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anxiousstark · 3 years

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S3 13 | Galvanize

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE | MIATCHEMBER | KO-FI

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 2405

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood, death, swearing (always), etc.

A/N: These kind of chapters are boring but necessary for the story. It would be nice if at least, the people who asked to be tagged did vote. It takes time to write, to add things or to think of future scenes.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

"You're back in school?" Those were the first words that came out of Scott's mouth as the twins parked their motorbikes next to my brother's one. Of course, Scott's bike didn't look as expensive as the other two.

"No, just to talk."

"Oh." Stiles and I walked closer to where my brother was standing. "That's kind of a change of pace for you guys. Usually, you're just hurting, maiming, and killing." His hands were gripping the straps of his backpack.

Aiden rolled his eyes. "You need a pack. We need an Alpha."

"Yeah. Absolutely not." Stiles intervened again, nodding his head, and patting Ethan's chest, who hit his hand off him. "That's hilarious, though."

"You came to us for help. We helped."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "You beat his face into a bloody pulp." I furrowed my eyebrows. "That's not helping. In my opinion, that's actually counter-productive." Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I glanced to my side. Stiles was beaming at me, a goofy smile on his face.

"Why would I say yes?" My brother asked.

"We'd add strength. We'd make you more powerful." Both of the twins nodded their head at the same time. "There's no reason to say no."

Stiles dramatically rolled his eyes.

"I can think of one." Isaac appeared from nowhere, and I quickly sent him a look, asking if he was feeling better. At the forest, he didn't have as much luck as I did. A trap closed around his leg. "Like the two of you holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd. In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now." Stiles agreed with him, nodding his head.

Aiden didn't hesitate to show his fangs and flash his eyes. "You want to try?"

Scott swiftly grabbed the curly-haired boy's arm, holding him back from getting closer to one of the twins. "Sorry, but they don't trust you. And neither do I." We ignored Aiden and Ethan, walking into school.

As soon as we opened the door, a roll of toilet paper hit Stiles right on the face. "All right, that's my face!" His hands immediately patted the other boy's back. "Hey, dude, good decision, buddy. Good Alpha decision."

"I hope so." He sighed.

"No, you know so." We walked to our lockers. The Hazel-eyed boy fastly grabbed his things while I did the same.

I noticed that my brother was dumbfoundedly looking somewhere. "What are you looking at?" I asked him, closing my locker while Stiles took his backpack off to fill it with some books.

"Me?"

"You," I replied.

"You looking at her?" Stiles followed his gaze for a couple of seconds.

"Her? Who her?" Oh, come on, Scott. It was so obvious.

"Her her. Kira." Stiles answered back. "You like her?"

"No." He spoke up too fast. I smirked while staring deep into his eyes. "Hey Y/N, don't do that. Don't d-. Okay yeah, she's okay. She's new."

"So, ask her out." The Stilinski boy finally shut his locker.

"Now?"

"Yes, now." I intervened. "She is leaving."

"Right now?" He asked again while Kira seemed to walk away.

"Right now." He patted my brother's back. "Scott, I don't think you get it yet. You're an Alpha. You're the apex predator." I rolled my eyes as Stiles gave him advice related to girls. "Everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants." I chuckled.

"The hot girl?"

"You are the hottest girl." Stiles smiled as if he was sure of what he was stating.

Isaac, who had come back, glanced between the three of us. I just shook my head. "What?"

"I'm the hot girl." Scott's expression was earnest as he raised his eyebrows.

Isaac nodded his head. "Yes, you are."

I felt an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to a warm body. "So you swing both ways?" To my question, Stiles seemed surprised. "I thought I was the hot girl, but I can see you think my brother is the hottest girl." I jokingly tried to look mad. "I guess you are just dating me to make my brother jealous." My tone was dramatic. "It was Scott McCall all along. He is the one you desire."

As soon as my boyfriend noticed that I was joking, he couldn't help but laugh loudly. "Don't tell Scott." His mouth came near my ear as he whispered the following words. "You are the hottest girl."

"I was hoping so." A peck was placed on the corner of my mouth. My gaze shifted as soon as I saw Mr. Stilinski on one of the corridos, which couldn't mean anything good. "Hey, Stiles," My hand rested on the middle of his chest as he continued kissing me. "Isn't that your dad?"

His gaze moved to where I was looking. He wandered towards his father, bringing me with him. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! The William Barrow? The Shrapnel Bomber? Spotted nearby?"

"A little closer than nearby, actually." A shiver ran through my body, even though I didn't know who that person was. If Stiles seemed distraught, then it couldn't be anything good.

"Dad, what's really going on here?" Stiles brought me closer to his side, muttering his words.

We had found Allison, Lydia and Isaac. Agent McCall didn't want anyone coming in or out of the school. "Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" We walked down the stairs as Isaac asked all the questions that could come to his mind. "He said those exact words?"

"Yeah. And no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies, which in any other circumstance would be all kinds of awesome." I punch his arm, which made him groan and pout.

"Did you say flies?" As soon as Lydia asked that, a fly buzzed next to my ear, and I quickly moved my arm, trying to scare it. Allison's eyes went from Lydia to me. "All day I have been hearing this sound. It's like this buzzing."

Again, I felt like a fly was near my ear. The Argent girl continued glancing at me, but this time, everyone was staring at me too. "Like the sound of flies?"

"Exactly like the sound of flies." Lydia nodded her head. "Y/N, there isn't any fly around you."

What?

We ran towards Scott when we finally found him. "Hey, dude, where the hell have you been?"

Lydia came closer to us. "The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?"

"The police?" My brother glanced at me, confused.

"They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here?" I tried to have a little hope.

"Who? What are you guys-."

"He has to be here. That sound The buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder." She glanced at me. "She has been hearing it too."

"I only heard it when you said it! I'm not hearing it now!"

"How loud?" Lydia closed her eyes as soon as Stiles asked her, trying to control her breathing. So it was loud, quite loud.

"Scott and Isaac are in the basement, right?" Lydia asked as we looked around the art room. Her voice was a mere whisper.

"Yeah, with Ethan and Aiden. The plan is they meet in the middle, in the boiler room."

"All of the wolves. All of the ones with glowing eyes are in the basement at the boiler room?"

"Not really," Stiles replied. "Y/N," He pointed at me. "She also has glowi-. Oh, my God! An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole school."

"We have to get them out of there."

And we did, Stiles pulled the fire alarm. However, we were caught by Coach, who expressed his desire for punching Stiles's face. Thankfully, we got out of school, meeting the rest. But Scott and the twins weren't able to pick up a scent.

Scott had been invited by Mr. Yukimura to have dinner with him and his family, and let me tell you he was quite excited. Melissa was working all night, and she didn't want me to be alone at home. Therefore, Mr. Stilinski was happy enough to let me stay with them.

I laid on Stiles's bed as he was adding things to his board. "Scott has never eaten sushi before. He is going to make a mess."

I chuckle. "Maybe they won't eat sushi."

He turned around to glance at me. "They are Japanese."

"Stiles," I groaned. "That's stupid. Japanese people don't eat Japanese food all the time! They can eat other foods too!" He shrugged. "What do the different coloured strings mean?" I asked while I glanced to the strings that were on top of his bed.

"Oh, just different stages of the investigation. So green is solved, yellow is to be determined, blue's just pretty." I couldn't help but chuckle. "They are the colour of your siren's eyes."

I got up from the bed, walking closer to him until I was engulfed by his arms. "My siren side is melting."

He snickered. "What about your other side?" He hummed, his lips trapping my bottom lip. "Does she like it too?"

"Hhmm," I pecked his lips, my tongue peeking out to lick his bottom one. "She is a little more complex." His tongue parted my lips, going inside my mouth as his hands rested on my cheeks. Our breaths mangled while our tongues continued grinding against each other.

"I believe she clearly likes it." He stopped kissing me as he seemed to notice something. "We are going to school." I stared at him, puzzled. "We are going to school. Now."

And that's what we did.

"This is just like the first time." I referred to Stiles, Lydia and I being inside the school at night. "So what are we looking for?" I squeezed one of Stiles's hoodies around my body, hating the cold temperature. He ignored me, opening a door that had a warning sign. "That was supposed to be locked." I glanced at the sign 'Caution. Chemical Storage.'

"Yeah. I know." He took his phone out, turning on the lantern. "Notice anything else?"

I entered the room. "Crystal bottles."

"The smell of chemicals. They wouldn't have been able to catch his scent." Lydia added, offering me one of her gloves as my hands were freezing. I offered her a smile, grabbing the soft item.

My boyfriend nodded his head, glancing at the floor. There was some shattered glass, and what looked like blood. "He was here, performing very minor surgery on himself. Lydia was right."

"I don't feel good about this, Stiles." I peered around.

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

"But who?"

"That's what we gotta figure out. We could spread out, start looking for anything." We looked around the room, in hopes of finding something else that would tell us where that crazy dude could be. "Lydia, what are those?"

As I heard Stiles, I glanced up, seeing Lydia walking towards something written on the blackboard. "Atomic numbers." I answered before the strawberry blonde girl could.

"Is it a formula?" The boy walked closer to me.

"Not really. 19's potassium. The first two make potassium iodide." She grabbed chalk, writing a K next to the number 19.

"Potassium is K?" Both Stiles and I asked at the same time.

"From kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name." Next to another number, she wrote the letter I.

"What's radium?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and getting closer to the blackboard. "Is it R-A?" As soon as the words came out of my mouth, Lydia nodded her head. Kira, he wanted to kill Kira. "We need to call Scott."

Stiles was already calling my brother while pacing around the room. "Nothing, he isn't answering his phone." He glanced at me, biting the inside of his cheek. "W-What do we do?"

"We are going to Kira's house." I quickly walked to the door but stopped when Lydia and Stiles weren't following me out. "I know where she lives, okay? I made my research too." Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. "I wasn't going to let my brother go to a stranger's house! Have you watched any criminal documentary?" I rolled my eyes. "Let's go!"

When arriving at Kira's house, we found my brother lying on the ground. He had blood running down his forehead. "Barrow, he took Kira!" I nodded my head, more worried about his condition. He seemed to notice, squeezing my right hand and offering me a smile.

"We know. He was after her the whole time."

"We have to think of something. He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there." Lydia seemed to be distracted. "How did I know that?"

"Because you heard the flies, right?" I asked.

My brother's gaze shifted to her. "What do you hear now?"

"Nothing. I feel like I can do this. But I don't know what to do. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, and I don't know how to trigger it. I just I swear to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

"Okay, then scream." Stiles stepped closer to her. "Lydia, scream."

And she did. We all covered our ears, faces scrunched. "It's not flies. It's electricity."

"Wait a second, Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

"What substation?"

Scott and Stiles got out of the jeep. "Okay. Wait here, all right?" The Stilinski boy glanced at Lydia and me. I was going to protest, but he didn't let me do so. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Why?" Lydia asked.

"I only got one bat."

Both boys disappeared inside the building. And as soon as I saw them disappearing, I quickly moved in the car, trying to grab my backpack. "What are you doing?" I only offered her a smirk. "Stiles will kill me if he knows that I let you go inside!" She grabbed my wrist. "You aren't going!"

"Lydia?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." I moved the seats of the back, getting inside the truck of the jeep as I knew Stiles had closed the car. Once I was inside, I used all my strength to kick it, opening it. Then, I also went into the building.

But it seemed like they didn't need me because Kira was something supernatural.

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People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

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aj-illustrated · 3 years

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*pulls up a 97-slide PowerPoint* I’m so glad you asked

Ben is an OC co-owned by me and @finnoky! The short of it is that he’s an orphan who Varian helps save from a life of crime, and who later gets adopted by Quirin!

More about him under the cut:

Age: About 12

Birthday: He has no idea, but thinks it might have been sometime in the autumn.

Likes: Quirin, Varian, farmwork, tending to the sheep, his dog (Achilles), the Challenge of the Brave (spectating and later competing), adventure stories, head pats, strawberries, friendly roughhousing, drawing

Dislikes: Cramped spaces (he’s claustrophobic), people hugging him, carrots, books with complicated words, cold weather, any kind of tight or scratchy clothing

Fun Facts:

Ben meets Varian about nine months after the end of the series.

He’s good friends with Kiera and Catalina! They’re the only kids his age who can beat him in a fair fight.

He eventually grows to be taller than Varian, and absolutely uses that fact to tease him.

He’s an excellent pickpocket, though he hasn’t stolen much of anything since Quirin took him in.

He’s got a knack for drawing— he’s not too good with words, so he finds it easier to express himself with pictures. He’s also a leftie!

He’s been almost adopted several times, but Quirin is the only foster parent who kept him around for longer than a month.

Backstory: Ben is an orphan who’s been given a raw deal in life, and as a result is kinda pissed off at everyone and everything all the time. The orphanage he grew up in was lacking to say the least, and he spent much of his early childhood being routinely abused and neglected, often lashing out in aggression at those he deemed to be a threat (which was most people). He eventually starts getting into trouble with the law and is tossed in prison for multiple counts of petty theft and assault, and it’s around that time that he meets Varian, who is helping to reform Corona’s prison system and is disgusted to see that they’re still punishing children as if they were adults.

He gets Ben out of prison, but the orphanage refuses to let him come back, so Varian convinces Quirin to take him in. Quirin agrees for a few factors: 1. Ben reminds him of Varian when he was going through a rough time, and how Quirin wasn’t able to help him then, 2. He’s not getting any younger and could use some help around the farm (plus Varian has been worried about him getting lonely, now that Varian has basically moved into the castle), and 3. The kid deserves a shot at having a healthy, stable home life.

Ben only agrees to go live with Quirin because trying to survive on the streets is no picnic, and also because he’d really rather not stay in prison for any longer than he has to. He figures that it won’t last, anyway— Quirin will lose patience with him and kick him to the curb, just like every other foster parent/guardian he’s been handed off to. He gets very confused (and a little annoyed) when Quirin turns out to be incredibly patient and willing to give him as many chances as he needs. In response, Ben acts out and does everything he can think of to convince Quirin that he’s rotten to the core, but nothing works.

Ben doesn’t want to get his hopes up or let himself get attached. He manages to annoy everyone else: the other villagers, Varian, even Eugene (who visits sometimes), but never Quirin. The most he ever gets out of him is an irritated sigh.

Throughout all of this, Ben is also finding out that he kinda likes helping out on the farm, and he’s pretty good at it, too. He’s very strong for his age, and a fast learner.... except for one thing: he can’t read. The orphanage had tried to teach him, but it never really clicked and they had long since given up on him, so he just never learned, instead relying on pictures and context clues to figure out the meaning of written words. As he continues to grow more attached to Quirin, he starts wanting to be better, to deserve the love and acceptance Quirin is offering him, so his self-consciousness about reading (among other things he doesn’t like about himself) really starts to bug him.

While he's sociable and generally gets along with other children, he does have the flaw of a short temper. So when he's targeted and called out for his apparent lack of academic intelligence, things get ugly, fast, and he gets in a fight. When Quirin asks later what it was about, Ben is reluctant to tell him, and is even less enthused when Quirin later suggests enrolling him in school.

He eventually admits to Quirin that he’s illiterate, expecting to get belittled or even compared to Varian (who is an actual genius and is kind of intimidating to Ben). But Quirin.... he doesn’t care that Ben can’t read, and even offers to help teach him or find him a tutor if he wants to learn. It’s after letting himself be vulnerable and accepting Quirin’s help that Ben starts to wonder if maybe... maybe he has a shot at being part of a real family.

He starts to let himself feel at home in Old Corona, thinking (or rather hoping) he’s found somewhere he belongs... as much as he hates to admit it, he really likes it here. So he tries to keep on the straight and narrow so he can stay longer, even making an effort to be nicer to Varian (who is more than happy to help him with his reading and is the one to introduce him to the Flynn Rider series). For the first time, Ben’s future is looking bright.

Until he loses his temper again.

On a visit to the capital, he passes by his old orphanage and gets in an argument with one of the kids he used to know (and wasn’t on particularly good terms with). The argument quickly gets personal, and then physical, and Ben takes it way too far— by the time the guards arrive on the scene to break it up, the kid Ben was fighting is a bloody, mangled mess, about a minute away from passing out. The guards don’t care what awful things that kid said to Ben; all they care about is that this boy with a history of violence and petty crime just savagely attacked another child, and Ben is swiftly arrested and taken to the dungeons.

At this point, Ben has cooled down enough to realize just how serious his situation really is. Even if they let him out of prison to go back to Quirin, he’s sure this is the last straw and that Quirin won’t want anything to do with him— he’s violent and dangerous, and no matter what he does he can’t seem to stay out of trouble, even when he really does try his best to be good. He hates himself for blowing his one chance at finding a home and family, and consoles himself by thinking that it was only a matter of time and at least the wait is over (boy’s got some raging self-loathing issues if you haven’t noticed).

Varian gets word that Ben’s been arrested and heads down to the dungeons to hear his side of the story, but Ben is too ashamed to even look him in the eye. Ben was told by the guards that, although he won’t be left to rot in the dungeons or thrown onto a prison barge (as per the new regulations regarding juvenile justice), he’ll be sent away to a correctional facility for delinquents— aka, reform school. Ben has no idea what to expect, but based on what the guards have been saying about it (very loudly, just outside his cell), it sounds no better than regular prison.

Varian is having absolutely none of this and contacts Quirin to tell him what’s going on— Quirin is up at the castle within the hour to try and bail Ben out, or at least renegotiate his sentence. However, since Quirin is not yet technically related to Ben— for the past year or so, he’s legally been closer to a parole officer than anything else— the law states that he can’t actually do much to interfere with Ben’s bail or sentence, especially since the boy is a repeat offender and is now classified as a menace to society.

Instead of giving up on the situation, Quirin decides to become Ben’s legal guardian right then and there, whipping out the adoption papers he’s been keeping in his vest for weeks— he’s been wanting to ask Ben if he’d like to be adopted for a while now, but he could never find the right moment. Now seems to be as good a time as any.

It takes a day or two to sort things out (Nigel and Fred both aren’t too keen on releasing a violent criminal for any reason, even if that criminal is like twelve), but Varian is able to pull some strings with Raps and Eugene to give Quirin full guardianship over Ben. Meanwhile, Ben is expecting he'll be shipped off any day now— when he sees Varian come back down to the prison with a guard, he expects it's to say goodbye... not to remove his shackles and lead him back upstairs to the throne room, where Quirin and Rapunzel are waiting beside a stack of paperwork. They only need one more signature to make the adoption official: Ben’s.

Luckily, Varian and Quirin have been helping him practice writing his name, and once he signs, Quirin tosses Raps the bail money (which she had whittled down to like two coins) and they head back home— Ben’s permanent home.

Ben’s story is a result of many many rambles between me and Feen on Discord, and I don’t think we’re gonna be stopping anytime soon— Ben is such a fun OC to flesh out XD

Feen and I are actually running a Q&A for Ben over on Feen’s Instagram story, y’all should go check it out!

#ben #tangled oc #tangled the series #tts ocs #varian #quirin #long post #AJ draws #AJ talks #finnoky

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eyeless-cunt · 4 years

Note

Prompt idea: Eyeless Jack stumbled upon a victims house to find them chained up, covered in wounds and bruises, and obviously poorly treated. EJ is about to nope tf out but she reaches out to him with t h e l o o k. So he has to help her escape. AND THEN LO AND BEHOLD THE RAT BOY (or whoever) APPEARS AND TURNS OUT SHE'S HIS HOSTAGE. -Cat eyes

PART 1: HEALING FIC

PROMT 11

alright listen— ill bite. but we’re gonna change this a lil.

🔪—————————————————————————🌸

word count: 3.5 k

summary: Ej is hundreds of years into his immortal life, the human population has run into their cities and left the woods to the dogs. Ej finds someone in his woods with something to hide, and then finds the hidden

nsfw: no just angst and trying to heal

warnings: gore, blood, violence, mentions of sexual abuse/sexual violence/hintings of rape, kidnapped reader, sensory deprivation, spitting on corpses that deserve it

READ PART TWO HERE

🌸—————————————————————————🔪

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. But then again, it didn’t exactly start out the way it was supposed to either.

I was just hungry. That’s it. I hadn’t eaten in a while, i’m still not sure how long I went without food. That’s not important. I was just hungry. They were just standing there. I didn’t question why they were in the woods, why they were bloody. I didn’t question why I had never seen this cabin before, why someone was in my woods, why he had blood all over him, blood that wasn’t his own.

I was just hungry.

If I didn’t eat soon then another part of me would surface. I needed food. He was my food, and I didnt give him time to blink. I pounced as soon as I saw him, teeth sunk into his throat faster than lightning, to ensure a quick death and the inability to fight me back. I didn’t want a half assed human’s struggle, I wanted food.

I was done with him in less than thirty minutes, I had practically picked him from the bone. My hunger was sated, but my new curiosity in the wake of getting my sense back was not. Why was he in my woods, so far from human civilization. Who’s blood was covering him? I was so hungry I hadn’t stopped to taste him, I hadn’t noticed the difference between that blood and his. I doubt I would find any of it now in the wake of what I had done to him.

I smelt for a trail. What direction had he come from? West. I left him, there was no one else around to see him anyways. He had no use anymore. For some reason, I didn’t think anyone would miss him. I followed his scent trail, it didn’t stay to the path. I went through my woods, I hadn’t been to this area in a long ass time. Years maybe ? Not sure. I had lived too long. It could have been easily twenty years since I’d last visited this area and I would have no idea.

I’m not sure how long it was, I don’t keep time well, I came across a medium cabin. It looked like it’d been added to a few times. It was ugly. I wanted to burn it. Why the fuck was this in my woods? How did the little shit stain even get here? Slender needed work on his cloaking skills, it seemed. I walked around it, Listening keenly. I heard movement. Faint. I could hear things clearly from extreme distances, so why was this sound faint? A basement? That still wouldn’t do much. A sound proof room? Why would he have one of those?

My curiosity peeked, and I found myself trying to open the front door, only to find it locked. I smirked and rolled my eyes. What a weak door. Humans could be cute sometimes too. I delivered one kick to it, and the hinges completely gave out. I scoffed at how brittle it was, and continued inside the cabin. No lights were on, but that was fine. I could see perfectly fine, eyes or not.

I searched all the rooms—nothing to be found in any of them. So it was a basement then. I pulled up all the rugs in the cabin—nothing. What was he trying to hide so badly? I tried listening once again, but could hear nothing of what I had heard before. I smelt around and caught the scent of fresh blood. I followed it to what seemed to be his bedroom, and into his closet. I rummaged around his clothes and lo and behold— a wide wooden board too out of place to be natural. I tugged it and it stayed in place. If i couldn’t move it then how would he? I tugged a bit harder and it came undone in a splintering mess. If I hadn’t been wearing gloves then I would have gotten my hands dirty. This place was a mess.

It was a dark hole. Straight down with a rusty ladder. I definitely had not been in this area for a longer time than I had previously thought. I ignored the ladder and jumped down, hitting the ground about eight feet down. I looked around the space I had jumped into. One room. One door. I tried opening the door only to find a digital lock. I broke it with my fist and tried again. Still wouldn’t budge. I sighed and kicked the door. Why did he need such a thick metal door? How much porn was he hiding down here, hm?

I kicked it harder, once again, harder and again, and eventually it caved in on the side. I grabbed the part that I kicked in and tried pulling it my way, no dice. I moved backwards and stood two feet away from the door, then ramming my shoulder into it hard enough to send the door crashing into the opposite wall, making a loud crashing noise that reverberated through the room. My bad. I looked inside to find it bright, artificially lit, obviously. I almost walked right back out again after seeing what I saw.

In the corner was a slumped figure. She had bandages covering her eyes, arms chained above her and her feet in heavy shackles. Plugs in her ears, rag in her mouth, and gook stuffed in her nose. She couldn’t hear, see, or smell me. He was torturing a girl down here. I couldn’t tell her age or anything, but she definitely felt the tremors I had caused with the door— seeing as she had her head turning every which way and was pressing herself against the wall.

No wonder he had so much to hide. I walked over to her, and took the rag out of her mouth. What do I do with her? Do I set her free? What if she sends the cops to my woods? Slenderman’s cloaking only does so much. She immediately took a deep breath, and started choking on the air. Her chest moved up and down sporadically and she hung limp in her chains. She said nothing.

I took out the ear plugs and waited again. She said nothing. I couldn’t see her facial expression behind her bandages. i took the corner of her shirt and wiped the gook out of her nose as best as I could. She was patient and didn’t put up a fight. How long had she been down here? How long had she been kicked into submission? I was hesitant to remove the bandages, was she injured?

“What’s wrong with your face.”

She immediately halted any movement, then started to struggle. She didn’t recognize my voice and immediately figured I was a threat, it seemed. She just pulled against her chains, her mouth slightly open and her lungs laboring harshly. She obviously was a harsh breather. I didn’t know how long she had been here. How much of her stamina had been sapped away?

“Calm down. What’s wrong with your face?”

She didn’t say anything, just kept breathing harshly. She stilled immediately though. Obviously she knew english.

“If you don’t answer i’ll take the bandages off myself.”

She pressed further into the wall, and started shaking like a leaf when I cut a bandage with my nail, after removing a glove and sticking it in my pocket. I tugged at it and unwrapped her face, now in full view after a few moments. I didn’t see anything wrong with her. Normal. She however, started to cry as soon as the bandage hit the floor, reaching for it as hard as she could. She shook her head at me, willing me to go away.

“Do you want to be free?”

She only cried harder, grasping at her chains and pushing away from me, gasping for air.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her sobs racked her entire body, as if she was expecting something that she couldn’t stop. I took her left arm chain into my hands and crushed it. It took more force then I was expecting, yet I did a leg one next, trying not to crush her leg in the process. She was probably scared out of her mind watching me crush her restraints with one hand like it was nothing, so I didn’t look up to see her reaction. I went to the next leg chain and then her arm. When I was done I expected her to run, hit me, scream, freeze up.

Nothing. The clasps of the chains that were now detached from the actual chains were still dangling from her limbs. I wouldn’t be able to crush those without hurting her fatally. She only stood there, swaying, and she looked immensely confused. I didn’t blame her. Where do we go from here? I settled on getting her out of this room.

“Can you make your way out by yourself?”

Nothing. I was starting to get annoyed. I was all for peace and quiet but this kinda pissed me off.

“Answer.”

I felt bad about growling like that, it was deep and could probably make a child cry. She flinched back and hit the wall, her lip trembled. Still nothing.

I wasn’t all too patient at this moment, I was still recovering from who knows how long of hunger. I wasn’t in my normal mental state. I was harsher, meaner, louder, easier to anger.

So I grabbed her arm. Maybe a little too hard. I hadn’t been gentle with something in a long time. I had forgotten how much my strength had increased over the years. This immortal body had forgotten how to be soft. She whimpered and winced, but never pulled away.

I dragged her to the ladder and made her to grab the rungs. Forced her up the ladder and out of the closet. She hit the ground at her knees when I released her. I noticed the blueish purple marks on her, where I had been. Shit. It looked almost mangled. Why didn’t she pull away? How long had she been down here?

I tried again. I tried to be softer. This human wasn’t for eating right now. I tried to remember that when I hoisted her up onto my back, her arms hanging limply over my shoulders, her head pressing softly against my back. Small, fragile. Just like all humans. Even smaller than that man in the woods. It didn’t matter their size, gender, strength— they were all small and fragile prey to me. Something caught my eye. Something I hadn’t noticed before. I set her on the couch, practically dropping her there. She stayed put, didn’t move an inch.

Something that no human would notice, a thin crack in the wall. I pulled at it and it came undone quite easily. A simple hidden door behind water rotted wallpaper. Simple, easy, no one would look here. I entered cautiously, was there another human here?

No. Just a video camera and a computer. Set up at a desk in the corner of the room. I turned it on, it blarring to life loudly. Human technology had grown in the years, and apparently gotten louder with the years as well. I looked around the screen, everything was labeled with dates. The earliest one was two days ago. I clicked on it only to freeze for a moment. Pictures of her. Pictures of his hand at her throat, fingers in her mouth, a picture of him digging his nails into her left breast.

I clicked through them, there was easily fifty of them. Disgusted, I clicked out of them to try to find the earliest ones. sixteen years ago. I hesitated, then clicked. A video.

The screen was dark for a few seconds, then someone picked up the camera and suddenly the soundproof room wall was visible. The man holding the camera sniffed a bit and turned the camera to face empty restaints on the wall. They were different from the rough chains she had previously been trapped in.

“Alright, well, here they are! I think they should hold my little pet fairly well. They’re pretty sturdy and adjustable. God she’s such a thrasher, so I hope these hold as well as the guy who made them said they would. Not like she’d be able to leave the room anyways but... well I’d still rather her be restrained,” he sniffed again, and his hand made it’s way onto camera, reaching out to hold the brown straps and mess with them.

“I’m sure she’ll love this room much better than the previous one. That one was so dark, I know she’s afraid of the dark so I felt kinda bad. Hearing her cry in the middle of the night was so annoying. Made me wanna hit her upside the head and knock her out. Aha, yeah, but,” another sniff, “I really should go grab her and get her into this. bye now.”

The video ended. The next one was two hours later. I clicked it and once again there was a dark screen for just a few seconds.

When the camera got pulled up however it showed not a wall but her instead. She was so much smaller, so worn and bruised. She was glaring at the camera, tugging at her restraints. She seemed so tired, like fighting back and pulling constantly was starting to hurt her arms. She seemed to be in a lot of pain.

“Tell the camera your name. Come on now.”

Her lip trembled, then she started to thrash harder, letting out a scream. He growled and grabbed her by the throat, shoving her head back against the wall.

“Tell. The. Camera. Your fucking name. Now.”

She whimpered and stopped struggling. Tears had pooled in her eyes and her lips trembled harder. He pushed against her throat again when he got no response.

“y/n.”

She said it quietly, but he seemed satisfied. He released her throat and delivered a soft hand on her head, patting there gently. She tried to cower away from his hand but he still followed.

“And how old are you, y/n ?”

She started to cry, a hiccup hitting the air. He moved his hand to her throat again but she didn’t need the warning this time.

“Si-si-six,” followed by another hiccup and sob.

He cooed at her, asking her things like what her favorite color was and her favorite song. She cried through the whole thing, her cries gradually getting louder. The video ended panned on her face, her eyes cast downward and tears streaks down her face.

I was grossed out, disgusted. I had the thought that maybe I should have dealt with him in a slower, crueler way. I searched through the pictures, looking for another video. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was the need to understand what she’d been through. It didn’t matter, I just needed to see more.

It panned directly on her face now. She was full out sobbing and thrashing, her cries bordering on screaming. He had a hand at her throat and a hand on the camera. He got up and set the camera down on a nearby surface. He walked into view, and changed tha angle so you could see her full body in the restaints. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, but continued to watch, wondering where this was going. The bandages were now on her face. I looked at the date of the video, july 27th, seven years after the first video. She would be thirteen at this point. Still so young. He walked into the view of the camera, a wild smile on his face. Sure enough, it was the man in my woods.

“Y/n... do you want to be free?”

She sobbed louder, gasping and screaming, “No! Stop! I don’t want to do this again! I hate it! It hurts! Its disgu—

He delivered a swift slap to her face, causing her to whince and cry more. She stopped speaking but continued sobbing. He glared at her, even though she couldn’t see it with the bandages on.

“You know not to talk like that. Especially on camera. And it’s not disgusting! So don’t ever say that. It’s an act of love, you useless and spineless whore. It means I love you.”

He continued insulting her, spitting out insults and praising himself, telling her how much he loved her, how lucky she was to be here with him, ect. It was disgusting to watch. He started to grope her all over, her body shaking. She was scared. She was terrified. He took her face in his hands and upwrapped the bandages, dropping them on the floor. Her facial expression was heartbreaking. She looked so beaten and broken down.

“I’ll ask again, do you want to be free?”

“NO!”

“Wrong answer,” she sobbed harder, her head limp and slouched over as her cries took over her body, “Of course you want to be free, and i’ll show you how to be. Just relax. It’s fine.”

I was sick to my stoumach at this point. The events that transpired next I won’t explain, they were too vile and disgusting to explain in full detail. I didn’t end up finishing that video. I turned off the computer, and walked out the door and back into the living room where I had set her. She was still there. Looking at her after seeing those videos, those pictures, those memories— I still felt sick. She had gone through that in my woods. I had neglected patrolling my woods for so long, and this had happened as a result. I had become lazy, I had relied on slender and his cloaking. That decision had allowed this to occur. It was my fault that she had endured this pain for sixteen years. It was up to me to make it up to her, even though I knew it was impossible to make up for that amount of crushing hurt. I knew it, but I still tried.

I approached her slowly, then kneeling down to her face level where she laid on the couch. She starred at me, but said nothing. She was confused. I didn’t blame her.

“Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you? If you don’t answer i’ll assume you want to be carried, and I won’t blame you. You probably have no leg strength left.”

She said nothing once again, and so I picked her up, more gently than I had before, more fitting of thin and expensive decorative glass. Her arms swayed limply as I carried her princess style out of the cabin and into my woods. I walked through the trees and stopped a few meters away from the man’s body. I felt that she needed justice, she needed to know she was safe. He was gone. I just didn’t know how to go about it. So I did so cautiously.

“The man who kidnapped you,” she froze in my arms, “he’s gone. Forever. He’s dead. Do you want to see? It’s gross, bloody, a disgusting display. You won’t even recognize him. He’s practically bones and slop now. If you don’t say anything i’ll assume you don’t want to see and we won’t continue in this direction. He’s just past those trees. So, do you want to see what’s left of your captor?”

I waited for a minute, but she didn’t say anything. I took that as my answer and turned around, ready to go in another direction. Her harsh grip on my sweatshirt stopped me. I looked down to see her lip quivering.

“I want to see it.”

She said it so soft, but I heard it. I nodded and turned back towards the trees, steadily making my way there. When I got there I stopped three feet from his body. She looked towards him, face turned away from me. I couldn’t see her expression. She started to cry, harshly and loudly. She went limp in my arms, so I kneeled down on the ground gently, setting her down and moving her so that she leaned against me. She cried for a good amount of time, I didn’t mind. When she stopped, she waited for a minute, then got up, me helping her. She took steps towards him, and when she was a foot away, she spit right on his skull. I almost smiled under my mask.

“Are you ready to go?”

She nodded and I picked her up once again, then making my way to my place. I wondered where to go from here. How much physical rehabilitation would she need to be able to move freely without my help? How much mental help? Did she have a home to go back to? Could I send her back? Would I keep her with me until she died? Humans had such short life spans, it wouldn’t be that long for me. Would she even want to stay with me? And what happens when I accidentally get too hungry and go feral, or on the verge of feral?

Would I kill her?

#eyeless jack fan fic #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack fanfiction #eyeless jack is feral #ej is my boy #we love ej #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #tw: rape #tw: gore #part 1 fic #🌸🔪

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straydawg · 3 years

Text

when the rain stopped.

summary: killua's tears are the rain that falls. (or, a short fic where killua can't live on with gon dead.)

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Rain was falling.

You didn't know what moved you to come so far out, only to lay with your back saturated against the cold concrete as the rain washed over your body. It bruised your face with every shard of ice-like rain. There was something so violent, so excruciatingly heart-rending about the downpour. The sky was thundering in wails of misery. Raindrops surged from the sky, crashing into one another, plunging onto roofs and cars. They held no consideration for where they would land. They only poured down.

It had been like this for hours now.

Your hair was matted and soaked. You reached your hand up to the sky, feeling the pounding rain crush it. Tears, indistinguishable from the rain, streamed down the sides of your face and mingled with the rising puddle beneath you. 'Were those your tears? When had you begun crying?'

You could no longer see the sky above you, as the rain kept falling down with such fervent and passionate intensity you were forced to squeeze your eyes shut. There was no reason to cry or even be there at all, but you could feel the sky mourning.

No.

Someone was grieving.

This had to be a real person. This was desperation, heartbreak, and loss all in one.

A deep cry of thunder lamented around you, so deafening the buildings shook. Perhaps you would drown here- if you didn't die beneath the sheer pressure of the storm first.

Just what happened to cause a thunderstorm charged with this much grief?

The cries turned into whimpers, short bursts of lightning illuminating the black sky.

It was radiant.

With every fluoresce of lightning, you saw another's life flash before your eyes.

"Gon!" He shook the lifeless boy in front of him.

"No no no no NO! Please Gon," Killua screamed, holding Gon to his chest and rocking the both of them.

Tears splashed onto Gon's eyelids, but they weren't his.

"Idiot, wake up! You can't die here. You can't die yet."

"You're meeting your dad for breakfast tomorrow. Mito is planning for you to come back home in the summertime. You're just a kid...we're just kids..."

Killua clung onto him tighter with every word, but Gon fell limp in his arms. He clenched his fist into the dirt, shoving sharp debris underneath his fingernails.

Killua refused to believe it. The person he had spent years adventuring with, the one who had helped him see his worth, the one who had saved him. He couldn't be gone, just like that. No, Gon was not the type to give up, and he would never back down in a fight even if he were outmatched. He would always come out with a smile and a, "hey don't worry about me! We did it, didn't we?"

But not this time.

Killua's sweat was sticking to Gon as he tore himself away to gaze at his friend. The bright moonlight shined on Gon's face, wet with Killua's tears. It was too bright for a night like tonight. He smudged the dirt off the boy's cheeks.

"Gon. Please wake up. D-Don't be so selfish. I.. you're the most precious thing to me. You're my dearest friend. The world.. it can't turn if you aren't there." He sniffed.

A tear escaped from the corner of Gon's eye.

"K..K.."

"Gon!"

"Killua.. thank you..." Gon coughed, cracking open his eyes. "From the day I met you and everyday I've been alive since...I knew I'd never find someone else like you. You made me li-"

Killua couldn't hold back the hailstorm of sobs that wracked his body as he heard Gon's words. He was still alive. He wouldn't let him die.

"Gon, don't talk like this is the end! I'm going to save you," he began scooping up Gon's body, ready to take him somewhere- anywhere that wasn't there.

"Let me finish. I want to hold onto this last moment...with you. Please."

Killua reluctantly set him back down on the dirt, laying him gently against a wall. He never let go of his hand, in fear that Gon would fade away from him in front of his very eyes.

"You made my life worth it. Ging said.. He said to enjoy the little detours in life because those are the moments you treasure the most. You never were just a detour, Killua. You became my purpose," Gon's eyes glistened. His light was fading fast.

Those few words were apparently too much for him, as it sent him into a violent fit of coughing. There was blood oozing out from his mouth. Killua quickly wiped off the redness with his fingers and grabbed onto his friend again.

He held Gon's forehead to his.

"Don't leave me."

No response.

Killua felt an exhale of breath touch his face. He didn't dare move.

After a few moments had passed, Killua found the strength to lay Gon onto the ground, and place his own longsleeve shirt over the boy for warmth.

Gon only wore a tank top. He'd be chilly without it.

Taking some steps back, Killua stared at the boy laying on the floor. Gon looked like he had shrunk, so weak and devoid of life.

There was nothing left in Killua, but a throbbing pain and emptiness.

Falling to his knees, he let out a series of gut-wrenching screams. His sobs filled the night just as much as the stars in the sky did. He beat the floor until his hands were bloodied and mangled, unleashing strikes of lightning to the earth with every devastating blow. Hopefully, the lightning would ruin him too.

What even was the point anymore? There was no longer any light left to illuminate the dark.

Once Killua had bled himself dry of all tears and every emotion there was, he weakly looked upon Gon's form.

Hadn't he said that the world would not turn if Gon wasn't there? But why was it still going? Why was he the only one suffering this cruel loss? Why were there people who were going about their lives right at this very moment, not knowing Gon had just died?

His world could not go on without Gon, smiling him on. Pushing him on. So— he had made his decision.

Memories of all their priceless times together played in Killua's mind like a movie, as if he were experiencing each one of them again for the first time.

The time they first met—

Gon hadn't even questioned Killua's line of work. He had become his first ever friend without a second thought. No one had ever put that much faith in him before.

The time Gon brought him to Whale Island—

Killua had been shocked at Mito's generous hospitality. He had learned what a real home was like, and Gon had asked him to continue travelling with him. It made him feel special, although he had never admitted it out loud before.

The time they began Greed Island together—

He never did tell Gon the real reason he followed him there. It wasn't just to find his dad. Maybe he was embarrassed, or scared too, but the truth was obvious. He loved Gon. That's why he stayed.

The time he saw Gon lying in that stupid hospital bed—

Killua wasn't sure if he felt hurt, angry or betrayed, but the one thing he knew is that he was being torn apart. He was breaking to pieces seeing Gon dying slowly in front of him. He swore he would save him, and he did.

But he couldn't save him today.

Sitting up a little straighter, Killua took a deep breath. Turning his nen against himself, he sent the electricity force of 900,000 volts straight to his heart. Enough to kill a tortured assassin like himself.

Killua fell to the ground next to Gon, and shakily reached for his hand. Once he had made contact, he sighed and closed his eyes.

He hoped and prayed that this would count as Lover's Suicide. Maybe, if the universe cared at all, and if some force out there pitied these tormented children enough— they could have a chance at life together. Souls forever intertwined in the afterlife.

Then the rain stopped.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

❝ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴀꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪᴛꜱ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ

ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟʟʏ

ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴀʟʟ

ꜰʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ

ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ

ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴛᴡᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏʀɴ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ

ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ❞

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

author's notes: hello! i'm new to tumblr and hoping to improve my writing here and make new friends! :) this blog will be multifandom, (bsd, hxh, aot, etc.)

requests are open!

#hunterxhunter #killugon oneshot #killugonangst #gonfreecss #killua zoldyck #fanfiction #i don't know how to use tumblr tags omg help

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atethewriting · 4 years

Text

The Tail Of A Golden Deer: The Sixth

This is a collaborative project with the account @jongins-laceglove. We apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy the sixth part of this series!

A Deer watched as the two men ran off, staring at the group before him with a wide smile on his face.

“I’m gunna go find Jisungie!!!!! I’ll be back!!” He yelled enthusiastically, running back into the dark and scary wood.

A carefree, young lad spun and skipped around without a single thought in mind. Except for, well, Jisung. Little did he know someone was watching him from the trees. Eyes that roared with green hues, and a uniform in which was for little girls. The thing stared and pondered with its’ little green eyes, growing curious.

Another watched the deer carefully, just as unaware. A man with spitting red hands and tan skin, followed Chenle by foot. All while Peppermint remained carefree.

That is, until he saw something so dreadfully horrible that made him stop right in his tracks.

A boy with dark hair hang lifelessly from a rope that was carefully tied into a noose. The boy’s body was bruised and cut and mangled, while his head dangled by his spine. Slowly, the fairy fell out of the rope’s hold and landed silently on the cold ground.

Chenle felt himself tick and buzz as he began to laugh, allowing the toxicity of freedom and in-sanity crawl under his skin. Crack, snap, bloody murder. The Canary’s hair and once-beautiful antlers went ink black, dripping with blood and dead skin. His once-gone fingers into sprouted bones, all the while his mouth tethered shut and spread into a sewed-on smile that reached to his ears. With eyes as red as hers, the Canary turned around and laughed at Haechan. This laugh wasn’t carefree and joyous at all. This laugh...this laugh spoke murder.

“Hiya, Freak!” He giggled, getting a bit too close for Haechan’s liking. The smell of death reeked throughout the forest, nothing the two hadn’t smelled before.

Haechan let out a hearty sigh and fought off the feeling to kill Chenle, realizing that he was definitely needed. “Hey.” He spoke blankly.

“Haha! Acting tough, are we? How cute, how cute indeed. Yep! Yep! Such carefreeness for one who just killed my best friend. How cute, how cute indeed. Yep! Yep! We found your double. There is always the possibility of replacing you, but my Mama said we need you and your triples later on. Yep! Yep! The Canary always wins! Indeed, Indeed!” The boy’s voice worked like clockwork, ticking and buzzing and slowly losing control. A small whisper in his ear told him what to say, so he gladly listened.

Haechan remained silent.

“My Mama said not to trust men who know men in lab coats! Yep! Yep! How cute, how cute indeed! Rude! Rude!” Chenle sang as he paced around the Mage, laughing and giggling.

That seemed to trigger Haechan in a way that made him stumble back and fall on the ground, a small gasp leaving his lips. “W-Who told you about that!?” His eyes went wide, a part of him trying not to cry.

“My Mama!” The canary replied cheerfully, humming.

“G-get away from me, freak!” The mage yelled, getting back onto his feet and running off.

Chenle only giggled, turning around and returning to his normal self.

“Well, I found Jisungie...I guess...”

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

Winwin sat nearby the mangled body of a wind, mumbling about how he can’t leave Kun with a child and no one to protect him. He had no clue if Aldrich had returned yet but he knew that he couldn’t leave Kun with a fucking CHILD. It was a bad idea to let Kun keep her in the first place but it was even worse for this to suddenly happen.

It then hit him.

“FUCKKKKKKKKK Even if i do make it back Baekhyun is literally going to slaughter me if he found out this happened!” Winwin yelled quite loudly, scaring off some birds.

A loud whistle sounded throughout, spooking Winwin. Curious, he sprung up and followed the sound.

Oh, it lead back to the cabin. OH, everyone’s here.

“I have news...” The deer whispered, staying awfully close to his double. “J-Jisungie...Jisungie is dead...”

Minseok blinked at him, trying to process his words before sighing heavily, moving sit down on the deck.

Hybrid Jisung smiled at the news, turned away from the group as he sat next to Yixing’s body.

That night was one big blur, everyone getting ready for bed as Minseok stared off into the forest, pacing nervously as he tried to decide on what to do with Yixing.

He walked by his body countless times, not even having the stomach to look at his lifeless form.

The moment he died kept replaying over and over in his head, the feeling he got as his friend’s life force slipped from his body like it was nothing wasn’t anything short of pure, unfiltered dread.

He finally gave up, letting out a loud frustrated noise as he opted for just putting a bed sheet on him and walked into the house.

He would have missed it when Chanyeol woke with a start, blindly searching for his notebook if it weren’t for his excessive cursing.

“Fuck if I don’t find it now I’m not going to be able to write it down, shit where is it I’m gonna fucking scream that god damned notebook is-“ Chanyeol flinched when his notebook smacked him in the face after Minseok threw it right at his face with an expectant look in his eye.

Chanyeol quickly sat down at the coffee table, quickly trying to scribble down all the events of his vision before it completely slipped from his mind.

“Fuck!” He growled, throwing his notebook across the room when he completely forgot some important information before he could write it down.

Minseok gingerly picked it up, flipping through the tattered book before stopping at the page he wanted, only to be more confused than ever.

“Orange. Blue. Black. Death. Jongin. Ch” He furrowed his brows and repeated it over and over, looking between the book and Chanyeol with a questioning look on his face.

“I don’t know, Minseok.. I really don’t know. I can’t help beyond that, I’m sorry. It’s gone.” He sighed, slumping over on the couch in defeat and running his hands over his face.

“And Jongin? Why does that name sound so familiar...” Minseok pondered as he walked over to Chanyeol, handing him his book back.

Chanyeol shook his head, taking the book absentmindedly with furrowed brows. “I.. It’s on the top of my tongue, but I just can’t quite put my finger on it. For some reason my first thought is that he has something to do with Renjun.. but that can’t be right, no that’s impossible. Right? It’s gotta be.”

Minseok stood there, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to think of this situation when he and Chanyeol were suddenly startled out of their thoughts by the sound of the glass door slamming shut- making them both jump in surprise.

They exchanged a suspicious glance before they both scurried outside, seeing an orange-headed boy with a fluffy striped tale slinking quietly into the dark forest and immediately following after.

~~~~

He stared down at the dead body of his doppelgänger, happy with his work as he tied the cloth pouch that held Jongin’s eyes to his belt.

He was about to fly off- before he heard the argumentative shouts of.. three? People in the distance, and decided to have some more fun that night.

He quietly walked through the forest, slowly getting closer and closer before he broke through the tree line, and startled the three men.

“W-wait, you look.. Chanyeol I think you were right about Jongin being related to Renjun... I think they used to be friends.”

Kai snarled, his boney dragon wings twitching and his white eyes seemingly glowing under the moonlight. “You knew Jongin?” He threatened.

The tallest one nodded once, his ears flopping slightly with the movement. “Yeah actually. He was- wait, knew?” He backed up.

Kai smirked, staring right into him “Yes, knew. Why I killed him, after all!”

They gasped, but the one with the orange hair stood out to him in particular, so of course he did the most logical thing.

Kill him.

He lunged forward, ripping into the soft skin of his stomach with his left hand and tearing out organs as the boy let out pained screams. Black flames from his hand burned him from the inside out.

Kai turned to the other two that were trembling in fear, too shocked to say anything as he twisted his hand once more- making the boy scream even louder and enjoying the way that they flinched.

He finally had enough, reaching into his rib cage and burning right through his lungs to rip out his heart.

He kicked the body aside, moving towards the other two.

“Now. What do you know of Renjun? Where is he. If you play nice I might let you live~ barely, of course- But you’ll survive.” He teased.

The short one shuddered, his eyes still glued to the corpse of his friend and not even registering the words his taller friend sassed back at the man.

“I’d like you to say that again with just as much confidence after you know just how many seers I’ve killed, boy.”

The boy glared as he moved to punch Kai- but let out a guttural scream when he grabbed his arm, breaking his bones with the sheer force of his grip and tossing him to the ground as though he weighed nothing.

Kai smiled at the two before he slowly lifted both of his arms. One backed up as the other merely sat on the ground in horror, pathetically scooting against the dirt in an attempt to escape. “No.. no, please! I’m begging you, don’t!”

Kai just chuckled deeply, and steadily grew flames in the palms of his hands- the left being black, and the right being blue.

“Well, this was fun while it lasted.”

He shot his flames at both of them, their cries of pain the only thing he could hear over the sound of burning flesh.

He frowned at the blue flame, being reminded once again of the days when his bastard of a father took him to that small blue room.

When their screams finally stopped, he relented- and made sure he was satisfied with their charred beyond recognition corpses before finally flying back to wherever he came from.

~~~~~~~~~

What’s it like to lose your best friend?

Only few know that feeling.

Only few know the hopelessness.

A deer, a mouse, a bard, and many.

In-Sanity is a lot of fun.

When you’re doing it with another.

The Deerest of Deers stood silently and blankly, rapidly changing from his other form back to the original. It couldn’t decide. Didn’t want to decide. In-sanity is funny. It likes to bounce around wildly in your mind while you try to stay alive. Quite humorous, if you ask us. It likes to glitch and sting and buzz. A monster of all sorts, we must say.

He ticked and buzzed and flinched when the others around him in the cabin living room spoke. Everything was incomprehensible, blended in with each other. Reverbs and autotunes lifted their voices until everything was just hums and squeaks.

The boy let out a small, freakish sound. Down he went, to the ground. Not unconscious, just overstimulated. The voices mocked him. Told him it was all his fault.

The voices only laughed and the buzzes and static noise got louder. Every other sense blocked out as he fought his mind.

Don’t slip into In-Sanity.

Mint, snapping, twisting, deer.

The boy let out another freakish sound, covering his ears and trying to drown out the hearty thoughts that stabbed him countless times over.

It was testing him. Probing his mind with questions. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t worthy.

“Stop go away!” He yelled, yet nothing came out.

“I can’t!” He said once more, no one heard him.

A slip out of mind. To where no one heard his cries. His mind. His mind. His mind.

As soon as it started, it was over.

Skin, pale and scared, seemed to glow. The red and white hues to his features returned, no longer gold. He wasn’t worthy anymore.

To everyone else, he had merely changed colors like a chameleon. No one saw his pain. No one saw him collapse.

“Don’t trust men who have green couches! Don’t forgive men in lab coats! Don’t believe men in orange! A tiger is dead! Yep! Yep! A griffin has no heart! Yep! Yep! Dobermen Dead! Indeed! Indeed!” He blurted out, unable to control what he just said. Covering his mouth, he shook. “W-what...I-I didn’t mean to say that! Why did I say that?!!”

Jisung watched Chenle from a corner of the room, his own eyes swimming with worry. He’d been trying to muster up the courage to walk over and help him- seeing as nearly everyone else couldn’t see his distress through the haze of their own.

He mentally slapped himself when Sicheng and Yuta stepped into his line of vision, unfamiliar serious looks in their eyes.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but before he could get the words out they both reached down and grabbed an arm, pulling him up. A confused noise escaped his mouth as they dragged him up the stairs into his and Chenle’s room.

Sicheng pushed him down on the bed, Yuta sitting down next to him as he pulled a chair away from the desk in front of the window it sat in front of.

He was speechless, eyes flicking between the two with a suspicious look.

“What do you two want.”

Sicheng snorted out a laugh, crossing his legs in the chair.

“We wanted to know if you need to talk? Not just about all the deaths.. but things in general.”

Jisung looked surprised, and he was indeed as to why they’d want to talk to him of all people. Why not Chenle? He certainly needed it more than him.

“I.. I suppose so. It honestly hasn’t caught up to me yet.. and I don’t think the worst has come.”

Yuta nodded, moving to wrap his arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “I see.. well, you know we’re here for you when it does hit. If you need us we’ll be there- no matter what. Don’t be scared to come get us.”

“I second that!”

Jisung chuckled, reaching to grab the desaturated orange blanket with cream splotches and black stripes that was draped over the headboard.

He wrapped it around himself, a comfortable silence settling in between the three. He didn’t have to speak for them to understand his situation or noisy mess for thoughts. They just knew. almost as if they’d been through something similar.

~~~~

Jisung shot up from his sleep in a cold sweat, looking out the window to see a bright crescent moon.

He swallowed, but the lump in his throat protested, causing him all the more pain.

He blinked, suddenly realizing the wetness of his cheeks.

All too fast, his mind flashed with the memories of his boyfriend from his dream and he only cried harder.

He got up quietly, padding through the hallway and down the steps to the bathroom. He picked up a small animal that was glowing dimly, and grabbed some sugar cubes for it on his way to the bathroom.

He set the small fluffy yellow creature onto the side of the counter, right in front of the mirror and giving it the snacks. He smiled softly as it’s glow became brighter with happiness, nearly buzzing in delight as it hummed sweetly.

With shaky hands, he took out Chenle’s pocket knife and sniffled, staring into the mirror at his own blurry and disoriented reflection.

He raised the knife to his hair- slicing off chunks until it was an inch long on top. With shaky hands, he shuffled through the drawers in the shelf behind him, pulling out an electric razor and deciding to shave the bottom a bit.

He stared into the mirror with a dull look, holding back the urge to scream and cry and punch something until his fists were bloody.

He clenched his jaw, suddenly turning to go back upstairs.

He walked right past his room, turning into an empty . His tears started falling even heavier, dripping onto the ground as he searched through the drawers for Chenle’s lighter.

He finally found it, pulling it out of the drawer and dropped to the ground. He hugged it close to his chest, sobbing freely.

After a while he calmed down a bit, and he decided to get up and go act upon whatever impulses his mind feeds him.

As he was standing up to leave the room, he jumped- the silhouette of his roommate startling him.

“C-Chenle? What are...what are you doing out of bed...?”

“What the heck do you think I’m doing?! I’m trying to find that stupid book...Yep! Yep! Indeed!” Chenle grinned and approached the other, his figure darkened and bloody. In between the knots and strings of his mouth, a set of sharp teeth rest, waiting to strike. The boy’s red eyes glowed so brightly that it was almost blinding to look at.

“Would you like to commit a crime as horrible as murder with me? For sure! For Sure! We shall ruin life and death! The king has befallen! Yep! Yep! In a pile of roses, once more! Yep! Yep! May we pray for his poor soul!” The Canary giggled, twitching and ticking as he hummed around the room.

“My Mama,” He continued, looking back at Jisung, “My Mama said to have you help me, as you are as heartbroken as I am!”

Jisung gulped, shoving the lighter into his pocket and averting his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know who your ‘Mama’ is, but she’s wrong. I’m not heartbroken. I don’t know why I would be. It’s not like.. like he’s really gone or anything. He’s just, he’s just missing, that’s all. Yeah, he’s missing!”

He bounced over to the doorway, looking behind him to Chenle, waiting for him to follow.

“I- I’ll find him! Yeah, You’ll burn the book, and i’ll g- go look for him. And I’ll find him! He’s okay, I just know it.”

Chenle stopped the taller one, tightly gripping his wrist and looking down.

“Jisungie...You can’t go in the woods anymore...there’s an evil man there. H-He...He killed your...your me. He’ll kill you, too, if you go out there. The man with...dragon wings...He doesn’t show any mercy. Just...Just grab the book. We’ll burn it together, okay?”

He let out a shaky and weak sigh, the tension in his body slowly disappearing.

“I.. I will burn the book with you. But after that, I can’t promise anything. I appreciate it.. but I have to go into the forest. I can’t explain it, it’s like there’s something calling me. And I need to know what it is.”

“Then, I’m going with you.” The Deer let go of the mouse’s wrist, leaving the room and coming back with a lit lantern. “But let’s do it before it gets too late. We can burn the book when we get back, or we’ll get it now and do it in the woods. How does that sound?”

Jisung only nodded.

And, off they went.

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

With winds of ice and horror, two boys stood at the edge of a dark forest, wielding only a pocket knife, a lighter, an old book, and a lantern. In Xymore times, right now it would be 2 First, or, 2AM.

The Wood, alive with creatures only the night knows, crawled up their backs and made them shiver. Howls and shrieks and cries they had never heard before. Sounds only heard in dreams. The wisps of eerie whispers tickled them.

Only a small flame brought them to the center of it all. Everything fell into a sort of enchanting spell at this hour, whistling a tune while purple lights dangled from the trees as if they were hung for a birthday party.

“Mendorus Candelactum...” Chenle mumbled, “The Goddess Of Memories...She’s watching...We mustn’t make a sound, Jisung...”

“How do you know th-”

“Shh...”

The Deer stood tall on his heels and sniffed the air, pointing North, deeper into the forest.

“That way...” He breathed, quietly heading the direction he pointing to.

The reeking smell of death filled their noses and blanketed their tastebuds with rotten, human flesh. Chenle, quite used to it, kept moving closer towards the smell. Jisung, however, gagged and unwillingly followed the canary.

What they saw was hideous.

Guts scattered the forest floor. Blood, clotted and gooey, stuck to the bottoms of their shoes as they directed the light towards the source. Three dead bodies rest mangled and stagnant, hollow of any magic. Just a shell of the people they used to be. The youngest let out a choked sob once he saw someone familiar, yet the oldest directed his attention towards the rope that hung from a tree, and the man who lay beneath it.

A graveyard of magic and unfulfilled hope. It disgusted them, yet, intrigued them, as well. A lighter and a book, four dead bodies, possible doom...It intrigued them. Made them so undeniably curious. What lie at the end? Only the dead knew that answer.

The small “tick, tick, tick” of a lighter being lit was the only sound made in this moment. Soon after, the crackling of a book being burned to ashes, and the choked laughs of two In-Sane children. ‘Such a pretty sight,’ they pondered, allowing for the in-sane-ness to drown them in such a pretty and curious light. ‘Such a pretty sight to see the ones we hate mangled on the forest floor.’

Jisung giggled, the misplaced happy sound cutting through the air over the crackling of the burning book. His hand subconsciously reached towards the dancing fire, before the sound of a twig snapping from behind startled him.

He whipped around towards the sound, flinching and swiftly pulling out his dead boyfriend’s knife from his back pocket.

His eyes widened at what he saw, the corpses of their deceased friends- and his boyfriend- rising from the ground, their empty eyes dull-ly twinkling from the light of the small fire.

“Burn.. Burn.... Burn........” They groaned, clawing and stumbling after the pair before Jisung had to slash at Minseok’s hand when his body got too close. “I.. I think that’s how they died...” Jisung mumbled to himself, clicking his tongue as he grabbed a heavy rock to bash Chanyeol’s skull in with it while stabbing Minseok in his rotting temple, successfully killing them one last time.

He panted, staring down at the bodies in a moment of uneasy silence before a shrill scream of surprise ripped out from his throat, being shoved to the ground with a harsh pushed from behind.

He struggled, slashing at the crazed, re-animated body of his boyfriend that reached for him while he sobbed. “No! No, please- Chenle! It-It’s me! Don-don’t you recognize me?! It’s- it’s go-ing to be ok-okay! Just please, Don’t hurt me!!!”

Our very deer-like Chenle twitched and ticked towards his double, pulling him up by the back of the shirt and giving a dead stare. Looking him in the eyes, the Canary’s pupil dilated until the eye was as small as a pin. Looking death in the eye, giving his doom the final laugh before reaching up the lighter in which the book was burned from. Slowly, the small whispers of the forest silenced, being filled by the short breaths of someone who’s faced death many times over.

“You can’t hear me...You have nothing left...But, I promise you...I will take care of him. You shall hurt no-one...an-y-mo-re. May Death never forgive you, and may you light up in flames and fuel our heat.”

The Silence, like a bubble, popped. Soft, crackling noises from the fire that burned a familiar body.

“He’s watching us. Such...a foolish boy...Jisungie...Someone’s watching us. He’ll make it 21...We must hurry home.”

A whip of dark light flew by them. The small laugh of a confused man, creeping up behind them.

“I recognize those certain words, yes yes,” The voice spoke, making himself apparent.

Kun.

“Mark told me once, I thought it was your father who would say it. Of course, it’s you. He could tell the future! Ah, green, green!” Wrapping his arms around Chenle and squeezing tight, a bright smile lit up the forest. “Your father wouldn’t be proud of you, but I am.”

“Kun!!” The Deer smiled, returning to his normal self and helping up Jisung, “Jisung! This is...oh, are you okay? You look awfully pale.”

Said boy shivered in dread, wrapping his arms around himself on the ground he sat disoriented upon. He stared Into the distance- the feeling of something being wrong consuming him before the question registered, and he stood up stiffly, offering a curt nod to no one in particular.

“Yeah, I’m.. fine. I’m just not used to an... anybody el-se b-ut m..my Chenle car-ing about m-e.”

He wiped blood off of the blade of his knife with the fabric of his tattered gray shirt, cutting a long slit into it accidentally as a result.

He scrunched up his nose in anger, impulsively flipping the knife downwards in his hand before shoving the knife into the hole.

Right as it registered in his head what he’d done, it was too late.

He gasped, the pain slowly spreading through his body before he pulled the knife back out of the side of his side in a panic- spasming in pain and flinging the knife through the air blindly.

Kun blindly caught the knife, recognizing its’ pattern and dropping it to the ground, letting a small gasp grab his throat and strangle him. A choked cry brought him all the way left as he stumbled over to Jisung and absent-mindedly started to treat his wounds. A strange tingling feeling brought him to a halt, feeling as if there was a ghost touching his shoulder. He shivered, continuing what he was doing until the wound was bandaged and secure.

Yet, something felt off. Not in the way that’s like “oh I’m not home”, but in a “I know this place” kind of way. He knew this forest.

It was the forest he went missing in over 20 years ago.

“What the...”

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

By now it was getting to be sunrise and the three In-Sane members of the group made their way up the steps, too tired to notice that a green book and some pointy object rest where Yixing was supposed to be, but now gone.

Tired, but aware, Kun saw the small sign that was hung right next to the door, absolutely speechless.

“Renjun...Renjun...Huang Renjun...?” He spoke to himself, entering into the cabin after the two boys.

With Chenle and Jisung already in their rooms, probably sleeping, Kun took his time peeking around the cabin until he had someone to talk to. Reminiscing the old cabin and memories he had in the past.

The fiery heat of a Phoenix made his way down the stairwell, still sleepy and in his soft pajamas. It was quite early, after all. Sunlight breeched through the large windows Kun was facing, causing him to groan and shield his eyes from the powerful light. His tucked-away Fairy wings were quite visible, now, as his black shirt wasn’t at all heavy. This caught Renjun’s attention. He gasped so loud that it made Kun swiftly turn around.

The two shook as they tried to keep themselves together. Many, Many years it had been since they last made eye contact. So many lost years in which the Phoenix called the Fairy’s name deep in the woods with no response. They both looked so mature now, it was almost too good to be true.

“Kun?”

“Renjun?”

Renjun trembled, his eyes stinging with the pain that came along with the remembrance of lost memories.

Pictures of his childhood flashed before his eyes in a vivid haze of laughter and fun. He had been friends with the fairy at a young age.. up until he disappeared without a trace one day, leaving the boy to wonder if it was all a dream.

But he stood before him now, in all his glory.

He blinked his thoughts away, stepping closer to the other man.

“Is... is it really you? I- I assumed you were dead. You look so different now...”

“I would say the same for you, Renjun. Yes, it really is me...I uh...thought I’d never see this place ever again, honestly.” Kun didn’t seem to smile, even in this moment of joy. Yet, the phoenix could tell Kun was insanely proud of him. “Oh, right. My Renjun wanted me to tell you that he is okay. He’s at home resting....Mmmm...Do you have any soda...? It’s been years since I’ve had a coke.”

Renjun’s caramel brown hair glowed ember in a moment of excitement as he jumped to the kitchen happily.

“That’s right, you used to really like pop didn’t you?” He thought out loud, swiping a can of coke from the top shelf of the fridge.

“I like to drink one out in the place we used to play around as kids... I never really thought about it before, but I really miss those days.” He pondered reminiscently.

“Mmm...” Kun looked down at the floor, holding the can of coke tightly in his hands. Soft tears slowly fell down his face while he attempted to push them away and act like nothing was happening. “S-Sorry...Sorry I’m sorry...”

The distant arguing of two of the now awake members came crashing down the stairs. Winwin...and Yuta...Surprise, surprise. Winwin came tumbling over to Kun, tackle hugging him.

“Saonac, soam-raoc acaas!!“ He slapped Kun right on the cheek, giving a small pout and sitting on his lap.

“Shoth of!“ The stupid, tear-faced idiot returned.

“Dhraeen~” Winwin stuck his tongue out, wiping Kun’s tears away.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The loud crash of a startled man came tumbling down the stairs, quickly collecting himself and looking at the group with wide eyes.

“I know the coordinates!”

#fairyland!au #nct #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #worldbuilding #fairyland #horror #collab #crossover #exo #kpop

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

Shadowed Hearts/Winter Souls (Five)

We meet the rest of Natalia’s family in this chapter-- Ronin and Samuel, Wanda and Pietro and her terrifying mysterious brother, James Buchanan Barnes comes home for a visit.

Generic TW for slight mentions of past child abuse and descriptions of war.

(As always, I use google translate for the Russian and if it’s terrible, I fully apologize to anyone who speaks Russian and has to deal with any mangled translations.!)

MASTERLIST HERE

*********************

The Sokovian revolution was a war fought in the shadows, a war of ambushes and raids, of spies and double agents, a war that tore families and friends apart as it stretched from one never ending decade through another. Occasionally things would calm down and an unofficial but mutually agreed upon ceasefire would exist for a few months, soldiers and peasants living together in a tightly wound unease, noblemen on either side of the differing politics sitting down for mostly civil meetings.

But inevitably something would go wrong, tempers would flare and the unrest would boil over into actions and no matter how long the peace had lasted, the killing always started again, the murder, the chaos, the loss always started again. Another generation of young men and young soldiers were drawn into a battle they didn’t quite understand, choosing sides in a war that had been sparked long before they were born, and would continue on after they gave their lives to the futility of the fight.

James Buchanan Barnes was a solder that had been fighting his entire life.

He fought in the schoolyard with the other boys, defending his mama’s reputation even though everyone knew the truth. Everyone knew James was named for the American ambassador that had visited one summer nearly thirty five years past, the one his mother had befriended when her marriage to the Lord Romanov was barely a year old and already practically over.

James was obviously- very obviously- the ambassador’s son, but anyone who dared say so got a punch in the stomach for their efforts. As James got older, the fighting got worse as he sought to protect his mouthy half sister Natalia from those who teased her for having bright red hair and when Natalia grew from child to young woman, the fighting got worse again when the boys started to make other comments about her. James bloodied more than a few faces and broke a few arms before the boys in their town learned to avoid the gorgeous redhead and her surly brother. When their ma passed, James took his grief and went across the sea to the continent. He told Natalia he left to try and find his real father, but he had such inclination, no care to connect with a man that didn’t even know he existed.

No, James went to the continent because he didn’t want to be home with Natalia’s Da and the angry disapproval that seeped from the man, the constant resentment that erupted to shouting matches and sometimes into violence. Ivan never forgave his wife for her affair and he took his hostility out on the boy till the day James was big enough to be sure no one ever raised a hand towards him again.

James left so he didn’t have to walk past his Ma’s empty bedroom anymore, so he didn’t have to think about the months it had taken the indomitable woman to lose against the sickness in her bones, the way she’d been so weak in the end, the way her hand had trembled in his as he held it over her heart.

Now that Winnie was gone, there was no love left in the house, no softness to counter Ivan’s anger, and James took the chance to escape, packing his bags and leaving Sokovia and a tearful Natalia behind.

He found a fight in the former British colonies, the North and South tearing themselves apart in a civil war that was bloodier than James could have ever imagined, worse than the Sokovian revolution had ever been. Family against family and brother against brother, states and politics and greed clashing and exploding and costing thousands and thousands of lives in the process.

There James honed his skills, turning from a brawler into a soldier and growing from a soldier into a killer. He discovered an affinity for long range rifles, a finesse with knives that was almost terrifying, and somehow between the skirmishes and the marching and the senseless slaughter that turned fields into bloodbaths--

--James discovered brotherhood, discovered family that had nothing to do with bloodlines and loyalty among friends that didn’t waver in the face of the horrors they faced together.

The war changed James, and when he returned to Russia five years later, It was he came home older and angrier, lethal with his fists and brutal with his blows, armed to the teeth and ready and willing to use anything he needed to accomplish his goal. He was accompanied by the men he called brothers, a former slave named Samuel and an archer named Ronin and the night the three men crossed the border to Sokovia was a night talked about for years after. A platoon of the Tsar’s men were in the roadside tavern, too many drinks and too much confidence making for an unfortunately loud conversation about the folly of Sokovian independence, about how the resistance was all but over as soon as they rounded up the last few cowards hiding in the shadows. James had listened in silence, then tossed back the rest of his drink and broke the thick glass over one soldier’s head. Samuel beat the life out of another while Ronin finished his drink in peace, then unhooked the crossbow from his back and put a bolt through one soldier's heart and halfway into another's chest. It had been the trios first kill for the Sokovian revolution, but far from their last and James stood on top of a table with his two American friends and announced, “The revolution is far from over, in fact it is just starting anew and we the rebels have claimed first blood. Tell the others the Winter Soldier has come back home to avenge their families.” The Winter Soldier James had many names these days. He was Его Сиятельство Маркиз Romanov to those who cared about his title, His Serenity the Marquis since the Lord Romanov was dead and gone and his title had been passed down. To Natalia he was simply James or brother, though after all this time she was more apt to curse at him and throw a book at his head than she was to claim him as family. To Samuel and Ronin and the other friends he had made during his time in America, he was simply Bucky, a nickname pulled from the middle name Buchanan one night after a lot of drink and a lot of laughter, announced as his forever name by a big blonde with laughing blue eyes and a smile that haunted James in a secret part of his hardened heart. James had many names these days, but to those those who stood in the way of the revolution, those who dared to go up against he and his fighters, James was known as the Winter Soldier-- cold and calculating, murderous and merciless, a man with frost in his eyes and ice in his heart, one who lived in the shadows and only emerged to take a life. James was a soldier who fought the war with his own set of rules and for years there wasn’t a man in Sokovia that didn’t fear him or his wrath. It was understandable then, when a night watchman about jumped out of his skin when a match struck no more than two feet to his left, blazing into light in the dark and barely illuminating the features of the man who had crept up to his post unnoticed. “Bozhe moy, you scared me.” the watchman muttered, wanting to put a hand to his heart to calm himself down, but not wanting to appear weak in front of the Soldier. “They didn’t tell me you were coming round tonight. Last we heard you were towards the borders and maybe even towards Kiev.” “Hm.” James made a non-committal noise, taking a drag at his cigarette and letting a plume of smoke fill the air between them. “I heard about the ambush.” the watchman lowered his voice. “Story has it the soldiers knew Ronin and Samuel weren’t with you and that’s the only reason they dared--” “Those who listen to scary stories will find themselves visited by horrors.” the Soldier interrupted and the watchman’s mouth clicked shut. “And who ever told the Tsar’s men we were coming already has a bounty on his head. And I do mean on his head.” James took another drag at the cigarette. “I have a hundred coins for whoever brings me the slags scalp, I don’t care about the rest of his body.” “...oh.” the watchman swallowed hard. “The casualties were high, then?” “My highest.” James confirmed bitterly. “But there’s no use in talking about the dead. Tell me news of my home, has Rumlow reported in yet?” “Yes sir.” A nervous sort of nod and James narrowed pale eyes in his direction. “That is to say, we received a communique from Rumlow saying that all is well at the manor estate. But um--” “But?” “But the Lady Romanova, your sister-- well, the stories say she has-- it would seem she has--” “Finish a sentence!” the Soldier thundered and the watchman stumbled over the rest of words to blurt-- “The Lady Romanova has taken another husband!” Silence in the dark, thick and heavy and ominous and the watchman had never been so aware of the words 'shooting the messenger' before in his life. “You’re sure?” James finally asked. “And think carefully before you answer, because I will not ask again.” “I--I’m sure.” The guard wet his lips anxiously. They might be brothers in arms as far as the revolyutsiya was concerned, but every man in camp knew to avoid making James angry, that the man known as the Winter Soldier would kill simply to make a point. He had killed simply to make a point, to shut someone up that was annoying him, or just to put an end to a conversation he didn’t want to have. James was not a man to trifle with and the watchman had not wanted to be the one to deliver this particular bit of news. “The Lady Romanova left by train to Italy and returned with a husband." He said quickly, seeing as how he was too far into the story to retreat now. "She was only gone ten days, but by the time word reached our camp she had gone and returned and as of Rumlow’s last message, she has been home at the manor in Sokovia for almost a week now.” “Natalia left the country without me knowing?” the Soldier’s voice went very quiet and very dangerous. “How did this happen, exactly? Rumlow was on strict orders to not let her out of Sokovia." “I-- I don’t know? I just heard she left and was back again before word reached us that she was gone. That’s all I know, I swear.” The Soldier’s curse was foul enough to make the watchman back up a few steps. “Get me a horse.” “...sir?” “A horse.” He repeated. “It would seem a trip home is long over due. Get me a horse now.” ***************** Tony had had every intention of leaving Sokovia, he honestly did. He wanted to go home and he wanted to see his parents and he wanted to be surrounded by his things and finish healing his heart among familiar belongings.

And yet, he'd been at the manor house for almost two weeks now, and had no inclination to leave.

Every sensible thought told Tony to pack up and go, to get away from the secrets that filled the halls and the indecipherable looks and murmured conversations taking place during the meals. It would have been practical and smart to sent a post to his Mama and tell her he would be returning, to perhaps pen a note to his professor and ask about returning to a class at the university.

But something entirely unsensible and perhaps even a little lonely told Tony to stay.

It was nice after all, to wake up and know he had someone to take breakfast with. Natalia was always downstairs before he was, greeting him with a still hesitant smile and a prepared cup of coffee, offering him any of the food that was ready for the morning meal.

Most mornings Samuel and Ronin were there as well, and even though the first few meetings had been awkward, Samuel had eventually relaxed enough to at least nod in Tony's direction and offer polite conversation. Ronin never said a word to Tony, but he had stopped glaring distrustfully and Tony considered that a step in the right direction.

The twins were the other full time residents of the manor house, and Tony had met them just a few days prior. He had been struck nearly speechless by Wanda’s beauty and found himself completely unprepared for Pietro’s particular brand of morbid humour and despite the twins being entirely different physically and personality wise, Tony found himself thoroughly charmed and almost unbearably curious.

“We are Ronin’s children.” Wanda explained as she sipped at her tea one morning, dressed in an outfit more leather than cloth, her delicate features highlighted by brilliant red hair and hands covered in ever present elbow length gloves. “He saved my brother and I years ago, when the revolution sparked a fight and burned our village down. He brought us here to Talia and this has been our home ever since.” “Your home was destroyed in an uprising.” Tony's eyes flickered in sympathy. "And your parents--” “Gone.” Wanda finished flatly. “And we grieved, of course we did, but growing up in this country…” one shoulder lifted and fell in a half hearted shrug. “...loss and grief is a certainty not a possibility, an eventuality even for children and we were luckier than most. We had our parents for much longer than others." “I can’t imagine losing my parents.” Tony muttered, reaching for one of the scones on the platter. “I don’t know what I’d do with out them.” “Apparently run away to Russia with a temptress, hm?” Wanda raised a knowing eyebrow and Tony blinked at her a few times. “Talia has not told us everything about your story, Antonio, but she told us enough to prove you belong here.” “I belong here?” Tony repeated. “And what does that mean exactly?” “It means Talia has an unnerving habit of finding the people that need refuge.” Pietro spoke up from the easy chair he was sprawled across, flipping the pages of a book without really reading. “But it's not your fault, you know. She probably would have brought you home whether you wanted to be here or not. Talia’s pretty impossible to refuse.” “I suppose I was looking for refuge of some sort.” Tony allowed, eyeing the young man curiously, the shock of shaggy blonde hair and the eyes that almost looked silver in the sunlight. “Though this wasn’t quite what I was expecting.” “Very rarely does what we need line up perfectly with what we want and almost never does it line up with what we expect.” Wanda answers primly. “Wouldn’t you say so, brother?” “I’d say you should stop reading those books of wise sayings and practice your swordsmanship or Ronin will never let you out of the manor to help the fight.” Pietro countered. “You may sound important but you’re all but worthless on the field.” “I’m better with a sword than you are.” Wanda sniffed and when Pietro made an outraged sort of noise, she flipped aside the skirt of her morning dress to show an astonishing amount of leg and the blade strapped to her thigh. “Are you as prepared as I, brother?” “It’s breakfast!” Pietro said loudly. “I shouldn’t have to carry a sword!” “And that is why Ronin insists you stay home, my love.” Natalia swept through the kitchen in her dressing robe, bending to kiss both twins on the cheek. “That and because I refuse to let this revolution take another member of my family. Otherwise I’m sure he and Samuel would have you on one of the stallions laying traps and ambushes right alongside them.” “Are you giving away our secrets, Talia?” Samuel still had grime on his knuckles from an early morning spar as he crossed the room to kiss her good morning. “Telling Antonio about our traps and ambushes?” “I’d never give secrets away, Samuel.” Natalia said reproachfully, and the big man folded her into a careful hug, keeping his split knuckles away from her robe. “What kind of woman do you take me for?” “You shouldn’t ask those questions.” Ronin interrupted and Natalia turned to him with a smile, ignoring his bloody lip to press their mouths together. “You know damn well you won't like the answer.” “Ronin.” Pietro waited until he and Natalia had parted before circling round to face Ronin, his hands moving just as fast as his mouth as he said, “I want to go train with you today.” Ronin didn’t answer, only inclined his head towards the door and Pietro grinned and took off for his rooms to get dressed. “Um--” Tony cocked his head in question over the signing and Wanda explained, “Pietro and my accent is so strong that Ronin cannot hardly understand us, even if we are speaking his American English. Since we pronounce words differently than Natalia, he has a hard time reading our lips as well. It’s probably the same with you, you know. He doesn’t speak to you because he cannot understand your accent and as you form the words, he can’t read your lips.” “Sorry?” Tony narrowed his eyes. “He has a hard time reading my lips? Why is he reading my lips?" “His injury?” Wanda made a motion down the side of her face and sent him a disbelieving look. “Ronin is entirely deaf on that side. Don’t tell me you’ve lived here for weeks now and didn’t know? How could you not know that?" “I--” Tony shook his head. “I’ve seen him listen when Natalia talks, I’ve seen him respond to conversation--” “Talia is always directly in front of him, or speaking to his left side, as is Samuel and the other soldiers.” Wanda informed him. “Talia’s accent isn’t as heavy as ours due to her spy work, so he can usually understand her but Pietro and I have learned to sign so we can speak with him as needed.” “Natalia and he are in love even though he can’t always understand what she is saying? How is that possible?” Tony asked dubiously. “And for that matter, how is he an effective soldier if he can't hear?" Wanda narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment. “Antonio, love is a language that requires no translation. You do not need a mouth to speak it, nor ears to hear it. Why would Ronin’s injury have any bearing on their relationship?” “Well I--” “And he was an elite soldier before his injury.” She continued. “If anything, he is more dangerous now, especially with Samuel at his side.” “Um--” “It makes me sad for you that you’ve never found a love that crosses borders and languages and withstands life changes.” Wanda finished her tea and set her cup aside, either not noticing or not caring that Tony was staring at her in a stunned sort of horror. “Natalia told me you loved and lost in Italy, but I don’t believe it was love at all, if you cannot understand a relationship that has trials for the partners to overcome together.” “I loved him.” Tony stammered a few times. “I-- I did. It was love. I loved him." “Did you?” Wanda took Tony’s empty cup to the wash tub. “Or did you know it wasn’t love at all, and that’s why you ran away?” Tony didn't know what to say to the young woman then and Wanda didn't wait for him to reply, sweeping out of the room and taking Natalia along with her to get dressed for the day and then it was only Tony left by himself to stare out the window and think about what she had said. He’d loved Ty, right? That’s why the betrayal had hurt so much, why he’d been so angry. There was a thin line between love and hate and Tony had crossed it so quickly, it had to have been love between them, right? Right? Tony pushed the thought away because he wasn’t ready to think he’d nearly ruined his life for lust and a love that wouldn’t have lasted. He wasn’t ready to think about that at all.

“Antonio--” Sam nearly ran into Tony as he came back into the room. “Natalia said that you--” “It’s just Tony.” He interrupted and Sam paused, looking confused. “It’s just Tony. Natalia and the twins call me Antonio, but even back home, everyone called me Tony. My-- my friends and acquaintances call me Tony." “Tony, then.” Sam started again with a half smile. “Natalia said that you might want to see how we train. Her exact words were ‘he broods too much, my love. Do something with him’, so do you want to come along? Ronin is taking Pietro out on the horses, do you ride?" Tony was more than a little surprised by the offer, but nodded anyway. “I don’t have anything else to do today. And um-- I do ride. Thank you." “Come on then.” Samuel motioned for him to follow out the back doors and towards the small stables. "We should still be able to catch them if we hurry." “Tell me, Samuel.” Tony had to jog to keep up with the other man’s strides. “How does an American end up in Sokovia fighting a revolution and in love with a woman like Natalia?” “Her brother Bucky.” Sam answered and when Tony frowned, he amended, “James. Everyone back home calls him Bucky, but I suppose here he is James. He came to America looking for his pa, ended up fighting a war that wasn’t his. Lucky for me and Ronin and the rest of the boys, he wanted to fight for our side.” “Ronin is American too?” “Yep.” Samuel reached over to pet the nose of one of the geldings when it nickered at him. “He used to have another name, but he was Ronin by the time I met him. Spoke with a weird accent back then, like he picked up a piece of culture every where he’d been in his life and now that we’re here in Russia, it's changed again.” “Is it-- since he’s deaf?” Tony made a motion over his ear. “Has that affected his speech?” “Probably.” Samuel shrugged. “But he’s been hurt like that for as long as I’ve known him, so I couldn’t say for sure.”

“So Natalia’s brother fought with you, and both of you just came back to Russia with him?” “Tony.” Samuel shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s like in Italy for people who look like me, but back home it wasn’t real good. Wasn’t real good for people like Ronin either, with his family and history and moving around and all that. But Bucky didn’t care about any of it. He didn't care that Ronin's people were looked down on and he made sure I never felt a whip on my back again so the two of us-- yeah. We followed him to Sokovia. We’ll follow him anywhere, even to hell and back.”

“Some days--” he looked around the yard, towards the mountains in the distance and sighed. “--some days that’s exactly what it feels like.” *************** “Did you enjoy your time with Samuel and the others?” Natalia barely looked up from her embroidery when Tony came down to the parlor looking for his book that night. “I think this is the most you’ve been out of your room since we arrived, it must have been a busy day." “It was a busy day, and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.” Tony turned the book over a few times as he thought about what he wanted to say next. “Natalia, are you happy living your life like this?” “Elaborate.” Natalia cut her thread and tied it off before reaching for another color.

“Here, like this.” Tony motioned around them. “Playing mother to the twins even though they are grown, spending your day reading and your nights sewing? This doesn't seem like something a woman like you would want.” “A woman like me. You mean because I am a spy.” Natalia went back to her project. “Because when we met, I seemed fully at ease in that ridiculous dress and mask and because I faced down the soldiers without wavering.” Tony was quiet and she sent him a sharp look. “Or do you mean because I am a woman who has killed many men and lied to dozens more to get what I want? Is that what you mean?” Tony’s jaw clenched and Natalia tsked at him. “Antonio, this is all I ever wanted with my life. To come home to loved ones and have a quiet dinner. To spend my evenings doing frivolous tasks like embroidery. To linger over coffee before taking my time getting dressed for the day. This was a life I never thought I'd have."

"Elaborate.” Tony threw Natalia’s own word back at her and she pursed her lips in disapproval over the strident tone but didn’t argue.

"I was raised a spy." she clarified, as if Tony hadn’t already heard this part of her story. "I lived my formative years training to be a femme fatale, to use my body and my beauty as a tool to further the cause. All I wanted was to be normal, to be able to play and grow and love like every other girl out there and I never got the chance. The few times I thought I had a chance to be normal, it was false. Taken away before I was able to enjoy it. Eventually I started to think this sort of thing didn’t exist at all, that I was doomed to live the life my father had set out before me.”

“...and now?” “And now I get to have my drink by the fire and embroider the hem of these gloves for Wanda.” Natalia held up her sewing so Tony could see it. “In a few minutes, both my loves will come through that door and take me to bed and in the morning, I’ll have breakfast with my family. I might take a walk when it warms up, perhaps I’ll dig about in the garden for a while and see if I can coax a few roses to bloom. I might take my horse out for a run or practice archery with Ronin or spend some time with Samuel cleaning out the armory. It doesn’t matter what I do, because I’m happy it’s real.” Natalia’s smile was sad when she added, “Sometimes, it's a relief to simply exist, Antonio. It's a relief to be allowed to be.” “Hm.” “And you?” Natalia pressed when Tony didn’t answer. “Are you finding it a relief to simply exist after the trouble in Brescia? Or is there something about that life you miss?” “Good night, Lady Romanova.” was all Tony said and disappeared back upstairs. Natalia watched him go, feeling the ever present twinge of guilt over how she had tricked him into this life. These last few days the guilt had been accompanied by a spark of hope though, now that Antonio had started reaching out to the twins and getting drawn into conversation with Samuel.

A brief glance into his rooms had shown Natalia that he had unpacked his bags entirely and only once in the two weeks since arriving had Antonio mentioned wanting to return to Italy, saying it in passing over breakfast that very first morning, and never saying it again.

There was hope that Natalia hadn't completely ruined things and that made her smile a little, so she went back to her embroidery, humming quietly as she finished up her drink and glanced up at the clock to check the time, anxious for her loves to come in from the night patrol and come to bed. A few hurried, stolen moments and the occasional lingering kiss was all she and the man had managed to have together since she’d come home with Antonio and this morning Ronin had been nearly desperate as he held her close, his kisses hungry and sharp and fingers digging into her waist to keep her tight against his body. “Ronin...” She’d moaned and he’d only let go when Sam had reached for her too, lifting Natalia off her toes to crush their mouths together for a long minute and whisper something ragged about needing … Natalia shifted on her chair with another little smile, clenching her thighs together and wetting her lips as she thought about her men, losing count of her stitches entirely imagining exactly how the night would go. How long had it been since they’d both been inside her? Since Ronin had used his tongue to take her apart and since Samuel had--- A noise. Natalia froze, abruptly yanked from her day dream by a sudden noise that was too soft to be accidental, too loud to be ignored. It wasn’t the noise of the house settling or shifting in the wind, it wasn’t the scritch of branches against the window, not even the skitter that was the occasional mouse searching for crumbs in the pantry. It was the noise of a person trying to be quiet and yet making sure Natalia was well aware of their presence and as she retrieved both her pistol from the basket of threads and the knife from her boot, Natalia’s mind cycled quickly through who could have broken into her house unseen and now was creeping about her kitchen. In nothing more than slippered feet, her breath carefully measured and movements precise, Natalia stepped towards the kitchen, hugging the wall so she could see around the corner before anyone could see her, peering through the shadows to see-- A match, flaring bright in the dark and then the cherry red glow of a cigarette. “Natalia.” A voice, deep and familiar. “Are you still playing spy in stockinged feet?” “That depends.” Natalia tucked her pistol into her belt and resheathed her knife, folding her arms to lean against the door jam as if her heart weren't pounding in her chest. “Are you still sneaking through the corners of your own home?” “This is not my home.” A lantern lit and Natalie blinked at the sudden brightness, head tilting as she studied the man sitting in front of her. “I’ve been hearing things about you, little sister. Rumours and whispers and I am not happy about them." “You can hardly believe the rumours you hear about me, brother.” She said casually, eyes sharp as James stood to his feet, looming over her. “What did Da always say?” “To never believe rumours about our family, because the truth is so much worse.” James said flatly and Natalia bared her teeth in a smile. “You left Russia without my permission, you left Sokovia without my permission." “Oh, I don’t need your permission to go anywhere, James.” She made a show of studying her finger nails. “Not to the gardens, not to the city, not to a different country but I suppose you've forgotten that, seeing as how this is the first time I've seen you in years. How did you find out about my little journey anyhow?” “You are naive to think I don’t have people watching you.” James sounded frustrated already, and Natalia shouldn't have been surprised. They fought every time they talked, which was probably why they never talked anymore. “You have Rumlow watching me." Natalia stated and muttered a curse when James only nodded. “Well I suppose him following me about because he’s spying for you is better than him following me about to try and get under my skirts. You could have just asked me, you know. Sent a letter or message or maybe even come home for once." “This is not my home.” James repeated, angrier now. “Rumlow says you brought a husband back. What in the hell are you thinking, Talia? Was the one husband not enough? You had to bring a second about to further the tales and whispers? Do you know what they call you now?"

"The Black Widow." Natalia's voice rose when his did. "A nickname I'd have no use for if you came around to protect like you are supposed to! That's why I married again, don't you know? I needed another man to protect the house since it's only ever myself and the twins here!"

James snorted, “Proklyat'ye Talia. That is bullshit and you know it. You don’t need a man to protect yourself or the twins. Rumlow told me how you are training Wanda to be just as lethal as you are, and that Pietro is nearly the marksman Ronin is. Why would you bring a stranger into our lives? Do you realize how this could disrupt our plans? Tell me the truth!" “I don’t owe you the truth.” Natalia said coolly. “And if you were here instead of off playing skirmish with the other boys, you’d know exactly how much danger I’ve been in and why my foray to Italy was necessary.” “Well I’m here now.” James said stubbornly. “And you will tell me now, or I will drag your new husband out of your bed and ask him myself.” Natalia lifted her chin defiantly, and James squinted at her. “He doesn’t know, does he? Bozhe, Talia. Did you trick a man into marriage and not tell him why you needed him? Was he so blinded by your charms and the way you wear your dresses that he followed you without question? “James!” Always irritated when her brother threw her tactics in her face, Natalia followed James out of the kitchen, snatching at his sleeve to slow him down. "Don't you dare wake him!”

“Does he have any idea what you did to the last man who had the nerve to call you wife?” James shook her off easily, heading for the stairs. “Is having my two best soldiers fawning over you not enough? You needed someone naive and controllable as well?! Tell me, how does he feel about having to share you with two other men, or have you shut him from your bed?" “Damn it!” Natalia crashed a vase off a pedestal and cursed out loud. “You will not bring him into this before you and I have had our say. You're being ridiculous and cruel for no reason except you are angry I disobeyed you!" “The hell I am!” James spat, whirling around and pointing a finger at her. “I have been working for years for this, Natalia. For the revolution, for our safety, for your safety. You could ruin everything bringing some unknown man into it! Are you trying to prove a point? Trying to get my attention? Because it worked! What were you thinking being so reckless and stupid?"

“Stop yelling at me for a single moment and I’ll tell you!” Natalia shouted back. “I haven’t heard from you in months, haven’t seen you in years and the first thing you do is walk in and start screaming at me!” “If you had listened for once in your life and just stayed put, I wouldn’t have to be here at all!” James yelled. “I have a mission, Natalia! Men’s lives are on the line and I had to leave it all to come baby sit my petulant, bratty little--” “You will watch your tone around the lady.” A new voice interrupted their fight, a smooth Italian accent curving the words lyrical but dangerous. “Or you and I will have a disagreement of our own right here on the stairs. If that happens, I promise you sir, you will not come out of the moment fully intact." “Antonio." Natalia's heart soared at the sudden appearance of Tony, quietly loving that he was coming to her rescue yet again. "Antonio, izvineniya, go back to bed, this is nothing to worry about. A disagreement with my brother no worse than several others I've had." “Yes, Antonio, go back to bed.” James’s gaze was furious as he dragged it from Natalia and towards the stairs. “No matter that I have several things I'd like to say to you. It seems as if what Natalia says is law whether its correct or not so why don’t you just--”

He stopped mid sentence, mid word in fact, his jaw falling open when he actually saw Tony. "Oh. I--Bozhe moy-- I--"

Tony wore nothing more than linen sleep pants, the waist low about his hips and too thin to disguise much of anything, a long barreled pistol held easily in one hand, his finger ready on the trigger. His hair was a disaster, rumpled and curly around his ears and even though he looked sleepy, Tony’s dark eyes glittered with anger and as they shifted towards Natalia-- protectiveness.

He was gorgeous. “What seems to be the problem here?” Tony asked slowly, pointedly, haughty as only a noble could be, glancing at Natalia for a split second before shifting back to James, the anger in his eyes fading to something... warmer... the longer James held his gaze. “Speak quickly, because you woke me up and I am not happy about it.” Natalia looked between them curiously, from the growing interest in Tony’s expression to the way James was staring with something akin to awe, seemingly at a loss for words and unable to look away. My oh my. “This is my husband Lord Antonio Carbonell Stark, nobile dei marchesi di Brescia.” Natalia broke the sudden silence to make introductions, sweeping a hand towards Tony. “And Antonio, darling. This is James Buchanan Barnes, His Serenity the Marquis of the house Romanov...and my older brother.” “Your brother.” Tony's aggressive stance eased, his finger leaving the trigger and eyes widening a little as they swept over James, the arrogance easing from his voice. “My apologies, I assumed it was an intruder.” “Not quite an intruder, since I lived most of my life here.” James had yet to look away from Tony, making no attempt to disguise his interest as he looked Tony over again. “Natalia, this is your husband?” “So the story goes.” Tony wasn't sure if he was flattered or intimidated by James’s blatant perusal and Natalia pressed her fingers to her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh at either of them. “You’ll forgive the weaponry, I was under the impression that you hadn’t been home for years and had no reason to think you'd be home tonight.” “This isn’t my home.” The words were immediate, automatic and Tony saw the way Natalia cringed from the corner of his eye. “But I will be spending time here again, yes. Apparently many things have changed that I need to be...aware of.” “A pleasure then.” Tony made at least an attempt to be appropriate, giving a short bow in light of meeting another member of nobility. “Until tomorrow.” “Until tomorrow.” James repeated, and his voice only had a fraction of his earlier ire when he told Natalia, “You and I will finish this discussion in the morning.” “Oh, I look forward to it, brother.” She retorted and with one last, lingering look towards Tony, James turned on his heel and strode away. Once the huge manor door had slammed shut, Tony frowned, “I thought you weren’t expecting him back. Why is he here?” “I think that’s rather obvious.” Natalia's lips curled in a smirk. “He came all the way here to meet you, Antonio. News of our marriage has spread and dear old brother decided to come and see if it were true.” “He seemed more interested in yelling at you.” He answered slowly. “Do you two always fight like that?" “Always." She confirmed. "And as grateful as I am for you coming to my rescue, you don’t have worry Antonio. This argument is nothing compared to others we’ve had and even though James sounds scary, I was doing my own share of yelling. He will calm down tonight and we will have a civil conversation in the morning. This happens every time we go too long without seeing each other.”

Natalia waited a beat and added, “By the way, I think he approves of you, darling.” “Why do you say that?” “I don't think I've seen my brother stare so hungrily at anything that wasn’t cake.”

****************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #historical au #james bucky barnes #tony stark #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #sam wilson #pietro

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 10--Too Late

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Too Late.” Demyx loses a patient, and it dredges up painful memories of the past.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It was an idle sort of day.

The air was just starting to barely feel like summer, blowing softly through the door at Merlin’s. Aerith was running an errand for the committee, so Demyx was duly filling in for her, but so far nobody had stopped by. He was getting better at this; it was getting easier, week by week. That didn’t lessen the anxiety of this newfound responsibility.

He plucked listlessly at Arpeggio, letting the melody go softly wherever it wanted to take him. The stone floor felt good in the warmth, even if it hurt to sit on. Merlin had said he could use some of his cushions, but Demyx wasn’t that comfortable with the committee, and with his not-quite-membership in it. He didn’t live and breathe love for the city; not yet, anyway.

He thought he heard yelling in the street. Adrenaline burned in his veins, and Arpeggio disappeared with a flash. It didn’t sound like fun. Demyx poked his head out the door. He saw Yuffie running towards him, her face flushed, one arm bloody. “Where’s Aerith?” she asked.

“I’m filling in for her--are you hurt?”

She looked at her arm as though seeing it for the first time. “It’s not my blood,” she said, her violet eyes going steely. “Get some stuff and come with me. We need you.”

Together, they ran down to an area of new construction. Demyx tried calling her, but he got mostly Aerith’s voicemail. “It’s not her who’s hurt?” he asked Yuffie.

“No. She had some stuff to do with Leon out beyond the fissures. No signal. Too much rock.”

“You’re telling me these things can send texts and calls across worlds, but a little rock screws them up?”

“It’s fucked,” she agreed. "But the ground is crystal."

As they got closer, he could feel the tension increase palpably. He could see the cartloads of wood and scrap metal that were being used to repair the houses that the growing population demanded; one of the carts was at an odd angle, its axle snapped, bits of metal everywhere.

Cid was applying pressure to the wounds of a young man Demyx had only ever seen before in passing. There was a frighteningly large pool of blood beneath him, and a large piece of shrapnel lodged in his belly. Demyx found himself hoping that someone would come to fix this; then, he realized, oh shit, that’s me.

“I’ll go try to find Aerith,” Yuffie said, and ran off again.

A jittery panic caught in his throat. He’d seen some bad shit, but nothing quite this immediately threatening. He crouched by the kid, trying not to kneel in the blood. “Hey there, I’m Demyx. I’m going to help you.” I am calm, cool, collected. He let the warmth of a spell lick across his hands and held it out to sense the extent of the injuries.

The boy’s brown eyes were wide, frightened. At least he was conscious and aware.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said to the boy, then to Cid, “What happened?”

“We were lifting up some support beams for the roof. He must’ve crouched down to tie his shoe or something, but the damn cart broke, fell on top of him, and then…”

“He got impaled,” Demyx finished. He bit his lip. The spell was sending all sorts of little pings through him, and it took a second to sort through them. Most of the major arteries of his abdomen were severed or damaged. He quickly took a needle and some blood replacement fluid and pricked the first vein he could find. He gave the bag to Cid to hold. Cast a spell to kill the bacteria and clean the wounds. He tried quickly to repair as much as the damage around the puncture as possible, but the boy’s frightened, anxious aura wasn’t helping much. Demyx lent him some of his energy, immediately feeling a touch woozy as the boy eagerly took it.

He felt the censor spell pulsing and tingling uncomfortably. There was so much wrong. Blood in the lungs. The boy’s vitals were all over the place, his blood pressure critically low. Demyx was working as quickly as he was able to, trying to staunch the bleeding somehow, but it wasn’t taking-- why wasn’t it taking? The healed arteries were reopening, the hemorrhaging worsening. He pushed harder with his own aura, trying to use it to heal the boy where his own had failed. The consciousness in his eyes was fading. “Stay with me,” Demyx said to the boy. “Please, help me--”

He felt it happen, felt something slip, felt the boy lose consciousness. The heart rate, precarious enough as it is, dropped off completely.

“No,” he hissed. He cast another spell, to try and restart the heart, but again, it was rejected. He remembered something that Aerith had taught him, in the early days.

We can fix what’s broken, but we can’t wake the dead.

With a shaking hand, Demyx reached up and closed the boy’s open eyes.

He couldn’t catch his breath. Without something to focus on, he was spiraling back and back, seeing quite suddenly in his mind’s eye another body, with another piece of metal lodged into it, a Keyblade snapped in two.

“I’ll call the coroner,” Cid said softly. “You stay here, with him.”

The blood was so bright against the gray rock. The boy looked pallid. Demyx realized he didn’t even know his name; he hadn’t known the name of the Keyblade wielder, either. Tears spilled from him disjointedly, and it felt like his chest was being squeezed in a vise. He took the needle out of the boy. Numbly, he pulled the jagged piece of metal free, and laid a cloth over the gaping wound.

The sound of running footsteps seemed so horribly loud. “I’m sorry,” Aerith said. “I’m so sorry--oh.” She knelt by the boy’s head, shut her eyes, and whispered a prayer. Demyx only heard the tail end of it, the “...may the spirit go free.” She took Demyx’s hand. “This happens. I’m sorry, but it does. No matter how hard you try… they go.”

A rough, ugly sob caught in his mouth, and he covered it with one hand. “I did everything. I--”

“I know. I know you did. You did your best.”

“I’m so sorry.” He kept looking at the dead boy, the Keyblade wielder flashing behind his eyes.

“I know, it hurts,” Aerith said. “It’s not your fault.”

The sobs sprung free with panic.

“They’ll be here soon,” Cid said gruffly. Their voices sounded like he was underwater.

“Come here,” Aerith said. She guided Demyx away from all the blood, towards the boy’s head. She rubbed his back.

“His name,” Demyx wheezed when he could catch a single breath. “What was it?”

Cid’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Ryan.” He glanced towards Aerith. “Maybe I should take him somewhere quiet so he can calm down.”

“I want to stay.” Demyx forced the words through his teeth.

“Then you have to try to breathe for me.” She squeezed one of his hands tightly.

Demyx tried to listen. Seeing the body had unraveled something in him, something sour and horrible. He couldn’t stop crying.

The coroner, a middle-aged woman with jet black hair, came and took the boy away. Seeing the blood and other bodily fluids left behind somehow made it worse.

“I’ll… clean this up,” Cid said. He shook his head. “Leon’ll want a report.”

“Thanks.” Aerith hefted Demyx gently to his feet. “Come with me.”

Everything seemed to be a bit of a blur. He found himself sitting on the couch in her home, a damp towel around his neck.

Aerith handed him a cup of tea. “This will help you calm down.”

Numbly, he took it. He’d never actually had a calming draught before, and found it tasted almost cloyingly sweet. The effects were almost instantaneous; the sharpness of the panic blunted, and it was easier to breathe.

Aerith sat down next to him. “Better?”

“Yes.” Demyx set down the empty cup on the coffee table. “Sorry.”

“I remember the first time I lost someone.” Her eyes seemed to go somewhere else. “Her name was Sylvia. An eight-year-old girl. She started having seizures, and the seizures caused an aneurysm… it all happened so quick. I know exactly what you’re going through.” She took his hand. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

He wiped his face with the towel. His eyes were still watering freely. “I… I have PTSD?” It sounded like a question. “You should probably know that.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I still don’t really know the triggers. Usually it’s stuff related to the past, but…”

Aerith cocked her head slightly.

“I probably shouldn’t do this anymore, if this is what happens. Right?”

“There’s no reason for you to give up. Not completely. Maybe you’ll need help.”

“The panic could kill someone.”

“Cid said you remained collected until after it was over.”

“Yeah, this time, maybe. But what if.”

She sighed. “That’s almost unnervingly practical,” she admitted. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go with you on any more major injury cases. We can see how it goes. And there’s no reason for you to stop treating illnesses.”

“Okay.”

She stood up. “Did you want another dose?”

“No. I’m… okay.” She took the cup into the kitchen. Demyx heard the running water. Maybe it was the numbness of the draught, but he found himself confessing, “There was a war.”

The water stopped. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to.”

She turned towards him.

Demyx took a deep breath, tasting the draught. “So I’m not exactly… from this time? I’m from the… from the past.” He swallowed the excess spit. “I was in the Keyblade War. The first one.” The words spilled from him. The unions, the Foretellers, the Dandelions, the battle his own stupidity had led him into. Seeing the mangled, impaled bodies of the Keyblade wielders.

Aerith listened patiently. “I… I had no idea,” she said.

“I don’t exactly broadcast it.” He knotted his hands. “Isn’t there a way to heal this? Isn’t it… a… brain injury?”

She tugged at the end of her braid. “Yes and no,” she said. “I can heal the damage it’s done to your brain, but the trauma would still be in your heart. And I can’t do anything about that.”

“Oh.” He forced a smile. “Worth a shot, I guess.”

“...A lot of people here can relate,” she said slowly. “Their traumas are different than yours, but they can understand.”

“Like you?”

She smiled sadly. “For months after the Fall, I had to sleep with the light on. I still have trouble. I dream about it, sometimes. It was Cid who got us out--he had a gummiship. When we took off, we could… see what was happening. If you know what I mean.”

“I do. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t feel much like healing. But it is.” She tapped her fingers together. “You have friends here, you know. Who care about you.”

“The same goes for you.”

“As I’ve come to realize.” She wiped her wet hands on a towel. “I’m going to go brief Leon. You should go home and get some rest. I’ll have him call you about it tomorrow.”

“...Alright.” He took the cloth off his neck and set it down. “Who… who told the family?”

A furrow appeared in her forehead. “He had no family.”

---

Demyx was more thankful than ever that he and Ienzo had their own apartment. Everything seemed so loud . He didn’t need Even or Dilan asking questions about his swollen eyes, or the blood-stained knees of his jeans. In a daze, he poured some of the stain remover mixture Aerith had given him (“your new best friend”) over the blood and draped them over the radiator to dry. He took a long, hot bath, cried some more, and lay in bed. A sinus headache was blooming behind his eyes, but he was too tired to go get a painkiller. It suited his mood.

There was a faint knock at the door. He wondered if Ienzo had invited Ansem over for tea, as he was wont to do. Demyx ignored it. There was another knock, louder this time, and then his phone pinged-- It’s me. Ienzo. “Come in,” he said hoarsely.

Ienzo was still wearing his reading glasses. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone,” he said. He hung his labcoat on a hook by the door.

“I don’t. I really don’t.”

Ienzo crawled under the covers. “I heard what happened.”

Demyx groaned. “I bet everyone knows.”

“Aerith told me. She was worried about you.”

“I… I kind of had a panic attack.” He held onto the pillow for dear life. “The way he… died, he got impaled by a piece of scrap metal. It reminded me of… the war.”

“Yes,” Ienzo said simply. “You can’t help these things.”

“I know that, but it raises the question of whether or not I can do my job.”

Ienzo stroked his cheek. The touch was almost too much, and Demyx felt an onslaught of fresh tears, and a pang of pain behind his eyes. “It doesn’t make you less competent.”

“My competency doesn’t matter. Who knows what my triggers are? What if I’m with a patient and I get triggered and they die, not because I was too late, but because the panic makes me do something wrong?” Demyx’s anxiety was inflating; the calming draught must have worn off by now. “She said she’d go with me to major injuries, but that’s not always possible.”

“You can’t do more than you can,” Ienzo said. “I think you should take it easy for a few days. We can talk about this. Maybe we can identify some of the more heady triggers, and that can prepare you for how to deal with them in the field.”

He didn’t quite believe it, but he said, “Maybe.”

“I wish there were an easier way to make this stop hurting.”

“He had no family. He was trying to build his life.”

“It’s unfortunate. But think of it this way. As least he died doing something worthwhile, and not through darkness or violence.”

“...That’s true,” Demyx said wearily.

Ienzo drew him closer and held him for a long time.

#beyond this existence: new life #demyx #aerith #ienzo #beyond this existence

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with RONAN IVARSSON, who is THIRTY-NINE years old. He is often called RICHARD III by the MONTAGUES and works as their SOLDIER. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

TW: ABLEISM, DEATH

There are those who try, in vain, to shake off the shackles of DESTINY – and there are those who embrace it. What else is there to do but embrace what God has dictated, what the Devil rejoices in when he knows that another soul is meant to fall? The path was laid out before him, made to blister his feet and remind him of who to blame, before he had ever taken his first breath. It could be said that Adam was to blame for having fallen for Eve’s wiles, but it would be easier, instead, to begin with a loveless woman and a WEAK-WILLED man. They were married in the eyes of God, thought to be a pairing that was ardent and true. But the woman was nothing more than a POOR, BORED soul who had felt something akin to love for a half-moment, whereas the weak-willed man wanted nothing more than a warm body to lose himself in. There was also the additional stipulation that, should he marry a woman of great repute, then the inheritance that was hard-earned by his parents should be passed to him. A clause that was meant to keep him on the straight and narrow, when really all he had to do was wait for them to be lowered into their graves. The wait was not long. Nor was the time that he spent with the wife and MANGLED son that had so foolishly thought to call themselves his family.

They weren’t a family, so much as they were a house full of farces and barely-living corpses. Ronan’s mother seemed repulsed by him, for reasons unbeknownst to the small boy, whereas his father seemed to barely remember that they were associated by him. His father paraded his LOVERS about, men of all ages that seemed more trouble than they were with – with their expensive habits involving white powders and luxurious liquors. But then his mother began to grow bitter, the nothingness that was inside of her began to grow dark and fester. He sat atop the steps each night as she would make sure that her husband would drink his warmed tea, to ensure that the hangovers from the night before would not be so bad as the last. Again and again, she would press the cup to his lips and pour it down his throat. One night a lover tried to stop his mother, so then Ronan – YOUNG, FATED Ronan – took a bottle to his head. When the scarlet pooled onto the rug, there was no longer that sordid feeling of discontent hanging over him. Instead, there was only TRIUMPH, only fascination and the woeful absence of regret. This path had been laid out before him, and he was content to walk it, just as the Son of God had done before him. But the Son of God had not carried the body of a young man out in mangled pieces, then unceremoniously BURY him in a place so decrepit that only rats were content to wander there.

None did, but more bodies fell anyway, the first being his father with poison beset in his blood. The last being his mother, who passed quite mysteriously in much the same way. The rest were cast about the city, not necessarily by his hand, but by his name. With the money that was given to him, he, like a greedy dragon, began to hoard more – taking it when it was not given to him, stealing it when all else seemed to slip away. There were those that felt PITY for him, the poor IMPAIRED man that was orphaned at too young an age. There were those that seemed to fear him, for that unidentifiable darkness that precededhim and his uneven, twisted gait. God had plucked these stars from the sky and placed them in his name, so who was he to deny these instincts that served him so well -- that seemed to make the world bend itself to his weight? And bend it did, for he was sitting atop a throne before long -- bearing the title of councilman when the only counsel he listened to was his own. The city itself seemed to CRY OUT against him, but he heard them not. It was not because his heart was made of stone, though, it was because he enjoyed, far too much, how the dilapidated organ seemed to squeeze merrily when they said his name. He placated them with lies, hissed at them for persecuting him for circumstances beyond his control, for the pain that he endured that could make him so wretched and inane. God made sure that his wily words would ensure that they were tame. See, he wished to say to those blundering fools in the streets, this was all fated – how else could I achieve such fame?

There was no one who went unnoticed by those higher than he, though. Those so tightly knit within their own WAR that it was not often they descended from their thrones to look upon the mortals who built themselves up and declared all else beneath him. It was the bodies that they had found and lorded over his head, each one more incriminating than the last – sloppy work done by hands only fit to hold silver spoons. They inducted him with IRREVERENT ceremony, nothing more than a sneer and a curt delivery of the terms of his loyalty, uncaring of who they stood before, even if it was a man that had a sizable amount of the city tied to his name. Councilman or not, he was still a man, and God had determined that his path should lead this way – besides, it would not be long before there were more beneath his weighted hand and heavy frame. But he had been instilled with a singular VICE: insatiable GREED, which means that he was discontent to bend his knee to one that he considered lesser, unworthy of their name. God had made it clear: he would recreate the Montagues in the Ivarsson image and name.

LUCIEN IVARSSON: Husband. There are those who get married for love -- and those who get married in search of it. Lucien was a man of connections but humble beginnings, cunning and quiet, as well as a pillar of Verona’s community. He was reputable as well as protected, his resources as unending as the coin in Ronan’s pocket. For a moment, when their eyes locked, Ronan had thought there might have been warmth in his cheeks. That perhaps he could want for something more than himself. But a handful of days later, that fleeting, whimsical thought was snatched away like a butterfly in a crow’s beak. Dead, crushed, and unmourned for. There is no love lost, to be sure, but the councilman tries to keep Lucien close and tamed, biding his time as he ties their names together so that they shall never be without one another. Ronan knows to keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer. It is only a matter of time before Lucien becomes his enemy after all -- since Ronan was the one to put his mother in her grave. Allora, should the stars will it, one of them will meet their end soon.

LORETTA DELLUCI: Shadow. He’s seen the woman on occasion, the woman that lives across from one of Lucien’s many apartments ( although, to be sure, that particular one is his husband’s favorite ). The way that she looks at him, holds his gaze and lets it sit there, heavy and sure, unnerves him in the oddest of ways. Perhaps it is because he is so rarely unraveled, perhaps it is because he is not used to not knowing why. It didn’t seem to be because of his odd gait or the fact that he was one of the recognizable faces of Verona, not from what he could gather. The American woman couldn’t possibly know the intricacies of the inner-city politics that made him so renowned. Regardless, the smallest interactions with her leave him chilled. He had never quite understood what people meant when they said they felt chills along their spines. He always scoffed at when others would respond that it was because there was someone walking on their grave. Now, though...now he understood.

RENZO CAROZZA: Secret. There is nothing wrong with seeking satisfaction elsewhere when one can’t find it in the person that sleeps beside them. That was what Ronan had been forced to do when Lucien’s wandering steps took them elsewhere and they did not return in time to satisfy him. So Ronan began to frequent the Dark Lady -- under an alias of course, and with Mona’s promised discretion. It did not take her long to find the body that was the tantamount of satisfying all his whims. There was a catch, as there was to everything and anything in this damned, bloody city. The citizens, as ignorant and foolish as they were, still held public standards for the ones that they purportedly entrusted their city to. A councilman having an illicit affair that was paid for would not due him well, and it would most certainly break his poor Lucien’s heart. Although, Renzo is rather adept at making him forget all of that -- whether it be with his idle, sparkling conversation or the other things he does regarding his mouth. Renzo is his secret and one he is loathed to ever have to go without.

SANTINO GALLO: Fascination. It’s like trying to decipher the patterns in the stars. There are moments where he thinks that he has Santino’s wants within his reach, is able to parcel them out and read the other man’s life like Galileo reading the skies. All too quickly though, Gallo slips away, running through his grasp in the same way that smoke slips from his lips -- as if it were never meant to fill his mouth with its weighty bitterness in the first place. It is not often that he wants, if at all. It is even rarer that he is denied his wants and it is because of this that Ronan can’t help himself from yearning for whatever it is that Santino withholds from him. The moment that he gets it, though, there is no doubt in his mind that the keening that stirs in his heart whenever the other man draws close will be smothered. It was with Lucien, was it not? So then why should this sad, pathetic man with that unnameable thing in his eyes be any different? Quietly, though, ever so softly, his heart may whisper that perhaps it will be different. Perhaps this will be something more.

Ronan is portrayed by JOEL KINNAMAN and was written by ROSEY. He is currently OPEN.

#mafia rp #bio rp #mob rp #lsrpg #joel kinnaman fc #ronan ivarsson #richard iii #mont #o #om #mw

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years

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The Ring and The Cure: Part 8

Pairings: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, threats, mention of past Drowley

Word Count: 1,199

A/N: Repost to spread it out the way it should be.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

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

“Where we goin’ mommy?” Candice asked as you strapped her into her car seat and you smiled at her.

“We are going to the park for just a little bit and then we are going to go Christmas shopping for daddy.” She giggled as she kicked her feet in front of her.

“I thought Santa brought the presents?” She asked innocently and you laughed and nodded while you snapped the last snap.

“Santa brings presents to good little boys and girls not mommies and daddies so WE get to go pick out some things for daddy!” You bopped her on the nose the same way your mother-in-law always did and closed the car door. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket and a wave of nausea crashed over you. You knew what you were doing was so very wrong but to hurt Crowley again all these years later with revealing the truth just seemed too cruel no matter what he had done to you. You got in the car, quickly glanced at Sam’s ‘I’m here’ message and took a big gulp of water to wash down the taste of bile in your throat.

As you drove the few minute drive, every fiber of your being told you to turn around and not have this conversation with Sam. Doing so could only end up in disaster but you had a small amount of fear that if you didn’t meet him, he would go to Crowley and say something to him himself. You didn’t know Sam from Adam but you knew Crowley had known Sam a lot longer than he had known you and you feared the worse in that situation.

As you pulled into the park, you could see Sam parked in the middle of the gravel parking lot, leaning against the hood of his car with an air of casual nervousness around him. You parked on his driver side door, fought desperately against the nervous nauseous feeling in your stomach and got out of the car to let Candice go off and play.

“We aren’t staying long Candi Cane.” You called out after as she tore across the playground toward the slides. With a heavy sigh you walked over and stood next to him so you could keep an eye on your baby girl. “So talk, Sam.” You said as the two of you watched her giggle as she climbed up the steps only to peel into fits of laughter as she slid down. When she hit the bottom, she always did a little bounce before she would dash around to the stairs giggling away to do it all over again.

“I want to be a part of this.” He said as he gestured toward the playground. “Even if it’s just once in a while.”

“Sam. We had a deal. We both knew I was most likely going back to Crowley at some point and you knew that we were a one time, never gunna happen again thing. If you wanted to be a part of this then why didn’t you say something the day you found out? All four of us could have put this to bed then?”

“I was scared, (Y/N).” He said as he glanced over at you while you shook your head slowly, not taking your eyes off your daughter and he continued. “I’m a hunter, I live a dangerous life. I know I can’t raise a kid in that lifestyle. At that time what we did was fine for her but now that she’s older…” You whipped your head over to glare at him as anger raged through you.

“Now that she’s older what, Sam? You think you can just step in and say ‘Hey, real daddy wants to come play tea party since mommy did such a good job raising you and keeping you safe with your fake daddy?’ Who the hell do you think you are?”

“That’s… ugh… that’s not what I meant to say…” you nodded sarcastically and looked back at the playground to watch Candice play with the spinning blocks to make sure she wasn’t paying attention.

“Sam, we had an agreement. Point blank; simple, and at the end of the day that agreement has had me lying by omission to my husband for the past 5 years. You think it’s hard on you to not be in her life because you saw her once at a diner a few weeks ago? Try wondering how long it’s gunna take the King of Hell to realize that his little princess is most definitely not Dean’s and that his wife has been lying to him since the day they got back together. Do you know how many times I have wanted to tell him the truth but didn’t because I was terrified what he would do to me much less what he could do to my daughter? Do you know how hard it is to look into the eyes of the man you love and tell him that you love him when you have a life changing secret about his daughter that would break his heart if he found out? Sam, if I could tell him today with a guarantee that nothing would happen to me or Candice, I would, but…”

“I always wondered how long it would take you to crack.” The sound of Crowley’s voice behind you at that moment made your stomach turn and your knees buckled nearly sending you to the ground. You stumbled and spun around to look at him as tears instantly burst from your eyes.

“Baby…” Crowley stepped toward you and shook his head.

“I’ve known. I’ve always known.” A sobbed apology escaped your throat as he wrapped you in a hug.

“How did you know?” Sam asked as he stood awkwardly in front of his car a little farther away from where he had been a few seconds before.

“Well like I told your brother, I am not stupid. She has those bloody puppy eyes of yours; royal pain in the ass, too. I knew within a few weeks of her birth and I left it alone.”

“Why?” You and Sam asked at the same time as you leaned back to look at your husband. He used his thumb to wipe away your tears and gave you a partial shrug.

“You had your reasons on why you found it necessary to make this choice. Neither of the brothers stepped up to take responsibility and I refused to lose you from my life. So I made the choice to let sleeping dogs lie, accepted that this was somehow your way of punishing me for how I treated you for years and moved on.” He whipped his head up suddenly and scowled.

“Candice! Absolutely not, get down!” He demanded and you turned around to see what your child was getting into just as she was slinking back over the thick plastic ring of the tunnel she was trying to climb on top of. “Swear that child will be the death of me.” He grumbled. You shook your head and laughed as you pulled out of his arms.

“You've been doing that shit for like 8 years and it still weirds me out every time.” You said.

“King of Hell has its perks.” He looked over at Sam, tilted his head and you could see he was slightly annoyed. “Moose, I have had five years and ample opportunities to murder you for this. Obviously I am not going to so will you quit being a nervous prat and join the conversation so I am not shouting across a playground.” Sam slinked over and leaned against the driver side door of his car as the two of you leaned against yours. The three of you stood silently before Crowley became really annoyed.

“Ok well I have much better things to do than stand around all day so let’s get on with it. Now I had this discussion with Squirrel already so here is what I propose.” He pointed at Candice who was pushing herself on the swing and he looked back at Sam. “That is my daughter. Under no bloody circumstances are you to say otherwise because she does not need to be dragged into our dysfunctional family issues.

Now, I know this little gathering today was because you wanted to see her and my wife was scared that I would find out because I always find out…” He said as he pulled out Candice’s hex bag out of his pocket and held it in front of you. You turned bright red in embarrassment as he gathered the bag in his hand and put it back in his pocket. “That is why you two for some bloody reason felt the need to hide this from me. Now, as long as my wife agrees to it we will come up with an arrangement where ‘Uncle Moose and Uncle Squirrel’ can see their ‘niece’.” He punctuated the new titles to Sam pointedly and Sam slowly nodded and looked over at Candice who you could tell was starting to get bored with no one to play with.

“Lastly, I will say the same thing to you that I said to Squirrel; Sam, look at me.” Crowley said his tone suddenly much harsher than it had been a moment before. Sam’s head whipped toward Crowley who pointed at him. “If you so much as THINK about trying to take my little girl from us and you will find your ass on a rack finding out exactly what Dean went through at Alistair's hands. You think your soul was mangled when you left Lucifer's cage; try to take our daughter and you will know what bloody mangled really looks like. Do we have an understanding?” Sam nodded rapidly and you could only begin to imagine the images that were flashing in his mind.

Crowley looked at you pointedly and you knew to stay where you were. He looked back at Sam and gave him the “come here” gesture as he headed toward the playground. You and Sam exchanged a slightly worried glance before he darted after the King of Hell. With a small smile, you watched Crowley introduce Uncle Sam (“or Uncle Moose whichever you prefer, Candi Cane”) before he simply turned and walked back to you. Your eyebrows shot to your hairline as Candice grabbed her new friend's hand and dragged his 6’4” frame toward the slide.

“You're being shockingly calm about this.” you said hesitantly and Crowley shrugged as he leaned against the car next to you; both of you watching Sam play with his daughter.

“Honestly darling I look at it this way. When we first got together I treated you horrendously and you found it in yourself to forgive and forget. Yes, you had to leave for a year or so but you still forgave without question. Now, I do not like that you lied to me at all however, you had your reasons whatever they may be. And as you did for me, I will give you the same courtesy.

Now that being said, you lie to me like this again and I will not be so generous. The same way you wouldn't be if I had the audacity to cheat on you. I shouldn't have to threaten you for that give and take, my love. We don't have the most conventional relationship kitten. We have both, pardon the pun, been to hell and back and we are still standing here in love. I consider that a positive thing at the end of the day.”

“You’re doing a good thing here.” you said as you pointed to the playground to where Sam was pushing Candice on the swing. “Who knew you had a soft spot for the Winchesters?” He chuckled and put his arm around your waist.

“Tell a soul and I will give our daughter sugar before bed for a month.”

Part 9

#Crowley x Reader #The Ring & The Cure

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scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

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Erased Pt. 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Torture.

A/N: It is totally reasonable that you guys probably hate me. It has been forever since I updated Hopefully this makes up for it a little bit.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

I am in pain.

And not the “I went a little hard during training yesterday and I am really feeling it today” kind of pain.

No. This is the “I have been tied down to a metal slab for god knows how fucking long, and I have people constantly cutting me and burning me and pushing my bones to the point of breaking,” kind of pain. This is the “I kind of wish that they would just kill me already,” kind of pain. This is the “I can’t believe that my body hasn’t given out yet,” kind of pain. That is the type of life that I am living right now. This is the “I wish I could just tell them what they want they know so that the pain can end” kind of pain.

But I know that I cannot do that. I cannot tell them what they want because that would mean that I would have to tell him about Bucky and that will never happen. It will never happen. I would rather let myself die than to give them the information that is needed to make Bucky the crazy super soldier that they want him to be. It is a life that I don’t want him to live and I will do anything to protect him from that. Anything. Even if it means dying. I have to protect him.

The machine that he has attached to my head keeps the jolts of electricity bursting through me every few seconds though my body has gotten used to the little jolts of pain. They remind me that I can still feel things. That I haven’t become completely numb to his tactics. I don’t know what would happen if I did.

“Good Morning Miss!” he says as he enters the room and I can feel my entire body stiffen at the sound. This is the boss man. The man that came in and told me that he was going to torture me until I told him exactly what he wanted to know. We haven’t spoken much since I got here, but maybe that is because he keeps shoving knives into me. I don’t know, just maybe. “Are we going to talk today?” he says as he leans over me.

I have noticed in my time here, however long that has been, that this man is not from this time. He talks like he is from a different century and the way he holds himself is the same way that I see Bucky and Cap hold themselves: like they were pulled out of time and don’t know how to act in this new era.

I have also learned that Dr. Orlov is a Russian scientist/doctor and has extensive knowledge of the human body. Especially all of its weak points. I have gained that knowledge through person experience. He seems to enjoy cutting me open.

“Look at you. So beautiful,” he laughs and I feel him swipe a finger over my cheek, causing it to sting from the multiple bruises and cuts that rest of my face already. I want to spit at him. I know I look like shit. I haven’t showered in forever, there is dried blood all over me, and bruises are my new foundation color. Some are yellow, some are brown, and the newer ones are a dark dark purple that hurt like a bitch every time that he touches me. More like punches me.

“I am not going to tell you what you want to know, so fuck off,” this time I do spit at him but he quickly dodges it and laughs at me. A deep and booming laugh that sends a shiver up my spine. But not in the good way. Definitely not in the good way.

“Y’know, you are a lot more stubborn than the woman in my days,” he smiles at me and steps away from me and to the other side of the room where his table of toys is waiting. I try to pull at the restraints, once again, and once again there is no way that I am going to escape from them. They are stainless steel and bolted to the concrete floor.

My mind is strong. My body is not.

“I don’t care about your stupid monologue,” I sneer back at him and I watch a he picks up a knife that is easily bigger than my forearm and turns back around to face me. The fear shoots through my body and I don’t even want to think about what he is going to do with that knife.

“Really? But don’t you wanna know who I am? Where I came from? How I know about your precious James Barnes?” the way he says Bucky’s name is a direct taunt to me and it makes me struggle against the restraints again.

“Fuck you!”

“A little touchy now aren’t we? Did I hit a soft spot?” and at the same time he says that, he slips the knife into the soft part of my flesh at the bottom of my stomach. I scream out in pain and he just digs the knife in a little farther before he pulls it out and a rush of relief floods through me before the searing pain sinks in.

“Fuck you,” is all I can say back to him and he smiles again. Digs the knife in again. Pulls it back out slowly.

“Let’s tell you the story anyway. The story of a young doctor working for the Russians. They had brought in this boy from the mountains. Badly bleeding. His arm was mangled and had to be amputated immediately,” I let the tears roll down my body as he looks over the blood covered knife then stares back at me. “We were thinking about letting him die but we obviously found a much more suitable position for our Mr. Barnes. I wasn’t the lead doctor on the project but I was the one that they decided to put under to make sure that everything went well with our asset in the future,” his words cause me to pause and to look at him. He has a smug smile on his face that tells me that he is enjoying this interaction very much.

“Put under?” I stammer out, and I watch his eyes alight with a flame before he wipes the blood from my stomach on my dirty and torn t-shirt and sets it back down in its initial resting spot.

“Surely you know what put under means. Barnes went through it as well as Mr. America. Though, Rodgers wasn’t intentional like Mr. Barnes was,” he picks up a pair of pliers that have already caused me enough pain and fidgets with them a bit before coming back over to stand above me. “I guess timelines got a little messed up because they pulled Barnes out a lot faster than they did me,” he grabs one of my fingers within the pliers and begins to add light pressure to it with every few seconds that passes. “You can imagine my surprise when I wake up to find out that no in this era knows anything about the asset that I had helped to create,” more pressure and more pain.

That’s how he remembers Bucky. Because he wasn’t technically alive when I went in and erased everyone’s memories,

“But that doesn’t explain how you knew about-“ I cut myself off with an ear piercing scream that comes out of me when he closes the pliers all of the way and I can feel the bones in my fingers being crushed. The pain radiates throughout my whole body and it send black spots into my vision.

“How I knew about what? About you? Well, you Avengers aren’t the only ones that have powers in the world. One of my men, a true genius, has a photographic memory. And he distinctly remembers a girl that looks just like you prancing around his memory. He cant remember what you took from him, the knowledge that he had, but I guess you forgot to erase yourself from his memory before you left,” he moves onto the next finger and repeats the same torturous action with my left middle finger. I scream again as he shatters the finger and he laughs. “You gonna talk now?”

“Never,” I mumble, taking deep breaths to try and calm my heart down. The electricity is still running through my head and the tears that are streaming down my face blur my vision. I can only see the basic outline of the man that is slowly killing me.

“You do know that I am not opposed to breaking every bone in your body to get what I want, right?” he moves onto my ring finger and puts my finger between the pliers.

“Fuck you,” I spit at him again and this time, my blood colored saliva hits him directly in the face. I can feel myself smile a bloody smile that hurts like a bitch.

And that is when the pliers slam shut and the searing pain floods through me and I finally go black.

Bucky’s POV:

“What if this has nothing to do with the enemies of Shield and the Avengers? What if it is more specific than that?” Bruce says as we are sitting back in the conference room for the umpteenth time in the past 2 and a half weeks. 2 and a half weeks od Y/N being gone and none of us are any closer to finding her. For all any of us know, she could be dead already.

“what do you mean?” Cap sits forward a little bit and I can see that he looks just as tired as everyone else does in this situation. People working as much as they can to bring Y/N back.

“Well, think about it? What does someone want with Y/N? She isn’t a true part of the Avengers. Has never been out on a proper mission with the team. Her whole job was to take care of Bucky. To bring him back from that state And then it just so happens that she gains someone’s attention after she has pulled all memories of Bucky from everyone? That doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me,”

“But no one on the planet remembers Bucky. It would have different if they had come after her before she took all of their memories away. Unless someone from Bucky’s past suddenly arose from the dead, I don’t think that it has anything to do with him,” Romanoff gives me a sympathetic smile that I don’t return. Everyone knows that I am not handling this well.

Suddenly an idea pops into my head and I sit up in the chair. Everyone suddenly stops talking and all eyes turn to me.

“What if they didn’t arise from the dead? What if they dethawed?” I am searching through all of my memories. Who was that man that they put me under with? Their was a little doctor that said that he would be more than happy to wake up in the future and make sure that everything worked out fine..

I pull myself through all of my old memories. And then I get his head stuck in my head.

Dr. Orlov.

Nice to see you again.

Taglist:

@jacks-on-krack @tbetz0341 @haleypearce @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @zestygingergirl @jemjem-chan @rachelmc97 @fesslasuisse @vvonder-lands @ran-randomness @zohoffman @geeksareunique @m4df4n

#Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #james barnes #marvel #avengers #avenger #writing #love #romance #save #kindaromanceifyoulookatitright

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familybusinesswritingbro · 6 years

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Make Me A Rainbow

A/N: I don’t know where this came from, but the mood struck so I ran with it. And I hate myself for this one.

Warnings: Angst, Death

If I die young bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song

Seventeen years old. That was the age most people were beginning to figure out what direction they wanted to take in life, living their dream and finding love on a perfect summer’s trip. At seventeen, the world was still a vast and marvelous place, full of adventure and hope.

For her, seventeen was the age at which she would take her last breath. The last time the Winchester’s would ever see her smile, or hear her huff in frustration over a lore book that wasn’t making sense.

Seventeen marked the age at which (Y/N) was ripped from this world well before Dean or Sam could have prepared themselves for it.

But then again, how could anyone ever really be fine with losing their reason for fighting?

The hole in Sam’s chest felt like it was big enough to swallow him entirely. Every fiber of his being ached. His very soul was in pain. There was no way to prepare for the loss of a child. And there was no way to measure how empty Sam felt.

His entire world, gone in a blink.

The reveal had been made by Castiel, merely days before.

‘Sam I’m so sorry.’

Castiel had heard the quick and desperate prayer and had appeared on the scene of the accident seconds after it happened. Searching through the wreckage and mangled trees, he finally found her broken body. The car was hardly recognizable wrapped around the tree’s trunk. She had come to rest a few feet to the side.

Castiel rarely felt grief, or true heartache. But seeing (Y/N)’s lifeless form, her skin so pale. It made him feel a hopelessness he had never imagined possible.

As he stood in the library before the brothers, (Y/N)’s limp body held securely in his arms, he could feel the atmosphere shift - the way Sam faltered for a moment, as if his eyes were deceiving him, before he rushed forward to collect his daughter.

Castiel had tried. Truly he had. But he had been unable to bring her back.

Instead, he searched for her soul, guiding her to her to her heaven. She had made him promise not to bring her back. Being raised in the hunter lifestyle, she knew the risks that would follow. Instead, she asked him to take care of her uncle Dean. And to keep her dad safe.

“Please don’t let them do anything stupid.” Her words came out in an airy whisper as she hugged tightly to him one last time. “And come visit me.” Giving him a sad sigh, she pulled back and gave a small wave before she turned her back and began to walk towards the trail that lead to her favorite river.

“I want roses, Cas. Lots of roses.” She said as she looked back to him, her tears slowly streaking down her cheeks.

Sam had been inconsolable. He refused to believe it.

Crash.... Ejected.... Didn’t make it.

The words ran on an endless loop in his mind as he sat by her bed, unable to take his eyes off of her.

His little girl. The one light in his life that kept him going. She was gone.

Crash.... Ejected.... Didn’t make it.

He had cried, and screamed, and cussed, and begged, and prayed. He had even went to the demons, demanding a deal be made to bring her back. But nothing could be changed.

Sam sat by her bed, unmoving for the past 16 hours. It had been Dean that finally convinced him to do what needed to be done. To give her a proper burial.

The thought of never seeing his niece again broke him as well. He had lost the little girl that gave him hope - his best friend, the only person other than Sam he had ever let drive Baby. His mind flashed through all of the time they had spent together - from the first time he held her in the hospital, to teaching her how to play cards, to showing her how to make a fake ID.

He also thought about the day when Sam had told him he was going to be an uncle.

Despite the problems they had faced, for the past seventeen years (Y/N) had been the rock that held their broken family together.

Now she was gone. And neither of them knew where to go, or what to say.

So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls. What I never did is done.

The funeral had been held a week later.

Jody had made sure she was dressed in her favorite outfit, her favorite pearl ring wrapped snug around her finger.

The service was held in a field near the bunker, with a slew of hunters that either knew or knew of the Winchesters gathered around.

Roses adorned the outline of the hole, each hunter having a single white rose in their grip as well.

Dean had stood by the end of a casket, his eyes glued to the smooth top as he did his best to stay strong.

Sam stood by his side, his hazel eyes a foggy mix of blues and gold as he let the tears flow freely. He had squeezed and twisted the rose in his hands until its thorns drew blood, a reminder that he was forced to say goodbye.

Sam’s shoulders shook with every breath he took, his eyes burning holes into the wood. He never shifted his focus, even as he spoke, as if maybe somehow he could will this to all be a nightmare, or one of the hallucinations he had long since stopped seeing. But, no matter what he did, nothing changed.

Everyone had shared their condolences, stopping to hug the brothers and offer support before they one by one dropped their roses against the lid of the casket and filed off to their vehicles.

He watched as Dean’s shovel dropped dirt down to fill in the hole, the dull thud of the weight bouncing against the slick wood barely registered in his mind. His own shovel moved methodically, his body on auto pilot as he went with the motions. Never once looking away, even after the hole was almost completely filled.

When things were all said and done, Dean had left to go inside, finding his own way of coping in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, a picture of (Y/N) sitting on the hood of Baby when she was just a young child clutched tightly in his hand.

Sam collapsed against the cold ground,feeling the air escape his lungs as the reality of the day had set in.

She was seventeen and already her life was over. Not at the hands of some twisted person, or due to a hunt gone wrong. But instead, her life had been ended by the other driver. She had no say in any of the matter.

There would be no more movie nights, like she had promised just before she walked out of the bunker door. No more obnoxious singing just to annoy them when they were reading. No more smiles, or laughs, or texts saying she would see him when he got back from his hunt.

“Dad! You’re back!” (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck as he hugged her, setting her back down on her feet as he stood with a chuckle.

“Well I’m glad to see you missed me.” He smirked and ruffled her hair, receiving an annoyed groan from the fifteen year old.

“I mean, there’s only so much lore I can read before my eyes fall out of my head.” She had laughed as she fixed her hair, her eyes shining with excitement.

“I already got our movies lined up! And there’s food on the table.”

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed the exhaustion Sam felt, instead, she saw the eager look of her father at the idea of getting to hang out with her. Though thick as thieves, they rarely got to truly just relax and catch each other up on the little details of life.

“I would never miss a movie night, Sunshine. Let me go put this away and I’ll meet you there. There better be--”

“Life Savers! Already got them.”

With a grin she turned on her heel, heading off quickly to get their first movie.

Sam smiled as he watched her bound away.

Their movie nights had been a tradition since she was a baby, their own way of celebrating his return after a hunting trip. He wouldn’t trade time with his daughter for anything.

No. His little girl would never experience prom, or her graduation, or have her own family.

The weight of it all settled into his bones, like a cold and angry voice that demanded to be heard.

As the day turned into evening, turned into night, Sam lost track of the hours he had spent lying against the dirt. Held close against his chest was the hoodie she always slept in - now covered in mud stains and tears, his bloodied hand still squeezing to the rose like a life line. His clothes had been stained, the mud smearing against the gray of his suit jacket, grass stains winding their way up his knees and along his shoes.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you.” Were the words to escape his lips as his eyes slipped shut, his body no longer able to fight the exhaustion.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tags: @ladywinchester1967 @acklesisasnackle

#supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #sam winchester #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester fic #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #daddy!sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader

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amirdawar · 6 years

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STREET PARTY [3 of 4]:

So, this is a better description of the aftermath of the bombing. It’s told from the point of view of Amir’s sister, Faiza. Basically just giving myself painful feels. Enjoy. Or don’t read at all. Probably the second one.

Date: August 3rd, 2018. Warnings: This one’s a little rougher. Goes into more detail about the bombing, so be wary if brief mentions of blood/gore upset you.

They’d heard the explosion, even in Knightsbridge.

Until that point, news coverage had been sketchy at best, but rolling, nonetheless, to feed the attention of the panicked masses. When things like this happened in London, people assumed the worst. They had been conditioned to. And as Faiza scrolled through her contact list, desperately searching for someone at the street party—anyone who might answer their bloody phone—she realised that she was absolutely one of them.

Amir was there. So was her mother.

Neither was answering her calls.

When the BBC Anchor apologised for their feed dropping out eerily soon after the rattling of her living room windows, she knew that ‘the worst’ had just become a reality.

A shaky voice on the television confirmed it was an explosion a few minutes later.

Pranav already had his shoes and jacket on before she’d finished her statement.

“If it’s a bomb, they’re going to need and appreciate all the medical help they can get,” he’d hurried, grabbing his keys and his mobile phone in a mad dash to do the right bloody thing. “You wait here, all right? Just in case they come back. Wait here.”

The idiot should’ve known his wife better.

When they’d arrived at the scene, hand in shaky hand, she could hardly believe her eyes.

Everyone was in utter disarray.

For the first time since the news had broken, there was no more frantically dialling her mother, or Amir, or Revati. All she could manage was shock and disgust. A heart in her throat and hand gripping her husband’s so tightly out of fear and fear alone that he’d be lucky to perform surgery with it ever again.

Faiza was no expert, but what she saw in the far distance didn’t look small enough to be a suicide vest, or some lucky pop by radicalised amateurs. It looked professional. Like a plane had dropped a fucking bomb right in the middle of her city and everything was burning. At the sight of the mangled wreckage of several police cars and what appeared to be an ambulance, she realised that whatever had exploded, had done so right where people had gathered to help.

They were cowards. They always were.

Police in the city had always been praised and renowned for their ability to deal with even the worst case scenarios, and yet, somehow, this seemed to be pushing them to their absolute limits. Maybe because when they’d found their footing initially, someone had planted a fucking bomb right underneath them. How many of those who’d shown up to help—to do a job—had died because of it? As she and Pranav slipped through the crowd and closer to the police cordon, she tried her hardest not to think about it at all.

It appeared that her husband had been right about them being desperate for help. They’d tried to protest their presence, claiming it was too dangerous for anyone to be near the scene, but after a quick flash of his Cromwell credentials, and a word exchanged with a police officer he was apparently friendly with, they were waived through a presence that seemed to be growing closer to the size of an army as each minute ticked on.

Faiza looked at the back of his head as they weaved through the crowd.

All she could smell was smoke—thick with rubber, plastic, people. If she hadn’t been terrified to wear her headscarf at a time like this, she might’ve covered her mouth with it should she be able to find her breath again. They were far enough away from the actual explosion that the fires were under control, but bits of building were scattered across the street; bricks smashed through the windshields of cars, and settled on their dashboards. There was glass everywhere. Shoes.

It was like a scene out of a movie she never wanted to see.

Faiza had thought she was too in shock to cry, but as they passed a woman who was being tended to by paramedics, the sight of her missing limbs was enough to break through to the part of her brain she was trying to save from the trauma.

It was unbelievable.

How could someone do this?

What if the reason her family wouldn’t answer was that they were burnt to a pile of ashes? Because they were crushed beneath the rubble of the buildings they’d been stood in? What if they were gone? What if they’d been stabbed, and couldn’t get away from the bomb even if they’d tried? What if she never got to see them again?

What if she had to explain to her father that his wife and son were dead?

“They would have called if they were okay,” she choked out.

Pranav didn’t hear her. The pained cries were too loud.

Loud enough that she’d remember them forever and a day.

When the surgeon saw someone in need of assistance, he gave his wife’s hand a reassuring squeeze before darting to help the semi-conscious figure just across the road.

What if there was more to come? What if this wasn’t over?

Faiza played with her hands nervously.

In spite of her mind trying to asphyxiate her from within, and even though she trembled so much it seemed impossible, she felt the vibrating of her phone before the screen had lit up with the face of her brother. Amir was calling. The sob that left her was so fucking strangled she was almost embarrassed answering. He was okay, despite her best attempts to convince herself otherwise. Thank God. Thank. God.

“Amir,” she cried down the phone, words so fast they were falling over each other in utter fucking relief. “Amir, please tell me you’re okay. Is mum with you? Did you all get out okay, or are you still in Belgravia? Prav and I just got here because he—”

The voice that interrupted her did not belong to her brother.

“Faiza, it’s Zahira.”

She froze.

Zahira wouldn’t call her instead of Amir. Not sounding like that.

“Faiza, where are you? I’m with your mother.”

A mother she could hear weeping. The assumptions drawn from her brother being unable to call himself aside, that sound alone was enough to make her blood run cold. Combined, it sucked out any of the hope she’d foolishly built up in a second.

“I think—I don’t—” Faiza stuttered, pressing a hand to her forehead, suddenly incredibly nauseous. She was scared to look around. “Just— Outside Baker & Spice, I think.”

“Can you make it up to Eaton Square?”

It was closer to the bomb site.

“Yes. Yes, just hold on. Put my mother on the phone.”

It’d been a wasted request. Nothing remotely coherent had come out of the woman’s mouth in the time it took to make her way up the street—Prav promising to follow as soon as he was done tending to the patient in his care—and it only served to upset her further. Her mother was a thousand times the woman she would ever be; if even Fatima couldn’t cope, what hope would she have? Faiza ran as fast as her legs and the surrounding debris would allow.

The sight that awaited her would surely haunt her until her own deathbed.

Fatima and Zahira were cut and bleeding, but they seemed—physically, at least—okay.

Then her eyes found her brother.

At first, Faiza thought he was looking right at her, and stupidly, as her heart braced for hope once more, she’d almost attempted a reassuring smile. He was awake, at least. That had to be something, right? Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as she was expecting?

Maybe she was wrong.

Slowly, the pieces of reality began to fall into place as though hope was nothing but a cruel illusion. Why would her mother be crying if he was conscious and in good hands? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Attempting to mumble out a stupid fucking joke? Faiza could see that the paramedics were in the middle of CPR, and as her eyes fell, that he was sprawled in a pool of what she could only assume to be his own blood.

When she glanced back at his face, it was like seeing a ghost.

Amir wasn’t looking at her. Amir wasn’t looking at anything.

As his head limply bounced with each compression, she realised:

He was gone.

Faiza opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Even if she’d wanted to call out to her mother she was sure that Fatima wouldn’t have heard it.

“It’s been twenty-five minutes. Still no pulse,” she heard one of the off-duty paramedics who had rushed to help sigh out to his friend. “I think he’s done.”

What?

“No. No, no. No!”

Even if she’d wanted to rationalise their decision, she couldn’t. There might have been others in dire need of assistance—perhaps, ones that had a better chance at survival than her brother did—but was that any reason to just stop? To leave him?

“No.” Fatima shook her head in denial so painful, Faiza was sure she was going to vomit if she had to endure another word. Another pained expression from a woman who, if she’d ever hurt, had never shown it to either of her children. It was fucking guttural. It didn’t even sound like her mother anymore. “That is my son.” At first, it was all anger. As she stabbed a finger in the direction of the paramedic, Faiza could see the fire in her eyes. Wished with every piece of her aching heart that it would help. “That is my son.” Then it was defeat. A deafening silence that could never be unheard. “My boy.”

“Mum…”

“You don’t stop until an ambulance has taken him to the hospital, and a doctor tells you to stop.”

The paramedic looked genuinely sympathetic. He also looked like he’d had this conversation before.

“I’m sorry. He’s lost too much blood. Even if we keep going until—”

“That is my son and you do not stop!”

“Ammi, please.” Faiza took a step forward, reaching out for her. The tears were falling, even if she couldn’t feel it. A quick glance at Zahira, crouched down beside the lifeless body of her brother, said that she was doing very much the same. “Look at him.” Saying the words felt like she was swallowing glass. “He’s gone.”

“No!” Fatima snatched her hand away, rounding on the men as they got to their feet. “Why is it taking so long? Where are they? Where is your ambulance?”

“They’re diverting every available vehicle and paramedic possible. We’re doing the best we can with the resources we have. This is an absolutely unprecedented situation.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“What’s happening?”

As if the sound of Pranav’s arrival was the trigger, the two simple words proved enough to push Fatima over the edge, and into a fresh flood tears. The Indian realised what was happening and rushed to her son’s side. The old woman’s legs finally gave out, and she fell to the ground, sobbing so loudly that surely Allah couldn’t ignore them. Ignore her suffering without mercy.

Faiza couldn’t tell which hurt more: seeing her mother’s pain, or feeling her own.

She watched as her husband took the place of the paramedics, and started his own set of compressions. It felt like her heart was breaking all over again.

It was just giving her mother hope.

It was just dragging out the pain.

As she slumped down against the car parked just behind her, she slipped into her own quiet sobs.

What were they supposed to do now?

Who was going to tell her father?

Who was going to tell Ashraf?

Who was going to tell Revati?

#self para #self para: street party #lol bye

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linctavia · 6 years

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Half Light

A look into the darkness of the bunker and Octavia through Niylah’s eyes.

Warning: angst, depictions of violence, violent thoughts, etc.

The morning started like many others. Niylah awoke with a kick to her back as Octavia trashed and flailed in their small bed. Niylah tried to compose herself as quickly as possible, she shook her gently until she awoke with a start. She immediately pushed her way onto the cold floor, collapsing onto her knees as quiet sobs racked her chest.

Niylah rushed down beside her, rubbing her back with one hand while gathering her dark hair in another in case she got sick.

“What’s wrong, love?” Niylah’s soothing whispers cut through the dark silence of the night and Octavia jumped slightly even at the calm words. She struggled to form words but they never made it out of her mouth, tangling up with the sobs in her throat.

“It was just a dream,” Niylah reached to pull her close but Octavia swatted her hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, backing away on her hands and knees.

It felt like hours to Niylah until Octavia settled down enough to let her near. She pulled her into her arms and stroked her hair, letting silent tears soak her shirt.

“I’m a monster,” the choked words cracked Niylah’s heart in two.

“No, Octavia. Listen to me, you are no monster.”

“Don’t you understand? I killed him. I killed them all,” Octavia’s sobs had stopped and her voice was left raw and cold.

“It’s not your fault,” she insisted, desperately attempting to soothe her pain.

“It is,” the sobbing must have drained more than just her voice because Octavia now sounded emotionless and distant. “The sooner you see what I really am, the better.”

Octavia stood suddenly from the floor and ran to the bathroom connected to her room. Niylah was left shivering on the cold floor.

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Niylah didn’t see Octavia again until that evening. She was working a double shift with Abby in medical and they were swamped with everything imaginable from dehydration and malnutrition to a new outbreak of disease. She was close to relief when there was a commotion at the doors.

Niylah rushed to the front to meet with Abby, Jackson and the other healers. It was a gruesome sight. Three or four young men lay on the hallway floor. Niylah pegged them as Azgeda but it was hard to identify them through the blood that covered them head to toe. Crowds were already forming around them but she could still make out the red streaks on the ground that marked their path.

A woman pushed through the crowd and knelt at Niylah’s feet, her hand were bloody and they stained Niylah’s pants as the woman clamored and grasped at her desperately. She said nothing, simply wept at her feet. A boy rushed forwards towards Abby, Trigedasleng racing out of his mouth.

“Niylah, translate,” Abby demanded, her knowledge of the language was improving but she still often relied on Niylah, especially in situations such as this.

“I...I don’t know, he’s just asking us to help, to save them,” Niylah’s head was spinning. She had seen terrible things during the time in medical, and she had taken them well for the most part. But as she got closer and saw the sword gashes that criss-crossed their body, Niylah’s sorry excuse for a lunch threatened to abandon her body.

“Who did this?” Jackson asked as Miller shouldered through the crowd.

“Who do you think did this?” he replied.

Niylah’s heart sunk but she ignored it, reminding herself to focus on the task at hand. She and the other medics moved to transport the wounded men. Before they could get close enough, soldiers bearing swords blocked their path.

“What the hell are you doing?” Abby was furious now, “get out of my way, do you want these men to die?”

“We have direct orders from the Commander, these men are to receive no medical assistance. From you or anyone else,” one of the soldiers replied bluntly. The others were already moving to clear the crowds from the hall.

Abby spun on her heel, turning towards Niylah with an ice in her eyes that seemed to encompass rage, sadness, and fear all at once.

“Go, see if you can talk some sense into her. I’ll do what I can for the wounded.”

Niylah nodded and wriggled through the swarm of people ignoring Miller’s snide remark about the commander’s relationship with sense.

She didn’t process most of her run through the bunker, she felt like she was floating over her body. She checked the arena, the great hall, the meeting room, and the office but Octavia was nowhere to be found. She was making her way to their room when Indra caught her arm and pulled her roughly aside.

“You’re looking for Octavia,” Indra said. It was a statement not a question but Niylah nodded anyway.

“She’s alright,” Indra led her down the hall at a rapid pace.

“You think I care if she’s alright? Do you know what she did?” Niylah tried to dig her heels into the ground but Indra continued to tug her along.

“Of course I know what she did. Did you know she was attacked?” Indra replied.

“Attacked?” she felt her heart racing even faster and she had no idea how to feel anymore.

“Someone threw a knife at her. She’s fine. She handled it. I assume Abby sent you here. They will not receive medical treatment. It’s a waste of resources. They’ll be dead as soon as we have prepared for the execution. The only reason they made it to medical in the first place is they slipped away in the chaos.” Indra delivered all the news with a steady tone and hardened expression. She stopped moving forwards as they got to the door of the room.

Niylah hesitated with her hand on the handle for a second but she pushed forwards. Octavia was nowhere to be seen in their small living quarters but she could hear water running in the bathroom. Niylah rapped on the door.

“Octavia?”

No response.

“Come out.”

Still nothing, although she heard something crash from inside.

“I know you’re in there. Please just come out. Or let me in. I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on. Please.” Her voice quivered and suddenly she felt as if she was talking about more than just the bathroom door that divided them.

The water stopped and the door swung open. Octavia stormed past her. She had braced herself for a girl with mangled hair, covered in splattered blood. Instead she glimpsed heavy commander makeup and full armor as she brushed by, her cape flowed ever so slightly and her sword swung at her hip. Niylah decided it was much more monstrous than she’d ever seen the girl be.

Niylah did her best to avoid everyone the rest of the day. She got as far as she could from the execution, hiding out amongst the slowly dying plants of the greenhouse. She spent most her time like that, only getting up to move when she heard others talking about the news of the day. It was almost the next morning when she finally felt tired. Her eyes sagged and she must have let her subconscious take over because the next thing she knew she was already through the door of her room. It was almost totally dark but the light coming from the hall was enough for her to see Octavia’s sleeping shape in the bed.

Something nearly snapped in Niyah at that. How could someone who had killed just hours ago rest so easily? She felt a rage she almost never felt. Her stomach ached and her blood boiled and she had the urge to sprint out of the room. Then a dark thought came to Niylah, she thought how easy it would be to smother Octavia with a pillow right then and there. She would never do it of course. But the simple fact that the thought crossed her mind was enough to frighten her and keep her in place.

Then from across the room she heard a whimper. She saw thrashing begin underneath the sheets. And something about that seemed to wash away the rage, at least for the time. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Looking down, she could barely make out Octavia’s face, contorted in terror even as she slept.

That’s when it hit her. Octavia was not a monster. No more than Niylah was for considering murder with a pillow. Octavia was cruel, callous, selfish, harsh, and so much more. But Niylah was seeing that in everyone these days, even herself.

Octavia was far from a hero. She was starting to become distant to even being a decent person at this point. But she was no monster. She was a girl who had been broken, beaten, twisted, tortured, chewed up and spat out. She was a human. The last thing she needed was someone else to push her away.

So Niylah didn’t wake her from her nightmare as usual. But she lay down beside her and took her in her arms. And they lay there like that, Octavia thrashing and whimpering, Niylah gently soothing her, until the morning came.

@pillowprincesslexa @commander-anya @reysxrose

#niytavia #octavia blake #niylah kom trikru #niylah x octavia #niytavia fic #my fic #mine #el struggles with words #im sorry

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crimsonslytherin · 4 years

Text

I’ll Be Your Reason - Chapter 13

(First) - (Previous)

Words: 4300

The trio ran into the DADA classroom and to the stairs to the professor’s office.

“Lockhart may be useless, but he’s going to try and get into the Chamber. At least we can tell him what we know,” Harry said as he entered the room. “Professor, we have some information for you!” Harry said. He stopped as Lockhart closed a trunk. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Uh, ah- well, yes- um, urgent call- unavoidable- got to go,” Lockhart said.

“What about my sister?!” Ron shouted.

“Well, um- as to that, most unfortunate. No one regrets more than I,” Lockhart said as he continued packing.

“You can’t leave now!” Fiona shouted.

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!” Ron exclaimed.

“Well- I must say- when I took the job there was nothing in the job description about a-“

“You’re running away? After all that stuff you did in your books?” Harry asked.

“Books can be misleading!”

“You wrote them!” Harry shouted.

“My dear boy, do use your common sense! My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things!”

“You’re a fraud! You’ve just been taking credit for what other wizards have done!” Harry shouted.

“Is there anything you can do?” Ron asked.

“Yes, now you mention it. I’m rather gifted with Memory Charms. Otherwise, you see, all those wizards would have gone blabbing. And I’d never have sold another book. In fact, ah...I’m ah...” He headed over to one of the trunks. “going to have to do the same to you.” He turned with his wand to see three wands pointed at him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry warned before motioning for him to drop his wand.

…

The four went to the girl’s bathroom.

“Oh! Who’s there?” Myrtle asked. “Oh! Hello, Harry! Ron, Fiona. What do you want?”

“To ask you how you died,” Harry said.

“Blunt,” Fiona muttered.

“Oh! It was dreadful. It happened right here in this very cubicle.” She pointed to the stall she was hovering over. “I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in,” Myrtle said.

“Who was it Myrtle?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. I was distraught! Huhh-huh...But they said something funny, a kind of made up language. And I realized it was a boy speaking, so I unlocked the door to tell him to go away and... I died.”

“Just like that? How?”

“I just remember seeing a pair of great big yellow eyes...over there, by that sink.” She pointed before flying away. “Ohhhhooo...” Harry touched the sink. He turned the tap but it wouldn’t turn on. He noticed a picture of a snake on the side of it.

“This is it. This is it, guys. I think this is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said.

“Say something,” Ron said. “One of you, say something in Parseltongue!”

“Hesha- Hassah.” The sink’s top lifted and the sinks all came apart to show a hole.

“Open up? That’s all it takes?” Fiona asked as the four backed up. One of the sinks, the one with the snake, went down to provide an entrance before a grate moved over it.

“Excellent, Harry,” Lockhart said. “Haa! Good work! Well then, I’ll just be, ah... There’s no need for me to stay.” He tried to run but the two boys grabbed him and threw him back. He almost fell into the hole.

“Oh, yes there is! You first,” Harry said.

“Now, boys what good will it do?”

“Better you than us,” Ron said.

“Um...but...obviously, yes,” Lockhart muttered. “Sure you don’t want to test it first?” Ron poked him in the back with his wand and he fell forward. “No! Aaaah!” There was a thud. “It’s really quite filthy down here.” His voice echoed back up.

“All right. Let’s go,” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry? If you die down there, you’re welcome to share my toilet. Hee, hee,” Myrtle told him.

“Uh...thanks Myrtle,” Harry said. The three jumped down, screaming as they slid down a long pipe. They reached the bottom and quickly got up.

“Ugh!” Ron groaned when he saw they’d landed on bones.

“Oh ew…” Fiona moaned.

“Now remember, any sign of movement, close your eyes straightaway,” Harry said. He climbed up into a pipe.

“Go on,” Ron said to Lockhart. He climbed up after Harry then Ron and Fiona followed him.

“This way,” Harry said.

The group followed Harry until they found a giant snakeskin.

“What’s this?” Ron asked.

“It looks like a... snake,” Lockhart said.

“It’s a snakeskin,” Harry said. Fiona grimaced as she walked along it to stand beside Harry.

“Bloody hell. Whatever shed this must be sixty feet long-- or more!” Lockhart suddenly fainted. “Heart of a lion, this one,” Ron said. Suddenly Lockhart grabbed his wand and pointed it at them as he stood.

“The adventure ends here, children. But don’t fret. The world will know our story. How I was too late to save the girl. How you three tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. So, you first, Mr. Potter. Say good-bye to your memories. Obliviate!” Since he’d taken Ron’s wand the spell backfired and he went flying before hitting the ceiling. Soon the area shook and rocks started falling. Harry grabbed Fiona and the two got down. A few rocks bounced just over their heads.

“Harry! Fiona!” Ron called. Harry and Fiona got up and rushed to where the rocks had separated the group. They could see Ron and Lockhart through a small hole.

“Ron!” Fiona shouted.

“Ron, are you ok?” Harry called.

“I’m fine!” he called back.

“Uhh... Hello. Who are you?” Lockhart asked.

“Um... Ron Weasley,” Ron answered.

“Really? And uh, who- who am I?”

“Lockhart’s memory charm backfired. He hasn’t got a clue who he is!”

“It’s an odd sort of place this, isn’t it? Do you live here?” Lockhart asked as he held a rock.

“No!” Ron said as he took the rock from him.

“Really? Well-“ Ron hit him over the head, knocking him out.

“What’d I do now?” Ron asked.

“You wait here and try and shift some of this rock so we can get back through. Fiona and I’ll go on and find Ginny!”

“OK,” Ron said.

“Come on.” Harry and Fiona climbed down. They walked only a few feet before seeing a round door with a bunch of snakes on it.

“Hesha- Hassah,” Harry said. Suddenly a snake slithered around the door making the other snakes pull their heads in and unlock the door. The door opened and the two approached with their wands out, cautiously. They climbed down a short ladder before they started walking down the walkway. On either side were statues of snakes with their mouths open and at the very end a statue of Salazar Slytherin. In front of it was Ginny, lying on the ground. “Ginny...” The two started running. They got to the girl and kneeled beside her. She was holding the black diary. Fiona touched Ginny’s face.

“Ginny…”

“Ginny! Oh, Ginny, please don’t be dead,” Harry said.

“She’s breathing,” Fiona assured him.

“Wake up. Wake up! Please, wake up!”

“She won’t wake.” The two looked to see a 16-year-old boy on the other side of the room. Fiona’s eyes widened and grabbed Harry’s sleeve. Harry looked up at her briefly before looking back at Tom.

“Tom. Tom Riddle!” Harry exclaimed. “What do you mean, ‘she won’t wake?’ She’s not...?”

“She’s still alive, but only just.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“A memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

“She’s cold as ice. Ginny, please don’t be dead. Wake up!” Tom picked up Harry’s wand. “You’ve got to help me, Tom. There’s a basilisk.”

“It won’t come until it’s called,” Tom said. Harry looked up to see Tom holding his and Fiona’s wands.

“Give me my wand, Tom.”

“You won’t be needing it,” Tom said. Harry looked to Fiona who hadn’t moved, he didn’t notice her hands were shaking or that she was staring at Tom.

“Listen, we’ve got to go! We’ve got to save her!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Harry. You see, as poor Ginny grows weaker, I grow stronger. Yes Harry, it was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

“No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t!”

“It was Ginny who set the basilisk on the Mudbloods and Filch’s cat, Ginny who wrote the threatening messages on the walls.”

“But why?”

“Because I told her to. You’ll find that I can be very persuasive. Not that she knew what she was doing. She was, shall we say, in a kind of trance. Still, the power of the diary began to scare her. And she tried to dispose of it in the girl’s bathroom. And then, who should find it, but you? The very person I was most anxious to meet.”

“But, why did you want to meet me?”

“I knew I had to talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my capture of that brainless oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust.”

“Hagrid’s my friend! And you framed him, didn’t you?”

“It was my word against Hagrid’s. Only Dumbledore seemed to think he was innocent.”

“I’ll bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” Harry said with a smirk.

“He certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after that. I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school, so I decided to leave behind a diary preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day I would be able to lead another to finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.”

“Well, you haven’t finished it this time. In a few hours, the Mandrake Draught will be ready, and everyone who was petrified will be all right again.”

“Haven’t I told you? Killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore. For many months now, my new target... has been you. How is it that a baby, with no extraordinary magical talent, was able to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar,” he used Harry’s wand to move aside some of his bangs. “while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

“Why do you care how I escaped? Voldemort was after your time.”

“Voldemort is my past, present, and future.” He wrote his whole name in the air. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. It rearranged itself. I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

“You! You’re the Heir of Slytherin. You’re Voldemort.”

“Surely, you didn’t think I was going to keep my filthy Muggle father’s name? No. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world.”

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!”

“He’ll never be gone! Not as long as those who remain are loyal to him!” Harry shouted. The two stared each other down for a moment before Tom’s eyes flicked to Fiona. Harry turned to her. “Fiona?” Fiona let out a small gasp and looked at Harry before looking back at Tom.

“I-I-I…” Tom looked at her and she swallowed. “He’s…” Fiona said. Tom frowned. “I’ve seen him before…” Harry frowned.

“You even look like her,” he growled. “Fifty years…You’d be… my great niece, then?” he asked looking a bit annoyed. “I guess she had children after all…” he muttered. “I heard from Ginny about you… The blood of Salazar Slytherin in your veins… Yet you’re in Gryffindor.” He shook his head. “Don’t look so scared, Fee… we’re family after all,” he said with a smile that was just as terrifying. Harry looked between the two; he’d never seen Fiona look so scared in his life. He honestly thought she was going to faint. Suddenly there was a cawing sound.

“Fawkes?” Harry turned to see the Phoenix flying towards them. The bird dropped the sorting hat wrapped up.

“So, this is what Dumbledore sends his great defender, a songbird and an old hat.” Tom turned to the stone face and held out his hand. “Shearhas- Samnathas- Sélithaeine.” The mouth started to open and Tom faced Harry. “Let’s match the power of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous Harry Potter.” They could hear the basilisk before they could see it.

“Fiona, cover your eyes!” Harry shouted before he threw the hat down and started running. Fiona took a step back and slipped on the water. She fell back, landing on her shoulder but quickly covered her eyes.

“Sethae- He- This.” The basilisk slithered out the rest of the way and looked at Tom then went after Harry. “Parseltongue won’t save you now, Potter. It only obeys me!” The basilisk slithered after Harry ran down the walkway, not looking back.

“Psā!” Fiona shouted without looking. The basilisk slowed, but only for a moment.

“Stop that,” Tom hissed at her. ��It listens to me.” She uncovered her eyes and looked at him before turning to see Harry trip up and hit the ground. Harry put his hands over his head. Suddenly Fawkes came back and pecked out the basilisk’s eyes. Harry watched the shadow above.

“No! Your bird may have blinded the basilisk, but it can still hear you!” Tom shouted. Harry stood and watched the basilisk thrash its head around in pain as Fawkes flew away. He took a step back and it stopped, having heard him. Harry took off running into a pipe. Fiona stood.

“Harry!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. “Harry!!”

“Shut up!” Tom shouted at her. A few moments later she heard the basilisk slither away then Harry ran out of a pipe and over to Ginny. “Yes, Potter, the process is nearly complete. In a few minutes Ginny will be dead, and I will cease to be a memory.” Harry looked up at him. “Lord Voldemort will return- very... much... alive!”

“Ginny-“ Harry said. Suddenly the basilisk shot out from the water behind him. He looked to the sorting hat just as a sword appeared. He grabbed it and faced the basilisk before running up to the stone face and climbing up it. He swung at the snake as it growled.

“Harry, look out!” Fiona screamed. It dove at him, smashing its face against the stone when Harry moved to the side. He dodged again and was hanging off by one hand. He managed to climb up and narrowly avoid another strike as he stood atop the stone face. He swung at it until it knocked him back then down. The sword started sliding down but Harry grabbed it just in time to stab the basilisk through the top of its head. He pulled out the sword with a cry before pulling one of the fangs out of his arm. The basilisk thrashed, screaming in pain before collapsing half in the water half out. Tom looked up as Harry approached with a fang in hand. He was clearly in pain and fell to his knees by Ginny. “Harry…no…” Fiona hurried to him to look at the wound.

“Remarkable isn’t it, how quickly the venom of the basilisk penetrates the body? I’d guess you have little more than a minute to live. You’ll be with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry.” Harry took Ginny’s hand. “Funny, the damage a silly little book can do... especially in the hands of a silly, little girl.” Harry picked up the book and opened it. “What are you doing?” Harry raised the fang. “Stop. No!” Harry stabbed the pages and there was suddenly a light in Tom’s middle as ink bubbled up from the pages. “Ahhhh!” Harry stabbed the other side. “Ahhhh!” He finally closed the book and stabbed it. “Ahhhh!” Tom was completely engulfed in light before he blew apart. Ginny suddenly woke, breathing heavily and sat up.

“Ginny...” Harry said. She turned to see him and Fiona

“Harry… Fiona. It was me- but I swear, I didn’t mean to! Riddle made me, and...” She noticed his arm. “Harry, you’re hurt!”

“Don’t worry. Ginny, you need to get yourself out. Fiona will help you-“

“Harry no…” Fiona whimpered as she shook her head.

“Follow the Chamber, and you’ll find Ron,” Harry said. Fawkes cawed and flew down beside him. He looked at Harry. “You were brilliant, Fawkes. I just wasn’t quick enough...” Fawkes lowered his head and a few tears fell on Harry’s wound. “Of course! Phoenix tears have healing powers. Thanks! It’s alright, Ginny. It’s over. It’s just a memory.” Fiona suddenly hugged him. “I’m okay, Fiona. We’re okay.” She pulled back and he smiled at her.

“Let’s get out of here.”

…

Fawkes carried everyone up out of the chamber. Ron held onto Lockhart’s foot while Fiona held onto him and Harry held onto her foot while he held onto Ginny.

“Amazing! This is just like magic!” Lockhart shouted.

_______________________

“You all realize, of course, that in the past few hours you have broken perhaps a dozen school rules?” Dumbledore asked. Harry, Ron and Fiona stood in his office in front of his desk.

“Yes, sir,” the three said quietly in unison.

“And there is sufficient evidence to have you all expelled.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Therefore, it is only fitting… that you all receive Special Awards for Services to the School.”

“Thanks, sir!” Ron exclaimed in a gasp.

“And now, Mr. Weasley, if you would, have an owl deliver these release papers to Azkaban?” he handed Ron a letter. “I believe we- we want our gamekeeper back. Harry... first, I want to thank you, Harry. You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you. And, um... second, I sense that something is troubling you. Am I right, Harry?”

“It’s just... You see, sir I- I couldn’t help but notice certain things, certain- certain similarities, between Tom Riddle and me.”

“I see. Well, you can speak Parseltongue, Harry. Why? Because Lord Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. If I’m not mistaken, Harry, he transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar.”

“Voldemort transferred some of his powers... to me?”

“Not intentionally, but yes,” Dumbledore said going back behind his desk and sitting down.

“Sir,” Fiona started. “It’s true then… I’m…”

“Tom Riddle had an older half-sister,” Dumbledore said with a slow nod. “Your father’s mother. Child of Merope Gaunt but not to Tom Riddle Sr.”

“So the Sorting Hat was right! We should be in Slytherin,” Harry said.

“It’s true. You both possess many of the qualities that Voldemort himself prizes. Determination, resourcefulness, and if I may say so, a certain disregard for the rules. Why then did the Sorting Hat place you in Gryffindor?”

“Because I asked it to,” Harry answered while Fiona nodded in agreement.

“Exactly, Harry! Exactly! Which makes you different from Voldemort. It is not our abilities that show what we truly are. It is our choices.” Harry nodded. “If you want proof why you belong in Gryffindor, then I suggest that you look more closely at this.” He picked up the sword. “Be careful,” he said when Harry took it and read the name etched on the blade.

“Godric Gryffindor.”

“Ah- it would take a true Gryffindor to pull that out of the hat,” Dumbledore said. “Now, Fiona-“ The door opened and Lucius walked in, with a little house elf by his side.

“Dobby! So this is your master! The family you serve is the Malfoy’s,” Harry said once he saw him.

“Um-humm...” Dobby hummed as he looked up at Lucius who looked down at him.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he growled quietly to him. Dobby flinched.

“That’s Dobby?” Fiona asked Harry who nodded. The two walked up to the desk and Lucius pushed Harry out of the way with his cane.

“Out of my way, Potter! So, it’s true-- you have returned!” he said to Dumbledore.

“When the governors learned that Arthur Weasley’s daughter was taken into the Chamber, they saw fit to summon me back,” Dumbledore said.

“Ridiculous!”

“Curiously, Lucius, several of them were under the impression that you would curse their families, if they did not agree to suspend me in the first place.”

“How dare you?!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My sole concern has always been, and will always be, the welfare of this school and, of course, its students.” He looked over at Harry and Fiona. “The culprit has been identified, I presume?”

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore said quietly with a nod.

“And?” Lucius asked expectantly. “Who was it?”

“Voldemort.”

“Ah.”

“Only, this time, he chose to act through somebody else, by means of this.” Dumbledore held up the black diary.

“I see,” Lucius said. Dobby tugged on Harry’s sleeve and hummed quietly as he nodded towards Lucius.

“Fortunately, our young Mr. Potter and Miss Gaunt discovered it. One hopes that no more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things should find their way into innocent hands. The consequences for the one responsible would be severe.”

“Well, let us hope that Mr. Potter will always be around to save the day.”

“Don’t worry. I will be,” Harry said without hesitation.

“Dumbledore,” Lucius said with a nod. “Come, Dobby. We’re leaving.” He pushed the elf down the stairs.

“Ahh! Oow!”

“Sir, I wonder if I could have that?” Harry asked nodding to the book. Dumbledore nodded and handed the book to Harry. Harry looked to Fiona and the two said a quick goodbye to Dumbledore before hurrying from the room.

The two quickly headed down the turning stairs and after Lucius who was walking down the hall with Dobby.

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy! I have something of yours,” Harry said before handing the book to him.

“Mine? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucius said.

“Oh, I think you do, sir. I think you slipped the diary into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron, that day at Diagon Alley.”

“You do, do you?” He handed the book to Dobby. “Why don’t you prove it? Come, Dobby!” He started to head down the hall.

“Open it,” Harry whispered to Dobby.

“Dobby?” Lucius asked when the elf didn’t follow.

“Master has given Dobby a sock!” Dobby exclaimed.

“What? I didn’t give-“ Lucius turned and stopped.

“Master has presented Dobby with clothes!” Dobby said picking up a sock that was in the pages. “Dobby is free!” Harry smugly lifted his pant leg to show he was missing a sock.

“You’ve lost me my servant!” Lucius shouted before pulling his wand out of his cane. He started coming at Harry but both Fiona and Dobby moved in front of him.

“You shall not harm Harry Potter!” Dobby said.

“Advada-“ Dobby suddenly blasted Lucius down the hall. Dobby crossed his arms with satisfaction. Lucius stood.

“Your parents were meddlesome fools, too. You mark my words, Potter, one day soon you are going to meet the same sticky end!” he threatened before leaving.

“He was going to-…” Fiona gasped as she stared after Lucius. Dobby turned to Harry.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby! How can Dobby ever repay him?”

“Just promise me something,” Harry said.

“Anything, sir!” Dobby said. Harry smiled.

“Never try to save my life again,” he said. Dobby hummed.

“Harry,” Fiona said giving him a look.

“Oh, Dobby this is Fiona, my best friend. Fiona, this is Dobby.”

“It’s a pleasure to meat you, Dobby,” Fiona said before holding out her hand for him to shake. Dobby stared at her hand before looking up at her. Tears welled up in his eyes and he took her hand, shaking it as he started sobbing. “Oh, please don’t cry, Dobby.”

“You’ll get used to that,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, come here.” Fiona pulled Dobby into a hug and the house elf sobbed even harder.

_______________________

The night of the last feast of the year, everyone who had been paralyzed was woken up.

“Welcome back, Sir Nicholas!” a student said.

“Thank you!” the ghost said.

“Good evening, Sir Nicholas!”

“Good evening!”

“Good to see you, Sir Nicholas!”

“Thank you! Hello! Hermione! Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Sir Nicholas!” she said.

“Harry- it’s Hermione!” Neville said. The three looked to see her and stood as she ran over. She hugged Harry and Fiona before going to Ron.

“Uhh-um... Welcome back, Hermione,” Ron said shaking her hand.

“It’s good to be back! Congratulations! I can’t believe you solved it!” she said.

“Well, we had loads of help from you. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Harry said.

“Thanks,” she said. McGonagall clinked her glass.

“Could I have your attention, please?” she asked. Dumbledore stood.

“Before we begin the feast, let us have a round of applause for Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey, whose Mandrake juice has been so successfully administered to all who had been petrified.” The room erupted in applause. “Also, in light of the recent events, as a school treat, all exams have been canceled.” Everyone cheered and Fiona noticed only Hermione looked sad. Suddenly the doors opened and Hagrid walked in.

“Sorry I’m late!” he said. “The owl that delivered my release papers got all lost and confused. Some ruddy bird called Errol.” Ron looked sheepishly up at Dumbledore. Hagrid stopped at the four. “And I’d just like to say that a- if it hadn’t been for you, Harry, and Ron, and Fiona, and Hermione, o’ course, I would- uh- I’d still be you-know-where, so I- I’d just like to say ‘Thanks.’” Harry stood.

“Well, there’s no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid,” Harry said before hugging him.

“Oh!” Hagrid hugged him back. Dumbledore started clapping. Harry stepped back and clapped too. Soon the whole room was clapping for Hagrid, even some of the Slytherins.

_______________________

(Next Chapter)

#Harry Potter FanFiction #Draco Malfoy x OC #Movie & Book Canon #Slight Canon Divergence #I'll Be Your Reason

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