skin. You felt self-conscious under his gaze and cleared your throat, pushing your hair over your shoulder. Rafe took a drag of the cigarette while he watched you squirm.

“I’m Y/N,” you said just as Sarah said, “What’s it to you, Rafe?” Blushing, you bit your lip while Sarah raised a hand to tell you she had this. “You’re not going to antagonize another one of my friends, got it? Y/N doesn’t need to deal with your bullshit.”

Rafe pretended to be offended, putting a hand against his chest. “Excuse me? Antagonize? To whom are you referring, sister?” The two guys beside him snickered, and you felt a frown come to your lips.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t make me remind you, idiot. You played around with Angela for the entire summer last year. By the time she left I knew she’d need years of therapy just to get over you.”

Topper clapped Rafe on the back, and he handed him the small butt of the cigarette to discard. “Alright, fine,” he conceded, eyes drifting over to me. “I won’t antagonize Y/N.” When he said your name, shivers ran down your spine, only you couldn’t decide if they were good or bad.

Sarah put a protective arm around you, her glare menacing. “Get out of here, will you? We just want to enjoy the beach in peace.”

Rafe shrugged, signaling for his friends to follow. Topper sent a final nasty look Sarah’s way, but she only snorted. Topper’s moodiness no longer affected her, and she was in a much happier relationship with a guy from The Cut named John B. You liked John B.; not only did he make Sarah happier than you’d ever seen her, he was also a decent guy. He tried to make you feel included when you third-wheeled with the two of them, and you appreciated his kindness.

After about an hour more of laying around in the sun, you and Sarah called it quits. She offered to give you a ride home, but you declined. Walking cleared your head, and besides you knew it would make your mom feel bad to see a fancy Kook car pulling up to her less-than-fancy trailer.

Wandering through town, you sighed contentedly again. Even with all of your family drama, you couldn’t help but love the Outer Banks. Everyone was so easy-going and carefree, and you knew this was the energy you needed.

Making your way through The Cut, you felt at home among the thick trees and various trailers. It wasn’t nearly as nice as where Sarah and your dad lived, but you loved this area too. It was a close-knit community that had welcomed you and your mom with open arms, and for that you were grateful.

You passed by a familiar house, and looked over to see a familiar figure waving from the porch. “Y/N!” he called out, and you broke into a grin. JJ Maybank was one of the first people you’d met here, and he quickly became your favorite neighbor. Funny, charismatic, and incredibly loyal, JJ never failed to boost your spirits.

“What’s up, Maybank?” you greeted when he joined you.

“You look sun-kissed and happy. Beach day I assume?” Judging by his boots and sweaty shirt, you guessed JJ had been working on something. Maybe the mechanics of his boat or cutting the lawn. JJ was always up to some sort of antics, and you knew it was better not to ask too many questions.

“Oh yeah, spent the whole day fending off Sarah’s many many suitors,” you joked. JJ was no stranger to the effect that she had on guys, and it made his best friend John B. more than a little paranoid.

“Nah, Sarah’d never go for those schmucks,” JJ insisted. “The way she hangs over John B., I know he’s the only man for her.” He batted his eyelashes and swooned, making you laugh.

“You’re definitely right about that. Hey listen, I’ve gotta run but I’ll see you later.” JJ saluted and headed back towards his house, and you continued the walk home.

Reaching the trailer, you pushed through the front door and closed it quietly, dropping your bag. Your mother sat on the couch in the living room, which also doubled as her bedroom since it was a pull-out bed. She was attempting to flip through the channels of an ancient TV, but judging by the static on the screen it was unsuccessful.

“Hey, mom,” you greeted with a soft smile, plopping down beside her on the sofa. She sighed and switched off the TV, giving up on trying to watch something.

“How was your day?” she asked distractedly, and your heart sank. She definitely has something on her mind.

“Great,” you said a little too enthusiastically, trying to get rid of the deep frown on her face. “Sarah and I must have walked the entire coastline.”

Your mom just nodded, not really listening. “Look, sweetie, your dad called.”

Immediately you tensed. Your dad never called unless something was wrong or he wanted something. “Yeah?” you said slowly, dreading her explanation.

“I think you should go see him.” Your mother’s smile was bleak and unconvincing. “He just...he asked how you were doing and mentioned that he rarely sees you anymore.”

“I see him,” you defended, scowling. “Just...not frequently.” Things with your dad were incredibly awkward, and you were still bitter about how he handled the divorce.

Sighing, your mother continued, “He’s your father, Y/N. I think it’d do you both good to spend more time together.” You knew she felt guilty more than anything. It was like you’d picked her side in the divorce, which from the outside looked like the case. You didn’t understand how she could feel bad for a man that treated her so badly.

“Mom, I really don’t think--”

“For me,” she interrupted, and you sighed. You couldn’t argue with her now; you loved your mother too much to disobey her. Groaning at the thought of joining your dad for an entire evening, you trudged into the small bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

You made sure to take your time getting ready, taking a long shower and sitting in front of your closet for almost an hour. Finally when you couldn’t stall any longer, you checked yourself in the mirror before saying goodbye to your mom, willing time to go as fast as possible tonight.

The house your dad lived in was just as astonishing as ever. You would never get used to the sheer size of it, the number of windows and extra rooms. Swallowing roughly, you paced the driveway for a minute, trying to settle your racing heart rate.

Get it together, Y/N, you scolded yourself, scowling at the pavement. He’s just your dad. Truthfully, however, he hadn’t felt like your dad in a long time. To you he was just a stranger who’d obliterated your life and collected the winnings, flaunting his success in the form of this god-awful mansion.

Inhaling deeply, you forced yourself to ring the door. The chimes echoed in your head as you held your breath, almost praying the door didn’t open.

But it did, revealing your father. Clad in an over-priced button down and with carefully sculpted facial hair, you barely recognized him. He had morphed himself into just another Figure 8 phony, and when he went to kiss your cheek his new beard scratched her skin and made you wince.

“How are you, baby?” he asked as you stepped inside, breathing in the cold air of his house. It was like a museum with carefully curated furniture and knickknacks. Your smile was more of a grimace, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

“I’m good,” came your stiff answer. It was too cold in the house, and goosebumps raised on your skin. Your father led you into the kitchen where you saw Sarah’s dad leaning against the counter, wine glass in hand.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms for a hug. You gave an uncomfortable greeting after embracing him, already regretting your agreement to come here. Sarah’s dad, Ward, had always scared you. He was a very intense man that you were terrified to cross, and knowing he was friends with your dad only made you dislike your father more. But the Cameron’s lived very close to here, so you had a feeling Ward would be over a lot.

“Now I know you and Sarah were together all day, but do you have any idea where that girl is now?” His tone was upbeat and his eyes were empty. You resisted the urge to clench your fists, and instead forced a grin.

“Probably with John B. I think she said something about eating dinner with him.” You knew Sarah was hardly ever home, bouncing between hanging out with you and her boyfriend. She couldn’t stand her father any more than you could stand your own.

Ward nodded knowingly, his smile tightening. “Ah, of course.” You knew he disapproved of John B. just by the way he said his name with such disdain. Topper had been like a second son to him, and for Sarah to leave him in the dust must have angered Ward.

You turned your attention back to your dad, who poured himself and Ward another glass of wine. “Want some, sweetie?” he asked you with a chuckle, probably proud of himself for being cool enough to offer alcohol to his daughter.

Fighting off an eye roll, you shook your head politely. “No, thanks.” It was bad enough your dad and Ward were borderline drunk; the thought of being tipsy with them made you want to throw up.

“Let me tell you, you look great,” he continued, waving his glass at you. “Doesn’t she look great? A lot like your mother, actually. And well, it makes sense I guess since your mother used to look great too.” His words were slightly slurred, and you braced yourself at the mention of your mother. You were standing awkwardly away from the kitchen island, but didn’t want to step any closer to Ward and your father. So you just stood in the middle of the floor, looking at anything but his face.

Ward nodded. “Yes, Sarah and Y/N are growing into fine young women. It’s a reflection of good parenting, you know,” he joked, making your dad laugh. The sound set your teeth on edge.

“I only wish Sarah wasn’t so distracted,” Ward critiqued, taking a long swig of wine. His eyes took on that distant, scary quality they sometimes had that chilled you to the bone. “It’s that John B., I’m telling you. He’s got her priorities all twisted.”

Oblivious to Ward’s malice, your father chuckled. “My Y/N isn’t distracted in the slightest. She’s right on track for a bright, bright future.” He lifted his glass in a toast, but Ward just frowned.

Your skin was getting hot as your discomfort grew. Hearing your father brag about you was infuriating. He had nothing to do with how good of a daughter you were; that was all your mom. You took after her work ethic and self-discipline, and all you got from your father was a few genes and a lot of stress.

“So what have you been up to lately besides parading around the beach with Sarah?” your father questioned, sipping his wine.

“Not much,” you responded plainly. “Just...enjoying summer, I guess.” You didn’t owe your father any more details than that; if he wanted to know you, he’d have to make an actual effort and change for the better. Right now, he wasn’t somebody you wanted to know.

He nodded, eyes misting over as if remembering something. “Summer’s always been your favorite time of year. I remember when you were little you refused to wear any clothes that weren’t bright yellow, because you said you wanted to look like the sun.”

The memory seared into your mind, bringing with it pain and remorse that you’d spent so long pushing down. Ward just chuckled at this.

“Sarah went through a similar phase with pink,” he tried to explain, but your dad wasn’t paying attention to him. He still looked lost in thought.

“You were my little sunshine, Y/N. Still are, even though you’re older. You’ll always be my sunshine.” His smile, rather than warm your heart, only made you sick to your stomach. After a second you realized you actually felt sick. The sound of Ward’s chuckles and your father’s patronizing voice was suffocating you, and you couldn’t breathe. You knew you couldn’t stay here any longer, and the desire for fresh air overtook your brain.

“I-I have to go,” you stuttered, your vision blurry as anxiety began to rattle through your nerves. You could barely make out your father standing up, reaching his hands out to stop you. This only fueled your panic and you desperately wanted to avoid being grabbed by him.

“Where are you going, sunshine?” he called after you, but his voice was distorted and quiet. You ignored him as you pushed out the front door, sprinting as fast and as far away from his as you could manage.

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shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years

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Nisa shares new single ‘St James Gate’

New York City-based artist, Nisa, is sharing her glistening new single, ‘St James Gate’ which arrives alongside the news of a new EP, Time To Plant Tears which is set for release on December 2. The new collection of music arrives as the latest body of work from the artist – full name Nisa Lumaj – following on from her self-released EP, Guilt Trip that arrived earlier this year.

The opening track on the EP and the lead single, ‘St James Gate’ provides a stellar introduction to the new collection. Sonically, it ebbs and flows, building from intimate guitar into a wonderful horn solo that serves to remind us of breaking free from stifled emotions.

When discussing the single, Nisa says: "I wrote ‘St. James Gate’ after reading Sally Rooney’s Normal People and feeling deeply affected by the author’s descriptions of love in private spaces. The raging horn solo and blistering shouts over the final chorus are sobering reminders of the emotional claustrophobia of hiding."

Photo credit: Angela Ricciardi and Silken Weinberg

#nisa #music #st james gate

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thebrighteye · 3 years

Text

Breaking [My Heart]: Act I Capturing

"There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life" - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as "Mercy" - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

There’s no pain that I won’t go through, Even if I have to die for you. - Die for You [Starset]

Angela idly ran her fingers along a familiar storage container as she moved to her closet. It had been a long time since she had opened it to don her Valkyrie suit and carry her Caduceus staff, since she had been Mercy – and she wasn’t changing that today. Instead, she tugged on a mismatched set of scrubs, a pair of boots, and her medical coat. Angela pulled her hair up off her neck into a tight bun before slathering herself with sunscreen. Her pale skin would turn red and blistered if she didn’t take the precaution; she didn’t particularly want to be more miserable than she already was here. With a long-suffering sigh, she left her small apartment and stepped into the heat of the day. She missed Switzerland; it was so hot here in Cairo compared to her cooler homeland. But her comfort didn’t matter – no, what mattered were that people were suffering here. They may scoff and scowl at her, growl that she was not welcome, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that she could help these people, regardless of what they thought, and that was what she would do. Immediately, sweat prickled along her skin, but she ignored it. She pulled out a tablet instead, swiping through the information there to determine how her day would pass. There were many patients to check in on, either to look over their bandages or to provide medication. She had a surgery planned for later in the day – some poor man was losing his arm. All of this assumed that nothing happened to upset the delicate balance. No new attacks – terrorist or gang, it all ended the same for her – or significant accidents that left everything spinning out of control. Not that she would utter one word of complaint; these people deserved the best she could provide after all they had been through. It wasn’t their fault that the world had fallen to pieces. No, that burden fell across her shoulders and all those who had been with Overwatch when it had collapsed. They had done much good, but they had also been the cause for so much horror as well. Now, Winston was trying to resurrect the organization, to pull Overwatch back from the ashes. Her communicator – a relic from her past that she couldn’t seem to let go of – had been blinking when she had returned home two days ago. In a different, better, lifetime, Angela would have carried it with her everywhere she went; now, it was an awkward paperweight on her kitchen counter that she sometimes remembered to pocket on the chance that one of her friends would call. She had been curious – who wouldn’t be? – so she had watched his video message. Once it was over, Angela had sat back with her arms crossed, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Did she want to go back? Her life had been so much different since the fall. All her life’s work had been taken from her by the UN and WHO to be distributed among others after Overwatch had fallen. She had become a pariah where once she had been much sought after for her prowess in both the research labs and operating rooms. Now, she faced scorn everywhere she went. She had been the last defender of Overwatch, after all. Angela had been one of the most visible members of Overwatch – her wings had made that almost a foregone conclusion, even if they weren’t excellent PR material – and thus many recognized her, even outside of her Valkyrie suit. In the aftermath of the fall, Angela had stood in the spotlight to try to appease the masses. Did she want to pick up the pieces and start over again? All she had ever wanted to do was help people. Mostly, she had succeeded at that in Overwatch. Angela had helped minimize – and mitigate – civilian loss, both in the planning and execution phases of strike missions. As often as she was able, she had served on the front lines to help defend not only the agents of Overwatch, but the innocents caught in the middle. She had spearheaded innovative research that was, even now, being expanded upon to better the world. Could she do it all again? She wasn’t sure her heart could survive a second round. It had nearly killed her the first time to bury the victims and support the survivors. Angela didn’t even know where most of her friends were on most days. Genji had gone to Nepal and, as far as she was aware, hadn’t left. Similarly, Winston had holed up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar to safeguard Athena and what files remained of Overwatch. But the rest? Last she had heard, Lena was prowling around England, and Cassidy had racked up an enormous bounty in North America. Reinhardt had convinced Torbjörn’s daughter, Brigitte, to follow him across Europe as he continued to protect the weak. Torbjörn had told her about it a few months ago, grumpy in his worry for the two. Two of her medics, Remington and Daigneau, crossed her path occasionally. They had followed in her footsteps – or steps just like them – and had joined the Doctors Without Borders. Angela wondered which, if any, of them would answer the call Angela wasn’t sure she would. This wasn’t a decision she could make lightly. One would make her a criminal – Overwatch was disbanded and forced into inaction by the PETRAS act. The other would make her – what? A coward? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she didn’t answer, her life would continue as normal. It wasn’t glamorous – quite the opposite, in fact. It was hard and dirty, but she would be helping people. If she answered, her life would change again. And this time, there were no guarantees – Overwatch was rising, starting from nothing to try to safeguard the world once more. Angela wasn’t sure what the right path was – so she left the blinking “Y // N” unanswered.

---

For once, her day went mostly as planned. Usually, some sort of emergency occurred, throwing off her day and putting her timetable into disarray. She thrived in the chaos: hurriedly reprioritizing patients and rushing around, trying to keep everyone alive and comfortable, made it easy to forget the nightmares and the heartbreak that was her life. Not that her day wasn’t busy, even without interruptions or surprises – it just was orderly. She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh, rubbing at her back with a free hand. Maybe she would take a bath tonight and try to force her body into some semblance of relaxation. Angela locked the door before flipping the lights on and striding further into the small space she currently called home – and then froze, eyes widening. It was only her years of combat experience that kept the keys within her suddenly numb fingers. The Reaper was here. He was settled on her only couch, lazily reclined as if this was his home and not hers. His face, hidden by a bone white skull mask, had turned to regard her. Despite his casual pose, his very presence was menacing – and that was before she took in the shotgun on the cushion next to him. She wasn’t fooled; Angela was confident he could have it in his hands and fired before she could reach the door. Her hand dropped to her waist automatically, where her blaster used to sit – but she hadn’t carried the weapon in years. Angela knew that she should have started carrying it again after the cryptic phone call she had received a week ago. It had been a warning of impending danger and that she should leave Cairo to find help before it was too late. The caller had had enough information about her to make her nervous, but she hadn’t been willing to allow it to drive her away. Danger? Ever since she had joined Overwatch, that had been her life. Angela had served as the Medical Director, a powerful position made even stronger by her will and sheer genius; there were very few Overwatch operatives that were more valuable than she was. Then, she had enlisted as a combat medic and protected their strike teams – and she had the scars to prove it. Now, her life wasn’t much different from that of her time in the field; uncomfortable lodgings, dangerous surroundings, long work hours, and generally ungrateful patients that laid the blame for their troubles at her feet. She should have taken precautions when she had stayed. Angela should have called one of her friends – her protectors – about the warning, but she hadn’t wanted to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. She should have carried her weapon, but she had worried that it would bother her patients – and she already had enough trouble with that. She could have even moved to make it a little harder for an enemy to find her, but she barely had time to eat most days. Besides, she had believed that it was probably little more than a prank. Even now, years after the fall, people still grumbled about Overwatch. She’d had her fair share of curses thrown her way, and, in the early days, she had received plenty of prank calls that varied in nature. There was little to make her believe this was more than that. Angela had been safe – from terrorists, anyway – for years; there was no reason to think that had changed. Angela cursed her pride. She had become complacent, thinking she knew best. Now, she would pay the price for her hubris. “Well, well,” the man growled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clawed fingers steepled before him, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come home, Mercy.” Angela grimaced. She hadn’t answered to that name for years; it was a callsign that was as dead as the organization that had coined it. “That is not my name anymore.” Angela corrected automatically; it was a habit so ingrained she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her lips. She kept herself from wincing at the foolish declaration and instead donned an air of cool detachment. Her pride demanded that she keep her fear hidden from him, that she could show no weakness before her obvious predator. And he was a predator. The Reaper was well known for his violence; terrible, mutilated bodies were left in his wake wherever he went. More than one ex-Overwatch member had been his victim. That he would appear here, before Overwatch’s guardian angel – their Mercy – meant she was in his sights now. She wondered what it was he wanted from her – and if she would give it. The doctor was fairly sure that he wasn’t here for her blood. After all, why speak to her if all he wanted was to kill her? “That’s too bad.” He rose, grabbed the shotgun, and aimed it at her in one singular, fluid motion. “It’s Mercy I am looking for.” It had been a long time since she had stared down a barrel of a gun; she had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Angela forced herself to stiffen her spine and raise her chin slightly in defiance. If she were going to die, it would not be cowering. “What do you want from me?” She demanded, somehow managing to keep the words steady. That he hadn’t pulled the trigger meant that he was willing to overlook her verbal misstep earlier. It meant that whatever he wanted was more important than spilling her blood – right now. “Information, of course.” The gun remained trained on her, but Angela forced her eyes to move past it to his body. Hopefully, should he decide to pull the trigger, she would see it telegraphed in his body language and escape. It was a dubious hope, considering his kill sheet, but it was all she had to hold on to now. “I haven’t been active in years,” the doctor deflected. “I could not possibly have any information you need.” Angela knew it was a lie even as the words fell from her lips. She had information that would be valuable to the wrong organizations. Locations of prominent members – such as Genji, who had, for all appearances, fallen off the map – was only the tip of the iceberg. While she had been removed from research by the UN and WHO, she still was one of the greatest medical minds of their time. Under her guidance, medicine had improved by leaps and bounds; it was a pity she no longer could continue such works. They had relegated her to the sidelines, only contacted for advice or ideas. Reaper clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “And here I heard you were a genius.” Nothing could have kept her still when he started stalking across the room towards her. She backed away, keys dropping to the floor, until there was nowhere left to go – and then he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “You expect me to believe that Overwatch is on the rise, and no one told you?” “Overwatch is dead and gone.” The words did not tug at her heart, did not cause any emotional response at all. She had long since come to terms with the closure of that chapter of her life. Angela would not acknowledge the call that had been put out, would not confirm or deny that Overwatch was trying to reform. While she had not decided if she would return, she would not risk the safety of those who answered. “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Resolution filled her. This man, monster, wanted information on her friends; she would not – could not – give it to him. Even if it killed her, she would protect them. They were still hers to shield, whether she was with them or apart. That was her last, final burden from her days with her Overwatch, and it would be hers to carry until she died. “Then you clearly know more than I do.” Angela lied easily. It surprised her that Talon already knew of the recall. They must have intercepted the transmission; the idea of any prior member of Overwatch turning to Talon was a hard pill to swallow, even considering how the organization had fallen. “Lying will only make this worse for you, Mercy.” Her callsign was a taunt, bait that she refused to take a second time. Pure terror had flooded her veins; it was only an act of sheer willpower that had kept her knees from giving out underneath her. This was the worst she had faced yet, but she would face it standing. “It is not a lie,” Angela insisted. “Overwatch is dead.” Even if she rejoined under Winston’s banner, she was certain that she would always consider Overwatch – or at least, her Overwatch – dead. How could it exist in a place that her friends, her family, did not? “Last chance.” He warned; it surprised her that he gave her one at all. Even so, Angela did not consider, not even for one moment, to provide him with the information he wanted to protect herself. In defense of others, she was at her most stubborn and determined. That cost had come to her in the form of bullet wounds and nightmares when she was with Overwatch; here, that cost would – hopefully – be her demise. She was all too aware that there were many things worse than death. Angela remained silent, her eyes staring a challenge at the slits where she knew the Reaper’s eyes peered from. If he would not accept her lie the first two times, it would be pointless to voice it again. After a long moment, the man let the gun drop so he could crowd her against the door. One clawed hand rose to grip her throat, tilting her chin to look up towards the mask that hovered above her. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” He growled, rebuke and glee twisted around the words. He increased the pressure, cutting off the blood flow to her brain; despite the futility of the action, Angela’s hands raised to try to pry his fingers away. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness. It was a useless effort; within moments, she was unconscious.

The Reaper watched as Angela regained consciousness through the single window into the concrete room that was now her home. She looked insubstantial, almost ethereal, under the lights meant to keep her blind to her surroundings. The woman was hanging from chains in the precise center of the room. She barely had enough slack to rest her weight on her feet properly. While she had been unconscious, her wrists and shoulders had held that weight entirely in a way that was designed to be painful. Gabriel watched through the Reapers’ eyes as she pulled against the chains that held her. Saw the confusion play across her face as she heard the faint clanking, which turned to pain as she realized the stress her wrists and shoulders had been placed under. Then, her eyes fluttered open, blinking painfully in the too-bright light, before futilely trying to look up at the chains. He saw the curious detachment turn to stark panic before smoothing away into a neutral façade. He was unsurprised that she didn’t test the bonds further, that she didn’t call out, and kept her noise to a minimum. While Angela hadn’t had any special training in this aspect of their lives – they had never expected anyone to actually succeed in capturing her, not with the number of people willing to lay down their own lives for hers – she was a smart woman. Angela knew the grim reality she now faced. She had to know that the chains were the least of what she would meet in that room of gray and white. The Reaper supposed he should alert someone that she was, finally, conscious. Still, he lingered for a few minutes longer, relishing in her helplessness. After so long, he was going to see her pay for what she had done. The Reaper had fantasized about this day for years. Slowly, agonizingly, they would exact his revenge upon her flesh. He would drink down her pain and agony until, finally, the angel before him was no more. He had been tempted to be the one to break her – to split her flesh and flay her heart. It would be the least that she – that he – deserved after the pain she had inflicted. The council had even offered it to him, knowing the history that lay between the two. It surprised Gabriel that they hadn’t ordered him to do it, to prove his loyalties yet again to the terrorist organization that he had once fought against. He wasn’t sure if he felt rage or relief that they had not taken that choice away from him. Instead, Gabriel had found the strength to decline. The Reaper, usually the stronger of the two after so long, had been forced to accept his decision. They would observe, either from this little room or through the security feeds, whenever their other duties allowed. The Reaper, the dark, violent portion of his soul given life, would like nothing more than to tear apart, piece by piece, the woman who had turned him – them – into this. He would revel in the blood and agony, far more than any other member of Talon would. It was only fair, after all. Knowingly or not, she had condemned Gabriel to an existence that was the antithesis of everything he had once stood for. Everything she stood for. Gabriel wanted her to hurt, to feel what she had done to him – but he couldn’t be the one to do it. He knew that, should he go in there and break her, he would also break himself. The last, tenuous grasp he had on his humanity, on Gabriel and not the Reaper, lay within the blonde doctor trapped in the room before him. She had grounded him, had reminded him of his purpose, even while she was completely unaware of the shadow that stalked her. Even now, after everything, there was a part of Gabriel that loved her. There was a part that still remembered the promises he had made her – that they had made each other. He had given his heart to her, long ago in a place that he had destroyed, and she had never returned it. Instead, she had ripped her own from his grasp and left him with nothing but darkness and pain. All that remained was a monster that consumed the living with a terrible hunger that was never sated. On that dark day in Zürich over five years ago, Gabriel had destroyed her world. On that same day, Angela had forced the shadows upon him and shattered his psyche. He wondered if it had been a purposeful act, a punishment for the pain he had wrought, or a mere accident of science. That she hadn’t sought him out, had said nothing about the Reaper and who he might be, made him believe it was the latter. That Moira, a geneticist who – within her specialized field of study – could outsmart even Overwatch’s miracle worker, could not replicate it only reaffirmed that belief. That did not slake his anger in the slightest. The Reaper turned and stalked out of the small observation room, eager for them to begin his revenge. He was ready to drown in her blood and pain. The Reaper’s only hope was that she put on a good show before she eventually broke.

Angela wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for people to realize she was gone. Then, once her absence was noted, how long would it take before they realized it was by force rather than by choice? How long would it take for someone – anyone – to come looking for her? And, when they did, would they even be able to find her before it was too late? She tried to recall the last time she had spoken to any of her friends. There was no set schedule – sometimes she could go months without hearing from one or more of them, leaving her to worry that perhaps this time they had actually died and she would never hear from them again. Had she spoken to anyone recently? Stressed as she was, Angela couldn’t remember. She knew these thoughts were just a byproduct of her fear, but that did nothing to stop them – or to keep them from affecting her. There was nothing but pain and terror for her now. Either she could imagine the horrors that would be inflicted upon her in this room, or she could worry about the rescue that would never come. Angela was a firm optimist when it came to everyone but herself. She could hold on to hope that she could save others, but she did not believe anyone would save her. How could they? Angela was going to die in agony in their defense – and they would, probably, never know it. Or, perhaps, Talon would take pity on them. Maybe they would dump her mangled body for some poor soul to stumble upon. The media would go crazy – the last of the old guard, Overwatch’s angel, had perished – and her friends would mourn, but there would be closure. It wouldn’t be a mystery, whose answer had only been assumed after so many years of silence, like the deaths of their Commanders. Her friends. Her family. Despite her determination to show no fear for as long as she was capable, the door slamming open made her jump. The motion made her sway unsteadily on her feet, her shoulders complaining at the movement. Angela would welcome the distraction from her thoughts if it weren’t for the fact that it heralded far worse than what her mind could conjure. The blinding lights, shining hot and bright from the ceiling somewhere above, kept her from seeing her captors as they entered the room. There were at least two – perhaps three – sets of footsteps before the door slammed shut again. Suitably warned of her audience, though she was confident that someone was watching her even when she was alone, she kept her chin up and her face schooled in a calm veneer. It was a well-used expression that came easily to her after so many years of practice. Silence. Angela wondered if they expected her to break it, to demand answers that she would never receive. Perhaps, were she standing on her own ground, she would challenge them, but here? She was positive that she had never been more aware of her fragility. Of her mortality. She didn’t know what game they were playing, what tactics they were using. It didn’t particularly matter; Angela had plenty of patience. While she wasn’t certain her silence would bring a better or worse outcome – she wasn’t versed in interrogation (her mind skittered away from the more horrible word that applied to her situation) techniques – she would remain silent, regardless. Angela wasn’t under any illusions that she would escape this unscathed. She didn’t even believe she would escape at all. Still, her pride demanded that she make whatever stand she could. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was the last bastion of Overwatch, their Mercy. Angela could – would – rise to the challenge and don the mantle of a hero one last time. A hand yanked her head back by her hair suddenly, turning her vision a blinding white before she could screw her eyes shut against the light and pain. That was when the demands began. Where were the prior members of Overwatch? Who would answer the call of reformation? Where would they make their home base? They enumerated names – Cole Cassidy, Howard Remington, Wilhelm Reinhardt – throughout, asking for specific information on every person she might still be in communication with. There were questions about her medical research, words awkwardly shaped by mouths that didn’t understand what they were asking. Angela refused to answer. Every time a question was met with silence, they would strike a blow. On her chest, just below her collarbone; her back, mere inches above her kidneys; her stomach, choking her as she gasped for air and swallowed back bile. She had never experienced violence, not personally, without her Valkyrie suit. She lamented its absence, wishing for the pain relief it brought. Instead, she had to grit her teeth and bear it. She reminded herself firmly that she had suffered before. Angela had been shot multiple times on varying occasions, had a building collapse on her, had darted through flames – but she’d had the Valkyrie suit to support her through it. Without it, those experiences were minimal compared to all that would come in this room. Her head bowed, hairs that had come loose from the bun she had tied just this morning – was it still the same day? She didn’t know – fanning around her face, and her eyes closed as she forced herself to do nothing more than grunt in pain. As they methodically dealt blows to her, she could feel the nanites within her body, putting her back together. They were her miracle, her salvation, her devastation. Angela’s body would heal much quicker than any human could naturally heal – though not anywhere near instantaneous – and prolong her agony in this terrible place. If they waited long enough, her body would be just as whole as it was when they brought her here; they wouldn’t have to lift a finger in her care. Angela didn’t know how long they stayed in the room with her. With her medical prowess and combat experience, she knew that they had done no lasting harm in this opening act. There were bruises, but they had broken nothing. They had taken care to avoid her kidneys and spine when they struck her back – and they hadn’t once touched her head at all after they released her hair at the very beginning. They were only warming up. The men – she assumed they were all men, as the lights had been far too bright for her to make out any of their features – had filed out as quietly as they had come. Angela did not hear it lock, but why would it? She wasn’t a flight risk; she couldn’t even protect herself, much less stage an escape from these chains. The lights remained on as she stood, swaying slightly on her feet, in her cage. Her head remained bowed, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps through bruised ribs. Angela had told herself to be brave, to protect her friends and family unto death itself – but that was a simple decision when it was calm and still. It was so much harder when the pain was real, not imagined, and death was approaching one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Each blow that struck her body had also struck her resolution, battering against the walls she had erected around her heart and soul so she could be this last, final defense. She could only hope that she could hold her conviction close in the coming days when things would be even more desolate. Somehow, despite it all, she must survive.

The Reaper had watched, arms crossed and face impassive behind his mask, as the doctor was beaten. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel, watching her bite back sounds of pain and struggle to keep herself hidden away behind her aloof mask. The Reaper had no such qualms. He held a vicious glee, born from the sight of her dangling helplessly from her chains. It wasn’t quite the same as the euphoria he had felt when he had held her helpless form in his hands, but it had a terrible similarity. Her invisible flesh, hidden behind the scrubs she had been wearing when he had captured her, tempered the emotion. Though he was familiar enough with her body to imagine the mottled purple-black that would decorate her skin, it wasn’t quite the same. Indeed, he felt rage and resentment, ever-present whenever the Reaper looked upon the woman that had cursed them. It had grown, bottled up inside his dark heart, and was now finding some release as he took in her battered form. The relief was minor; without her blood, her bruised flesh, her screams, it was barely worth the effort of watching this first session. Angela had taken many painfully calculated blows, but it had been gentle compared to the misery he knew those men were capable of. He wasn’t sure if they had underestimated the doctor, as he had, or if they were just testing the waters. Gabriel had known that she would take blows – she was far too stubborn for her own good, just like another specter from his past. What he hadn’t expected was that she would remain silent the entire time. The Reaper felt robbed, somehow. Cheated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to break, to scream, cry, beg, do something other than hang there in near-perfect silence. Angela had never had the highest pain tolerance, relying heavily on the Valkyrie suit to ignore injuries, and yet she had endured with barely a sound. Even now, she was collecting herself, her labored pants turning to soft breaths as she hung there with her head bowed. But maybe he was the fool. It had been years since he had experienced the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler. He had forgotten how fiercely protective she was. Had forgotten that she forced her way onto battlefields to defend what was hers, because that was her duty. Had forgotten the iron steel that surrounded her heart, that she had to have to carry the burdens she so willingly shouldered. Had forgotten that she never showed weakness before anyone, that she always hid it away to deal with in private. Gabriel had only forgotten because, at one time, he had been the only exception to her rule. He had been the one she had turned to when everything – the research, missions, surgeries, nightmares, deaths – became too hard to carry alone. While Gabriel had never succeeded in taking the weight from her shoulders, it had been his honor to support her while she recovered. He had been the only one to see how terribly affected she was by everything. When she graced everyone else with steely eyes and gentle smiles, she had allowed him to see her nagging self-doubt and endless guilt. He had seen her, all of her. From grief-stricken after Ana’s death to worry when Jack had been airlifted back to Zürich. Her incandescent rage when Gabriel had demanded she stay out of the field to pure terror after he had taken a bullet for her. The stark relief when he returned home after a dangerous mission to mindless bliss within the safety of their bed. Everything that she was, he had seen – and could still see, even now. Gabriel could read her better than anyone in the world. He knew the little signs, the tells that gave her away to him; even after all this time, she was still the same. Angela had a tight grip on her emotions – always had – but Gabriel could see the terror that she had masked behind the stone wall of her face. Others might miss it, think she was just as unfeeling as her reputation had claimed, but he knew better. She felt more intensely and more purely than any other person he’d ever known. But, to survive as a child prodigy, as a medical genius ten years younger than her peers, she had to become more. As a girl and then a woman, Angela learned that the world would use her emotions as a weapon against her – so she had hidden them from sight. Even among friends – even alone with him – she’d had a hard time dropping those walls. Here, those walls would be put to the ultimate test. The Reaper intended to see them fall, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but a quivering human in the place of the angel. And then, once she had been brought back to Earth, he would kill her like the mortal she was.

Cole frowned down at the communicator in his hand. He had called to check in on Angela the afternoon before, but he hadn’t heard from her. That was unlike her; since the fall of Overwatch, she had always answered – or called back if she truly was incapable of answering – when they called. He knew she worried about them, the family that she had been the heart of, even now – perhaps especially now – when they were no longer her responsibility. Angela would drop nearly everything to go to one of them if they called, no matter how far the distance. Cole knew that he – and many, if not all – of the others would do the same for her. She was theirs just as much as they were hers. The cowboy wondered if it was Winston’s message, sent four nights ago, that was keeping her silent. Perhaps she thought one of them would try to talk her into – or out of – recreating the organization that had brought them together. That didn’t sound like the Angela he knew, though. Cole thought she might be more likely to receive a call right now. She wasn’t one to avoid a conversation just because it might be uncomfortable. It was that knowledge that had him dialing another number. “Hi there, Cassidy,” Winston’s voice filled his ear. At least he knew it wasn’t technical difficulties keeping him from hearing from their doctor. “I wasn’t sure I would hear from you.” If Angela hadn’t gone dark, Cole wouldn’t have called in at all – not yet, at least. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back, to try again after everything that had happened. “Hey there, big guy.” He and Winston weren’t close – their paths hadn’t crossed much during their time with Overwatch, given that Winston wasn’t exactly stealthy – but they were amicable enough. “I’m not callin’ ‘bout Overwatch, not right now, anyway.” He admitted, quickly changing the subject. “Have ya heard from Ange in the last coupla days? I can’t seem t’get ahold’a her.” “Dr. Ziegler?” Cole rolled his eyes. Angela had been Winston’s first friend and champion – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the gorilla, in fact, if he recalled correctly – and Winston still didn’t call her by name. “I haven’t heard from her since I sent the recall out. Athena,” Winston turned his attention away from Cole for a moment, “did Dr. Ziegler view the recall?” “My files indicate that she viewed your message one hour and thirty-seven minutes after you sent it.” A digitized feminine voice replied after a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard Athena’s voice. She was an AI that his friend, Dr. Liao, had created, and now served as Winston’s assistant and advisor after Overwatch had disbanded. She was amazingly smart and had been a great asset for all of them – just as Dr. Liao had once been. “So, she got th’ message,” Cole mused. “Wonder why she ain’t answerin’ then.” Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of technology. She simply wasn’t answering or returning calls – at least, not his calls. Just because Winston hadn’t heard from her didn’t mean she wasn’t calling people. “Can Athena tell if she’s talked t’anyone?” Winston relayed the question. “I do not show that Dr. Ziegler has made any calls since Winston sent out the recall. I show that she has received three calls – two from Cole Cassidy and one from Lena Oxton. None were accepted.” The amount of information Athena could access was terrifying. All their electrical equipment – communicators, comm systems, probably Angela’s staff for all he knew – were connected to Athena since before Overwatch fell. Most had left those systems alone, though he was pretty sure some people had disabled it. “That ain’ like her.” Now Cole was even more worried. He had hoped it was just him – either she was avoiding talking to him for some reason, or their communicators were just busted – but she wasn’t talking to anyone. Before the fall, he could maybe see Angela getting distracted enough to forget to return a call or two, but now? Since the fall – since they’d lost so much – she had always answered and made time for them. “No, it isn’t.” Winston agreed gravely. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it, though. Cole was hunkered down in an abandoned house in the middle of Arkansas, trying to let the heat die down. His bounty, somewhere in the ballpark of seventy million the last time he’d checked, made it hard for him to get around sometimes. Likewise, Winston was stuck in Watchpoint: Gibraltar – though he might be moving since Talon was aware of his location and he was trying to raise Overwatch back from the dead. “Her communicator is still at her last known address. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems are down.” Athena added helpfully as the two tried to figure out what to do. “Last known location is also her last known address.” That wasn’t like her. Angela didn’t go off the grid – she was the goddamned grid. Everywhere she went, she made waves, whether she wanted to or not. “Lemme make a call, see if I can’t get someone to go look in on her.” Cole only knew of one person in that part of the world. Hopefully, she’d be willing and able to get away long enough to help them out. He disconnected and dialed a second number. “C’mon, pick up already.” He grumbled under his breath as it rang and rang. “You have reached Captain Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International.” Of course he’d be sent to voicemail; that was just his luck. “Please leave your number and a detailed message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” There was a brief pause, and then a beep indicated that it was his turn to speak. “Hey there, Fareeha, it’s Cole.” He worried about leaving his name on her voicemail – he didn’t want her to get in trouble for associating with a criminal. “Y’might not remember me, but I used t’work with your mom. Couldja call me back, soon as ya get this? It’s real important.” He left his number and hung up, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Now came the waiting.

---

“‘lo?” He answered groggily, shoving his hat back into place and rubbing at his face with his free hand. It had been hours since he had left the voicemail; he wasn’t sure if he would even get a response today – or ever. “Cole?” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, like she was trying not to be overheard. That was fair – he was a criminal with an enormous bounty on his head. Someone like her – a Captain, taking after her mother – shouldn’t be seen interacting with someone like him. If it hadn’t been for Angela, he never would have called at all. “Yeah – yeah, it’s me.” He sat up, more alert now. Cole had forgotten what a pain time zones were; he’d probably called her in the middle of the night, just like she had. At least he had woken up. “Sorry for callin’ outta th’ blue like this. Doubt ya even remember me.” He’d spoken to her a few times before everything came crashing down, but Ana had tried to keep Fareeha separate from Overwatch as much as possible. “You let me wear your hat, once.” Her voice was wistful, reminiscent of her younger days. “My mother took a picture; I have it somewhere.” Huh. So she remembered him, after all. Now he felt a little guilty, not calling and checking on the younger Amari. Ana would have wanted him to do that. Angela had, he knew – but she checked on everyone. “What’s happened?” God, she sounded so much like her mother. Ana always cut to the heart of the matter, too, rarely tolerating idle chit-chat when there were things to be done. “It’s Ange. Uh,” she probably didn’t know Angela by that name, “I mean, Angela. Dr. Ziegler – Mercy.” The names tumbled over each other awkwardly; it had been a long time since he had used any of them. “We can’t seem t’get ahold’a her. I was wonderin’ if you could maybe go check in on her?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. If he had to go, it would be days before he reached Cairo. “I don’t know if I can get away,” Fareeha said after a moment of consideration. Cole relaxed a little; she wasn’t going to blow him off. “Where is she? If it’s close, maybe I won’t have to ask.” Cole pulled up the address and read it off to her. “Hmm, too far.” Fareeha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than ‘no’ at least. “I really appreciate it, Fareeha. Really.” He tried to pump as much sincerity into the words. Fareeha didn’t have to do this for a stranger from her mothers’ past, but she was willing to try, anyway. “She’s my friend, too.” She hung up before he could respond. That blade of guilt twisted in his heart again. He was an ass. If they were both alive at the end of this, Cole would make up for it. Do what Ana would have done for them, what Angela did for them. He looked at his silent communicator, blinking the time – it was just a little past three in the morning. With a sigh, he set it back onto the floor next to him. Cole leaned back against the wall and pulled his hat down over his face once more. Maybe they were all overreacting. Maybe something had kept Angela busy these past days, so busy she came home too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed. That was something he could see her doing – she was notorious for it – but wouldn’t she call back in the morning? It just didn’t sit right with him. Cole closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor so he could get some rest. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Here you are down on your knees again, Trying to find air to breathe again; And only surrender will help you now. - Again [Flyleaf]

#overwatch #fanfiction #angela ziegler #gabriel reyes #mercykill #fanfic #mercy #reaper #cole cassidy #cassidy #tw torture #tw violence #tw dark thoughts #tw dark themes #whump #breaking my heart series

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